"Did you enjoy killing this man?"

"Which one?"

"The first. "

"No."

"The second. "

Richard's jaw muscles tightened. "What is the point of these questions?"

"All questions have a different reason for being asked "

"And sometimes the reasons have nothing to do with the question?"

"Answer the question. " _

"Only if you first tell me the reason for it." "You came here to ask us questions. Shall we ask your
reasons? "

"It would seem you are."

"Answer our question or we will not answer yours. "

"And if I answer it, will you promise to answer mine?"

"We are not here to make bargains. We are here because we were called. Answer the question or
the gathering is over. "

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."

"Irrelevant. "

"What?"

" `If' is irrelevant. `Did' is not. So, now you have given two reasons for killing the second man: to
defend a friend; and because you enjoyed it. Which is the true reason?"

"Both. I killed him to protect a friend's life, and because of the sword, I enjoyed it."

"What if you did not need to kill to protect your friend? What if you were wrong in your
assessment? What if the life of your friend was not in fact in danger?"

Kahlan tensed at this question. She hesitated a moment before translating it.

"In my mind, the deed is not as important as the intent. I truly believed my friend's life was in
danger, therefore I felt justified in killing to protect her. I had only a moment to act. In my mind,
indecision would have resulted in her death.

"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."

"As we said, we are not here to make bargains. You said that to your mind, the deed is not as
important as the intent. Is there anyone you have intended to kill, but have not?"

The sound of their voices was painful; Kahlan felt as if it was burning her skin.

"You have misinterpreted the context of what I said. I said I killed because I thought I had to, that I
thought his intent was to kill her, therefore I thought I had to act or she would die. Not that my
intent equates to the deed. There is probably a long list of people who, at one time or another, I
have wanted to kill."

"If you wanted to, why have you not done so?"

"Many reasons. For some, I had not true justification, it was only a mind game, a fantasy, to
counter the sting of an injustice. For some, though I felt justified, I was able to escape without
killing. Some, well, it just turned out that I didn't that's all."

"The five elders?"

Richard sighed. "Yes."

"But you intended to. "

Richard didn't answer.

"Is this a case where the intent is as the deed?"

Richard swallowed hard. "In my heart, yes. That I intended it wounds me almost as much as the
deed would have."

"So then we have not, it would seem, gotten what you said entirely out of context. "

Kahlan could see tears in Richard's eyes. "Why are you asking me these questions!"

"Why do you want the object of magic?"

"To stop Darken Rahl!"

"And how will getting this object stop him?"

Richard leaned back a little. His eyes went wide. He understood. A tear ran down his cheek.
"Because, if I can get the object, and keep it from him," he whispered, "he will die. I will kill him in
that way."

"What you are really asking us, then, is, for our aid in killing another." There voices echoed around
her in the darkness.

Richard only nodded.

"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.

"Why do you want to kill this man?"

"Many reasons."

"Why do you want to kill this man?"

"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."

"Consider the next question carefully. Answer with the truth, or this gathering will end."

Richard nodded.

"What is the reason, above all others, why you want to kill this man?"

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."

Kahlan felt as if she had been hit in the stomach. She could barely bring herself to translate the
words. There was a long silence. Richard sat naked, in more ways than one. She was angry at the
spirits for doing this to him. She was also deeply distraught by what she was doing to him. Shar had
been right.

"If Kahlan were not a factor, would you still try to kill this man? >,

"Absolutely. You asked the reason above all others. I told you."

"What is the object of magic you seek?" they asked suddenly.

"Does that mean you agree with my reasons for killing?"

"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? "

"One of the three boxes of Orden."

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. "

The elders' eyes began to close. Richard jumped to his feet. "You would let Darken Rahl kill all
those people when you have the power to help?" "Yes. "

"You would let him kill your descendants? Your living flesh and blood? You aren't spirit ancestors
to our people, you are spirit traitors!"

"Not true. "

"Then tell me!"

"Not allowed. "

"Please! Don't leave us without your help. Let me ask another question?"

"We are not allowed to disclose where the boxes of Orden are. It is forbidden. Think, and 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.

"You can't tell me where the boxes are. Are there any other restrictions?"

"Yes. "

"How many boxes does Rahl already have?"

"Two. "

He looked at the elders evenly. "You have just disclosed where two of the boxes are. That is
forbidden," he reminded them. "Or maybe it is simply a gray shade of intent?"

Silence.

"That information is not restricted. Your question?"

Richard leaned forward like a dog on scent. "Can you tell me who knows where the last box is?"

Richard already knew the answer to this question, she suspected. She recognized his manner of
slicing the loaf the other way.

"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. "

"Then, can you tell me the name of a person, other than Rahl, who is not in possession of the last
box, who is not near it, but who knows where it is?"

"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. "

"That is my question, then: who is it? Name her."

When they uttered the name, Kahlan froze with a jolt. She didn't translate. The elders shook at the
mere name, spoken aloud.

"Who is it? What's her name'?" Richard demanded of her.

Kahlan looked up at him.

"We are as good as dead," she whispered.

"Why? Who, is it?"

Kahlan sank back, into herself. "It is the witch woman, Shota."

"And do you know where she is?"

Kahlan nodded, her brow wrinkled in terror. "In the Agaden Reach." She whispered the name as if
even the words tasted of poison. "Not even a wizard would dare to go into the Reach."

Richard studied the visage of fear in her face, and looked to the elders as they shook.

"Then we go to Agaden Reach, to this witch woman, Shota," he said in an even voice, "and find out
where the box is."

"We wish you kind fates, " the spirits said, through the Bird Man. "The lives of our descendants
depend upon you. "

"Thank you for your help, honored ancestors,", Richard said. "I will do my best to stop Rahl. To
help our people."

"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. "

"I will remember the things you say. I pledge to do my best."

"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. "

Kahlan translated in a rush, jumping to her feet. Richard came up beside her.

"What! He is here now? Where is he, what is he doing'?"

"He is in the center of the village. He is killing people. "

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!"

"If you wish. But hear us out first. Sit, " they commanded.

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.

"Darken Rahl wants you. Your sword cannot kill him. Tonight, the balance of power is on his side.
If you go out there, he will kill you. You will have no chance. None. In order to win, you must
change the balance of power, something you cannot do this night. The people he kills tonight will
die whether or not you go out to fight him. If you do go out, more will die in the end. Many more.
If you are to succeed, you must have the courage to let these die tonight. You must save yourself to
fight at another time. You must suffer this pain. You must heed your head rather than your sword,
if you are to have a chance to win. "

"But I have to go out sooner or later!"

"Darken Rahl has loosed many dark terrors. He must balance many things, including his time. He
does not have the time to wait all night. He is confident, with good reason, that he can defeat you at
any time of his choosing. He has no reason to wait. He will be gone soon, to tend to other dark
matters, to look for you another day.

"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. "

"But I can't stay here!"

"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. "

Richard's clenched fists shook. Kahlan could see by the look on his face that he was close to
disregarding the warning, close to going out to fight.

"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.

"I will wait," he said in a voice she could barely hear.

Kahlan threw her arms around his neck, putting her head against his, as they both cried. The circle
of elders began spinning around again.

That was the last thing she remembered until she and Richard were shaken awake by the Bird Man.
She felt as if she were coming out of a nightmare as she recalled the things the spirits said, about
the killing of the Mud People, and that to find the box they had to go into Agaden Reach, to Shota.
She recoiled at the thought of the witch woman. The other elders were standing over them, and
helping both of them up. All wore grim faces. Tears tried to come to her again. She forced them
back.

The Bird Man pushed the door open to the cold night air, to a clear, starlit sky.

The clouds were gone. Even the snakelike cloud.

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.

A phalanx of hunters and archers protectively surrounded the spirit house. Many were bloodied.
Richard pushed in front of the Bird Man.

"Tell me what happened," he ordered in a quiet voice.

A man with a spear stepped forward. Kahlan waited next to Richard, to translate. Rage flared in the
man's eyes.

"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,

407

and took him under his arm. A gift, he said, for a friend. Then he flew away. And where were you
and your sword!"

Savidlin's eyes filled with tears. Kahlan put her hand against the ripping pain in her heart. She knew
who the gift was for.

The man spat on Richard. Savidlin went for him, but Richard held his arm out, held Savidlin back.

"I heard the voices of our ancestors' spirits, " Savidlin said. "I know this is not his failing!"

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. "

He nodded bravely as she pulled back. Richard asked softly what she had told Savidlin.

"A lie," she answered, "to ease his pain."

Richard nodded his understanding, and turned to the man with the spear.

"Show me the ones he killed," he said without emotion.

"Why?" the man demanded.

"So I will never forget why I am going to kill the one who did this."

The man gave the elders an angry glance and then led them all to the center of the village. Kahlan
put on her blank expression, to shield herself from what she knew she would see. She had seen it
too many times before, in other villages, other places. And as she expected, it was the same as she
had seen before. Lined up in terrible disarray beside a wall were the torn and ripped bodies of
children, the burned bodies of men and dead women, some without arms, or jaws. The Bird Man's
niece was among them. Richard showed no emotion as he walked among the chaos of screaming
and wailing people, past the dead, looking, the calm in the eye of the hurricane. Or maybe, she
thought, the lightning about to strike.

"This is what you brought us, " the man hissed. "This is your fault!"

Richard watched as others nodded their agreement, then turned his eyes on the man with the spear.
His voice was gentle.

"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."

His eyes turned to Kahlan. They were intense, reflecting his anger over what he had just seen. He
gritted his teeth. "Let's go find this witch woman."

They had no choice, of course. But she knew of Shota.

They were going to die.

They might as well go ask Darken Rahl to tell them where they could find the box.

Kahlan walked up to the Bird Man, then suddenly threw he; arms around him.

"Remember me, " she whispered.

When they separated, the Bird Man looked around at the people, his face drawn. "These two need
some men to guard them safely to the edge of our land."

Savidlin stepped forward instantly. Without hesitation, a banc of ten of his best hunters came to
stand with him

CHAPTER 2

9
PRINCESS VIOLET TURNED SUDDENLY and slapped Rachel's face. Hard. Rachel had done
nothing wrong, of course; the Princess just liked to slap her when she least expected it. The
Princess thought it was fun. Rachel didn't try to hide how much it hurt; if it didn't hurt enough, the
Princess would slap her again. Rachel put her hand over the sting, her bottom lip quivering, tears
welling up in her eyes, but she said nothing.

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.

"This one's pretty. Hold my hair up."

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.

Rachel shifted her weight to her other foot and rolled her free ankle around to ease its stiffness.
They'd been in the Queen's jewel room all afternoon, the Princess trying on one piece of jewelry
after another, then primping and turning in front of the tall mirror. It was her favorite thing to do,
trying on the Queen's jewelry and looking at herself in the mirror. Being her playmate, Rachel was
required to be with her, to make sure the Princess was enjoying herself. Dozens of the little drawers
stood open, some a little, some a lot. Necklaces and bracelets hung halfway out of some, like
sparkling tongues. More were scattered around the floor, along with brooches, tiaras, and rings.

The Princess looked down her nose and pointed to a blue stone ring on the floor. "Give me that
one."

Rachel slipped it over the finger held in front of her face; then the Princess watched herself in the
mirror as she turned her hand this way and that. She ran her hand over the pretty pale blue satin
dress, admiring the ring. Letting out a long, bored sigh, she walked over to the fancy white marble
pedestal that stood by itself in the opposite corner of the jewel room. She was looking up at her
mother's favorite object, one she fawned over at every opportunity.

Princess Violet's pudgy fingers reached up, pulling the gold jewel-encrusted box off its honored
resting place.

"Princess Violet!" Rachel blurted out before she had a chance to think. "Your mother said you
mustn't touch that."

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.

"What's the big deal?" Princess Violet snapped. "Magic keep it from being taken from this room.
It's not like anyone's going to steal it or anything." Rachel didn't know anything about any magic,
but she knew she didn't want to be caught touching the Queen's 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."

"Of course, Princess Violet." Rachel curtsied.

The Princess held her big nose up. "And?"

"And . . . thank you, Princess Violet, for bringing me, and letting me see how pretty you look in the
jewelry."

"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."

Rachel curtsied again. "Yes, Princess Violet."

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.

Tears fell from her face as she crawled around on the floor on her hands and knees, picking up
fingerfuls of rings from the carpets. She stopped and sat back a moment, carefully touching her
fingertips to the place where she had been slapped. It hurt like anything.

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.

The Queen wouldn't be happy at all if she knew that some nobody had touched it. Rachel knew the
Queen was always having somebody's head chopped off. Sometimes, the Princess made Rachel go
with her to watch, but Rachel always closed her eyes. The Princess didn't.

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.

Turning back, she caught sight of the hem of a silver robe that touched the floor. Her breath caught
in her throat. She hadn't heard footsteps. Her head slowly, almost involuntarily, rose up the line of
the robe; to the hands stuck in the opposite sleeves, to the long, pointed, white beard, to the bony
face, the hooked nose, the bald head, and the dark eyes looking down at her startled face.

The wizard.

"Wizard Giller," she whined, fully expecting to be struck dead any second, "I was only putting it
back. I swear. Please, please don't kill me." Her face wrinkled up as she tried to make herself back
away, but her feet wouldn't move. "Please." She stuck the hem of her dress in her mouth, biting it
as she whimpered.

Rachel scrunched her eyes closed and shook as the wizard began sinking, lowering himself to the
floor.

"Child," he said in a soft voice. Rachel cautiously opened one eye, surprised to find he was sitting
on the floor, his face even with hers. "I am not going to hurt you."

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.

"No," he smiled, shaking his bald head. "Who took the box down?"

"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?"

She nodded in earnest. "Rachel."

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."

No one had ever told her that her name was pretty. But he had shut the big door. "You're not going
to strike me dead? Or change me into something horrid?"

"Oh, dear, no," he laughed. He turned his head, peering at her with one eye. "Why are there red
marks on your cheeks?"

She didn't answer, too scared to say. Slowly, carefully, he reached out, his fingers touching one
cheek, then the other. Her eyes opened wide. The sting was gone.

"Better?"

She nodded. His eyes seemed so big, the way they looked at her up close like this. They made her
feel like telling him, so she did. "The Princess hits me," she admitted, ashamed.

"So'? She is not so kind to you, then?"

She shook her head, casting her eyes downward. Then the wizard did something that absolutely
stunned her. He reached around and gave her a gentle hug. She stood stiffly for a moment, then put
her arms around his neck, hugging him back. His long white whiskers tickled the side of her face
and neck, but she still liked it.

He looked at her with sad eyes. "I'm sorry, dear child. The Princess and the Queen can be quite
cruel."

His voice sounded so nice, she thought, like Brophy's. A big grin spread beneath his hook nose.

"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."

"Trouble doll?" she whispered.

"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.

"Princess Violet says I'm ugly," she confided in the doll.

The face on the doll smiled. Rachel's mouth dropped open.

"I love you, Rachel," it said in a tiny little voice.

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.

Then, she remembered. She pushed the doll back at the wizard, turning her face away.

"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.

"Well, let me think," the wizard said, rubbing his chin. "Where do you sleep?"

"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.

"Wayward pines don't have locks on them, you know. I can go potty whenever I have to. It's pretty
cold sometimes, but I got a pile of straw, and I climb under it to keep warm. I have to come back in
the morning, before she sends the guards to look for me, so they won't find my secret place. I don't
want them to find it. They would tell the Princess and she wouldn't send me out anymore."

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?"

Rachel nodded. "I go through them to go to my secret place, when I'm put out at night. The
Princess makes me go through the outer wall at the garden gate. She doesn't want me to go out the
front, past the shops and people. She's afraid someone might take me in for the night. She told me 1
mustn't go to the town or the farmland. I must go to the woods, as punishment."

"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.

"And I will also leave you a magic fire stick. Just build a little stack of sticks, not too big now, with
stones around it, and then hold the magic fire stick to it and say `Light for me,' and it will burn, so
you can keep warm."

Rachel threw her arms around him, hugging and hugging him as he patted her back. "Thank you,
wizard Giller."

"You may call me Giller when we are alone, child, just Giller, that is what all my good friends call
me."

"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."

The wizard laughed a deep laugh as his eyes sparkled. He mussed her hair with his big hand. Giller
helped her with the heavy door and locked it for her, then handed the key back to her.

"I so hope we can talk again sometime," she said, looking up at him.

He smiled at her. "We will, Rachel, we will. I'm sure of it."

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.

None of the guards or servants gave her a second look, even though she was running. They knew
she was Princess Violet's playmate, and had seen her running through the castle many times before
on errands for the Princess.

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.

She tugged on the sleeve of one of the two head cooks, trying to tell him she had a message from
the Princess, but he was arguing with another cook and told her to go sit and wait until they were
finished. She sat down nearby, on a little stool by the ovens, her back pressed against the hot brick.
The kitchen smelled so good, and she was so hungry. But she knew she would get in trouble if she
asked for food.

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.

"What're we going to do now?" the short one asked. "We don't have any more of the ingredients
Father Rahl sent." "Wait a minute," the tall one said, holding his hand to his forehead. "Let me
think."

He put both hands to his face, squishing it together. Then he put both arms in the air.

"All right. All right. I've got an idea. Get me another crock, and just keep your mouth shut. Maybe
we can keep our heads. Get me some other ingredients."

"What ingredients!" the short one yelled, red-faced.

The tall cook leaned over him. "Brown ingredients!"

Rachel watched while they ran around snatching up things, pouring in bottles of liquid, adding
ingredients, stirring, tasting. At last they both smiled.

"All right, all right, it'll work. I think. Just let me do the talking," the tall one said.

Rachel stepped tiptoed across the wet floor and tugged on his sleeve again.

"You! You still here? What do you want?" he snapped.

"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."

He looked down at her a minute, then turned to the short cook, shaking his finger. "I told you! I told
you! This time, slice hers from the center, and don't mix up the plates or we'll both end up losing
our heads!" He looked back down at her. "And you didn't see any of this," he said, stirring his
finger in the air over the crock.

"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."

"Wait a minute," he called after her. "Rachel, isn't it?"

She turned and nodded.

"Come back here."

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.

"Sorry I yelled at you, Rachel. You sit on that stool over there and eat this, and then let us be sure
you're cleaned up, so no one will be the wiser. All right?"

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.

When she was finished, the short cook came and wiped her hands and arms and face with a towel,
then he gave her a slice of lemon pie, placing it right in her hands the way the tall cook had done
with the meat. He said he baked it himself and he wanted to know if it was good. She told him,
quite truthfully, that it was just about the bestest thing she had ever had. He grinned.

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.

Later, as she sat in the big dining room on her little chair behind the Princess, it was the first time,
ever, that she hadn't been so hungry that her stomach made noises while the important people ate.
The head table, where they sat, was three steps higher than all the other tables, so if she sat up
straight she could see the whole room even from her little chair. Servers were dashing all about,
bringing in food, taking out dishes with food still left on them, pouring wine, and exchanging halffull trays on the tables with full ones from the kitchen.

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.

Mostly Rachel was ignored at the banquets. The Princess only turned to look at her once in a while;
she was just there because she was Princess Violet's playmate, for looks, she guessed. The Queen
had people standing or sitting behind her when she ate, too. The Queen said Rachel was for the
Princess to practice on, to practice leadership.

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."

Princess Violet looked back over her shoulder, gravy dripping from her chin. "It's good enough to
keep them from getting whipped. And you're right, they shouldn't be so mean to me. It's about time
they learned."

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.

Rachel didn't like the little dog. It barked a lot, and sometimes when the Queen set it on the floor, it
would run over to her and bite her legs with its tiny sharp teeth, and she didn't dare to say anything.
When the dog bit her, the Queen always told it to be careful, not to hurt itself. She always used a
funny, high, sweet voice when she talked to the dog.

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.

He ignored her through the whole dinner, never once looking her way. Rachel figured he didn't
want to draw attention to her, and make the Princess mad. That was a good idea. Princess Violet
would be cross if she knew Giller had said he thought Rachel's name was pretty. The Queen's long
hair hung down behind her fancy carved chair, shaking in waves when her important people talked
to her and she nodded her head.

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.

The Queen stood, holding her goblet in the air, and the little dog in her other arm. "Lords and
ladies, I present you with the drink of enlightenment, that we may see the truth. This is a very
precious commodity; few are offered the opportunity of enlightenment. I have availed myself of it
many times, of course, that I might see the truth, the way of Father Rahl, in order to lead my people
to the common good. Drink up."

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.

The tall cook came out, smiling. The Queen motioned to him with her finger hooked, to lean closer.
There was sweat on his forehead. Rachel guessed it was because the kitchen was so hot. She was
sitting behind the Princess, who sat at the left arm of the Queen, so she could hear them talking.

"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.

"Ali, well, Your Majesty, you see, in truth, uh, well, it's not, you see. Not the same, that is." Her
eyebrows lifted and he talked faster. "You see, uh, in truth, well, I knew this was a very important
dinner. Yes, I knew, you see, that you wouldn't want anything to go wrong. You see. Wouldn't want
anyone to fail to be enlightened, to fail to see your brilliance, about all this, uh, business, so, you
see, well," he leaned a little closer and lowered his voice to speak confidentially, "so I took the
liberty of making the drink of enlightenment stronger. Much stronger, actually, you see. So no one
would fail to see the rightness of what you say. I assure you, Your Majesty, it is so strong, no one
will fail to be enlightened." He leaned even closer, lowered his voice even more. "In fact, Your
Majesty, it is so strong that anyone who fails to be enlightened, and opposes you after drinking it,
well, they could only be a traitor."

"Really," the Queen whispered in' surprise. "Well, I thought it was stronger."

"Very perceptive, Your Majesty, very perceptive. You have a very refined palate. I knew I wouldn't
be able to fool you."

"Indeed. But are you sure it isn't too powerful? I can feel the enlightenment sweeping through me
already."

"Your Majesty," his eyes shifted among the guests. "Where your mandate is concerned, I feared to
make it any weaker." His eyebrows lifted up. "Lest any traitor go unfound."

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."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

He bowed a bunch of times and left. Rachel was glad he didn't get in trouble.

"Lords and ladies, a special treat. Tonight, I had the cook prepare the drink of enlightenment extra
strong, so none loyal to their queen could fail to see the wisdom of Father Rahl's ways."

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.

"A special treat, lords and ladies, for your entertainment." She snapped her fingers. "Bring in the
fool."

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.

"We here have all agreed that an alliance with our ally, Darken Rahl, will bring great benefits to all
our people, that we all will profit, together. That the little people, the workers, the farmers, will
benefit the most. That they will be freed from the oppression of those who would only exploit them
for profit, for gold, for greed. That from now on, we all will be working for the common good, not
individual goals." The Queen frowned. "Please tell all these ignorant lords and ladies"-she swept
her hand around the room-"how it is that you are smarter than they, and why you should be allowed
to work only for yourself, instead of your fellow man."

The man had an angry look on his face. Rachel wished he would change it, before he got in trouble.

"The common good," he said, sweeping his hand around the room like the Queen had done, except
his hands had chains on them. "This is what you call the common good? All you fine people look to
be enjoying the good food, the warm fire. My children go hungry tonight because most of our crops
have been taken, for the common good, for those who have decided not to bother to work, but to eat
the fruit of my labor instead."

The people laughed.

"And you would deny them food, simply because you are fortunate that your crops grew better?"
the Queen asked. "You are a selfish man."

"Their crops would grow better if they would plant seeds in the ground first."

"And so you have so little care for your fellow man, that you therefore would condemn them to
starve?"

"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."

Rachel wished the man would keep still. He was going to get his head chopped off. The people and
the Queen thought he was funny, though.

"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."

Everyone laughed. Rachel didn't laugh. She knew what it was like to be 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."

Everyone laughed with the Queen.

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.

Everyone cheered and clapped for a long time. The Queen sat back, smiling at last.

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."

The Queen jumped to her feet. "Of course not!" she shouted. "Because of greedy people like you!"
She took some deep breaths, until her face wasn't quite so red, then turned to the Princess. "Violet
dear, you must learn matters of state sooner or later. You must learn how to serve the public good
for all our people. Therefore, I will put this matter in your hands, so you may gain experience.
What would you do with this traitor to our people? You choose, dear, and it will be done."

Princess Violet stood. Smiling, she looked around at the people.

"I say," she said, as she leaned forward a little, across the table, to look at the big man in chains, "I
say, off with his head!"

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.

After the assembled crowd talked for a while longer, they all decided to go watch the man get his
head chopped off. When the Queen left and Princess Violet turned to her and said it was time to go
watch, Rachel stood up in front of her with fists at her side

"You're really mean. You're really mean to say to chop off that man's head."

The Princess put her hands on her hips. "Is that so? Well you can just spend the night outside
tonight!"

"But Princess Violet, it's so cold out tonight!"

"Well, while you're freezing you can just think about how you dared speak to me in that tone! And
so you remember the next time, you are to stay out all day tomorrow, and tomorrow night, too!"
Her face looked mean, like the Queen's did sometimes. "That should teach you some respect."

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.

"Go on. Right now, with no supper." She stomped her foot.

Rachel looked at the ground, to pretend she was sad. "Yes, Princess Violet," she said, as she
curtsied.

She walked with her head down, through the archway and down the big hall with all the rugs hung
on the high walls. She liked to look at the pictures on the rugs, but she kept her head down this
time, in case the Princess was watching; she didn't want to look happy about being put out. Guards,
wearing shiny armor breastplates and swords and holding pikes, opened the great, tall, iron doors
for her without saying anything. They never said anything to her when they let her out, or when
they let her back in. They knew she was the Princess's playmate: a nobody.

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.

Rachel slowed on the main garden path, waiting until the guards' backs were turned. The trouble
doll was right where Giller had said it would be. She put the fire stick in her pocket, then hugged
the doll to her as tight as she could before hiding it behind her back. She whispered to it, a warning
to be still. She couldn't wait to get to her wayward pine so she could tell the doll how mean
Princess Violet was to have that man's head chopped off. She looked around in the darkness.

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.

In a high tower, dark eyes watched her go. Watched her pass through the heavy guard without
raising the slightest suspicion, or interest, like a breath through fangs, through the outer wall garden
gate that had kept determined armies out, and traitors in, watched her cross the bridge where
hundreds of foes had died in battle, yet failed to gain, watched her rim across the fields, barefoot,
unarmed, innocent, and into the forest. To her secret place.

-+---
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.

From this high wall on the mountainside, the city looked peaceful enough. But he had already
slipped through the darkened streets and seen the troops everywhere. Troops that were there at the
cost of many lives, on both sides.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

Darken Rahl had to have been here. Zedd pounded his fist to the stone. It had to be Darken Rahl
who had taken 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

"Nothing is ever easy," the wizard whispered

CHAPTER 3

0
"KAHLAN," RICHARD ASKED, "REMEMBER, when we were back with the Mud People, and
that man said Rahl had come, riding a red demon? Do you know what he was talking about?"

They had traveled three days across the plains, with Savidlin and his hunters, then had bid him
goodbye with a promise to his sad eyes to do whatever they could to find Siddin, and they had
spent the past week climbing up into the high country, into the Rang' Shada, the vast spine of rock
that Kahlan had said ran northeast across the back of the Midlands, and cradled in its mountains the
remote place known as Agaden Reach. A place she said was surrounded by jagged peaks, like a
wreath of thorns, meant to keep all away.

"You don't know?" She looked a little surprised.

When he shook his head, she slumped down on a hump of rock to take a break. Richard slipped his
pack off with a tired groan and flopped on the ground, leaning against a short rock, putting his arms
back on it to stretch them into a different position. She looked different to him, now that the black
and white mud had been washed off her face. He had gotten used to it over those three days.

"So what was it?" he asked again.

"A dragon."

"A dragon! There are dragons in the Midlands? I didn't think there really were such things!"

"Well, there are." She frowned over at him. "I thought you knew." He gave a single shake of his
head. "I guess. you wouldn't, since Westland has no magic. Dragons have magic. I believe that's
how they fly, with the aid of magic."

"I thought dragons were just legends, old tales." He flicked a pebble between his thumb and second
finger, watching it bounce off a boulder.

"Old tales of things remembered, maybe. Anyway, they are real enough." With her thumbs, she
lifted her hair away from the back of her neck, to cool it, and closed her eyes. "There are different
kinds. Gray, green, red, and a few others, less common. The gray ones are the smallest, rather shy.
The green are a lot bigger. The smartest and the biggest are the red ones. Some peoples of the
Midlands keep the gray ones as pets, and for hunting. No one keeps green ones; they're rather
dumb, have bad tempers and can be quite dangerous." Her eyelids slid open and she tilted her head
to look up from under her arched eyebrows. "The red ones are something altogether different; they
will fry you and eat you in a blink. And, they are smart."

"They eat people!" Richard pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and gave a groan.

"Only if they are hungry enough, or angry enough. We wouldn't make much of a meal for them."
When he took his hands away and opened his eyes, her green eyes were looking at him. "The thing
I don't understand is what Rahl was doing on one."

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."

She shook her head slowly. "No, I mean I don't understand why a red dragon would submit to it.
They are fiercely independent, take no sides in human affairs, in fact, couldn't care less. They
would rather die than be subjugated. And they would make a good fight of it, believe me. As I said,
they have magic, and could deal even the one from D'Hara quite a match, for a time anyway. Even
if he threatened them with death from some of his own magic, they wouldn't care; they would
rather die than be ruled.

"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."

She watched him a moment, then straightened and picked at the lichen on a rock.

"Are these dragons a threat to us?" He felt stupid asking if a dragon was dangerous.

"Not likely. I have only seen red ones up close a few times. Once, I was walking on a road, and one
swooped down, close, in the field right next to me, and grabbed two cows. Carried them off, one in
each claw. If we came upon one, a red one, and it was in a foul temper, I suppose it could be big
trouble, but that is not very likely."

"We have already come upon a red one," he reminded her in a quiet voice, "and it was big trouble."

She didn't answer. By her expression, the memory obviously pained her as much as it did him.

"Well, there you two are!" a stranger's voice called out.

They both jumped. Richard sprang to his feet with his hand on the sword; Kahlan was in a half
crouch ready for anything.

"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."

His large round belly jiggled under his dark brown robes as he laughed. White hair was parted
neatly down the middle, and long curly eyebrows and drooping lids shaded his brown eyes. His
jolly round face wrinkled with a wide smile as he waited. Kahlan cautiously eased herself back
down. Richard lowered himself partway, to sit lightly on the rock he had been leaning against. He
kept his hand on his sword.

"What do you mean you have been looking for us?" Richard asked in a not entirely friendly tone.

"My old friend, the wizard, sent me looking for you . . . ."

Richard jumped back to his feet. "Zedd! Zedd sent you?"

Old John held his stomach as he laughed. "How many old wizards do you know, my boy? Of
course old Zedd." He gripped his beard, pulling it a little as he peered at them with one eye. "He
had important business to attend to, but he needs you, needs you with him, now. So he came and
asked me if I'd go get you. Had nothing better to do, so I told him I'd do it. He. told me where I'd
find you. Looks like he was right, as usual."

Richard smiled at that. "Well, how is he? Where is he, what's he want us for?"

Old John pulled a little harder on his beard, nodding and smiling. "He told me. Told me you asked
a lot of questions. He's just fine. Thing is, I don't know why he wants you. When old Zedd's in a
fret, you don't ask questions, you just do as he asks. So I did. And here I am."

"Where is he? How far?" Richard was excited about seeing Zedd again.

Old John scratched his chin and leaned forward a little. "Depends. How long you plan on standing
there wagging your tongue?"

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.

He was excited about seeing Zedd again. He hadn't realized how tense he had been, deep down
inside, with worry about his old friend. He knew Adie would have taken good care of him, but she
had made no promise that he would be all right. He hoped this meant Chase was well, too. He felt
overwhelmed with cheer about seeing Zedd again. He had so much to tell him, to ask him. His
mind raced.

"So he's all right then?" Richard called ahead to Old John.

430

"He's recovered? He didn't lose any weight, did he? Zedd can't afford to lose any weight."

"No," Old John laughed without turning as he walked, "he looks the same as always."

"Well, I hope he didn't eat you out of your larder."

"Not to worry, my boy. How much could one skinny old wizard eat?"

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.

After a couple of hours during which they hurried to keep pace with Old John, the woods became
thicker, darker, the trees bigger and closer together. The trail was rocky, hard to walk over,
especially at this pace. Calls of strange birds echoed from the murk. The three came to a fork in the
trail. Old John took to the right without a pause and kept going. Kahlan followed him. Richard
stopped, uncertain about something, but he couldn't quite seem to squeeze it out of the back of his
mind. Every time he tried, he found himself thinking again of Zedd. Kahlan heard him stop, and
turned, then walked back.

"Which way to the witch woman?" he asked her.

"Left," Kahlan answered, a note of relief in her voice because the old man had gone right. She
hooked a thumb under the front of her pack's shoulder strap and pointed with her chin to several
stark spines of rock he could just see through the upper branches of the trees. "Those are some of
the peaks that surround Agaden Reach." The snow-covered caps shone brightly in the high thin air.
He had never seen such inhospitable-looking mountains. Ring of thorns indeed.

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.

"You two coming?"

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.

"Do you think Zedd could wait?"

Old John shrugged, then pulled on his beard. "Don't know

But he. wouldn't have sent me if it wasn't important. It's up to you, my boy. But Zedd is this way."

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.

He frowned up at the old man. "How far?"

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.

Kahlan said nothing, but he knew what she was thinking. She would rather not go anywhere near
Shota, and even if they went to Zedd first, it wasn't that far, they could always come back if they
had to. And maybe Zedd knew where the box was, maybe he even had the last box, and they
wouldn't have to go into Agaden Reach. It made more sense to go after Zedd. That was what she
would say.

"You're right," he said to her.

She looked confused. "I said nothing."

Richard gave her a big grin. "I could hear you thinking. You're right. We'll go with Old John."

"I didn't know my thoughts were that loud," she muttered.

"If we don't stop at all," he called up to Old John, "we could be there before morning."

"I'm an old man," he complained, then sighed loudly. "But I know how anxious you are. And I
know how badly he needs you." He wagged his finger at Richard. "I should have listened when
Zedd warned me about you."

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

-+---
"Mostly, I miss my brother," she said to her doll. She looked away. "They said he died," she
confided softly.

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.

Rachel put another small stick in the fire. It felt so good to be able to get warm, and have light. But
she kept the fire small, just like Giller had told her. The fire kept her from being so afraid in the
woods, especially at night. It would be night again soon. Sometimes there were noises in the woods
at night that made her scared, made her cry. But being out here in the lonely woods was still better
than being locked in the box.

"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?"

The doll just smiled. Rachel smiled back.

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.

Rachel put her hands toward the fire to warm them for a minute, then stuck one in her pocket. She
was hungry. A few berries were all she had been able to find to eat. She held a big one out, offering
it to her doll. The doll didn't seem hungry, so she ate it herself, then a handful more, until they were
gone. She was still hungry, but she didn't want to look for more. The place where they grew wasn't
close, and it was getting dark. She didn't want to be out in the woods when it was dark. She wanted
to be in her wayward pine with her doll. By the warm fire; by the light.

"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."

The doll smiled. "I love you, Rachel."

She picked up the doll and gave it a long hug, then kissed it on its head.

"But if we run away, Princess Violet would send the guards to find me, and then she would throw
you in the fire. I don't want her to throw you in the fire. I love you."

"I love you, Rachel."

Rachel hugged her doll tight, and crawled into the hay, with the doll next to her. Tomorrow she had
to go back, and the Princess would be mean to her some more. She had to leave her doll when she
went back, she knew, or it would get thrown in the fire.

"You're the bestest friend I ever had. You and Giller."

"I love you, Rachel."

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?

"Do you know what I should do?" she asked the doll as she looked up at the firelight flickering on
the dark branches inside the tree.

"Help Giller," the doll said

She rolled over on one elbow and looked at the doll. "Help Giller?"

The doll nodded. "Help Giller."

-+---
Rays from the setting sun ahead reflected off the layer of leaves, making the path bright and shiny
between the dark mass of woods to each side. Richard could hear Kahlan's boots scuffing across
rocks hidden under the colorful mat. A light scent of rot was in the air: fallen leaves beginning to
decompose in the low damp places and the thick piles in the laps of rocks, where the wind had
collected them.

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.

At last, he allowed that caution to blossom in his mind. How could an old man be out walking him
like this, yet look fresh and relaxed? Richard felt his forehead, wondering if he was sick, or had a
fever. He did feel hot. Maybe he wasn't well; maybe there was something wrong with him. They
had been pushing hard for days, but not this hard. No, he felt fine, simply winded.

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 caught a brief glimpse of something off to the left, in the woods, keeping pace. Just a small
animal, he thought. But it looked like something with long arms, skittering along the ground; then it
was gone. His mouth felt dry. It must just be his imagination, he told himself.

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.

Richard's eye was caught by the strands of a spiderweb, glistening golden in the setting sun,
stretched across the path in front of Kahlan. The web parted against her upper leg when she walked
through it.

The sweat on his face instantly turned ice cold against his skin.

How could Old John not have broken the web?

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.

Breathing faster, he glanced down at the footprints Kahlan made through an open patch of soft
ground. There were none from Old John.

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.

Old John stopped and half turned at the sound of the sword's ringing.

"What is it, my boy? See something?" His voice came like the hiss of a snake.

"Indeed." Richard gripped the sword in both hands, his legs set in a defensive stance, his chest
heaving. He felt the anger flooding his fear. "How is it that you don't break spiderwebs when you
walk through them, or leave footprints?"

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?"

"Maybe," Richard said, his eyes darting left and right, checking. "But tell me, Old John, what is
your old friend's name?"

"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.

"I'm the one who foolishly told you his name was Zedd. Now, you tell me your old friend's last
name." Old John watched him with a dark frown, his eyes moving slowly, appraising, measuring.
Eyes of an animal.

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.

An impossible nightmare came to life: fur and claws and fangs, where an old man had been an
instant before.

A creature of snarl and snap.

Richard gasped as he looked up at the gaping maw of the beast. It roared and abruptly took a giant
step forward. Richard took three back. He gripped the sword so hard it hurt. The woods echoed
with the earsplitting cry of the thing, deep, savage, vicious. The mouth stretched wide with each
roar. It leaned over him, deep-set red eyes glowing, snapping its huge teeth. Richard urgently
backed up, retreating behind the sword. He took a quick glance, but didn't see Kahlan behind him.

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.

Sharp, wet teeth reached over the sword, snapping viciously at his face. He drove the sword up, but
the beast stayed clear. Furious red eyes glared at the sword. It backed away and looked toward the
woods to its right. Its ears lay back as it snarled at something.

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.

Richard lay on his back, panting, watching the woods with wide eyes, expecting the beast to
reappear. He called out Kahlan's name. She didn't answer.

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.

"My sword," it snarled. "Gimme. Gimme my sword."

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.

Richard knew he was losing. The wiry little creature, despite its size, was stronger than he was. He
had to do something or he would soon lose the sword.

"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.

The next time they rolled across the ground, Richard desperately reached to his belt and pulled his
knife. In a rush he had it to the folds of the thing's neck.

"Please!" it howled. "No kill! No kill!"

"Then let go of the sword! Now!"

The thing slowly, reluctantly, released its grip. Richard was on his back, the putrid-smelling
creature on his chest. It went limp against him.

"Please, no kill me," it repeated in a whimper.

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.

The anger from the sword, which had somehow seemed confused and lost, at last charged into him.

"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?"

"That big thing that almost had me before you did!"

"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."

"I don't believe you! You were with it."

"No," it winced. "1-only followed. Till it kills you."

"Why"

Bulging eyes went to the sword. "My sword. Gimme. Please?" "No!"

Richard looked around for Kahlan. Her pack lay on the ground a short distance behind him, but he
didn't see her. Suddenly Richard was cold with worry. His eyes swept the area in quick jerks. He
knew the Calthrop didn't have her; it had gone into the woods alone. He continued to hold the point
of the sword against the creature on the ground while he yelled out her name, hoping she would
return his desperate calls. No answer.

"Mistress has the pretty lady."

Richard's face snapped back to the yellow eyes. "What're you talking about?"

"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.

"To steal the sword," Richard glared.

"Not steal! Mine! Gimme!" Its hands started to go for it again until Richard pushed the sword a
little, making the creature freeze.

"Who's your mistress!"

"Mistress!" it shook, pleading for rescue. "Mistress is Shota."

Richard's head twitched back a little. "Your mistress is the witch woman, Shota?"

The creature nodded vigorously.

His hand tightened on the hilt. "Why did she take the pretty lady'?"

"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!"

It flipped over, trembling. Richard leaned his boot into the small of its back, below the sharp, raised
projections of its spine. He reached in his pack, pulling out a length of rope. He ran a loop with a
slip knot around its neck.

"Do you have a name?"

"Companion. I am Mistress's companion. Samuel."

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?"

Samuel nodded quickly, then, giving a sidelong glance at the rope, nodded slowly. "Agaden Reach.
Companion take you there. No kill me?"

"If you take me there, to your mistress, and if the pretty lady is all right, I won't kill you."

Richard put tension to the rope to let Samuel know who was in charge, then put away the sword.

"Here, you carry the pretty lady's pack."

Samuel snatched the pack out of Richard's hands. "Mine! Gimme!" Big hands started rummaging
through it.

Richard gave a sharp tug on the rope. "That doesn't belong to you. Keep your hands out of it!"

Bulging yellow eyes filled with hate looked up at him. "When Mistress kills you, then Samuel eats
you."

"If I don't eat you first," Richard sneered. "I'm pretty hungry. Maybe I'll have a little Samuel stew
along the way?"

The look of hate changed to a look of wide, yellow-eyed terror. "Please! No kill me! Samuel take
you to Mistress, to pretty lady. Promise." He put the pack to his shoulder and took a few steps, until
he ran out of slack. "Follow Samuel. Hurry," he said, wanting to prove his worth alive. "No cook
Samuel, please," he muttered over and over as they went back down the trail.

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

Long arms nearly reached the ground as Samuel walked along in an odd waddle, muttering over
and over that he didn't want to be cooked. Short, dark pants held up with straps were all he wore.
His feet were as disproportionately large as his hands and arms. His belly was round and full, with
what, Richard could only wonder. There was no hair on him anywhere, and his skin looked as if it
hadn't been in the sunlight in years. From time to time, Samuel would snatch up a stick, or a rock,
and say "Mine! Gimme!" to no one in particular, only to soon lose interest and drop his latest find.

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.

People believe things because they want to, he had told Kahlan, and so had he, and now the witch
woman had her. The very thing she had been so afraid of, and because he had been so stupid, had
let his guard down. It seemed that every time he let his guard down, she was the one who paid the
price. If the witch woman harmed Kahlan, she would find out what the wrath of a Seeker was all
about, he vowed to himself.

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.

When they reached the fork they had passed before, Samuel took them immediately down the left
path. It was getting dark, but the companion didn't slow. The trail started climbing up steep switch-
backs, and soon they were out of the trees, onto an open trail across the rock, climbing steadily
toward the jagged, snow-covered peaks.

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.

Skirting the bottom of the snowcaps, the path led over the bottom fringes of the snow, which was
wet, heavy, and hard to walk through. Without Samuel leading the way, knowing where this pass
was, Richard realized it would take days to make it over these peaks. The cold wind whipped
through the gaps in the rock, pulling away long thin clouds of their breath in the frigid air. Samuel
was shivering. Richard put on his cloak, then pulled Kahlan's out of the pack Samuel was carrying.

"This belongs to the pretty lady. You may wear it, for now, to keep warm."

Samuel snatched the cloak out of his hands. "Mine! Gimme!"

"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.

"Please! Samuel cold," he whined. "Please? Wear the pretty lady's cloak?"

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.

The big hands reached out. "Mine! Gimme!" Richard pulled the bread back, out of reach. Pleading
yellow eyes looked up at him in the moonlight. "Please?" Richard carefully put the bread into his
eager hands.

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.

"Samuel, why does Shota keep you around?"

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?"

Samuel made a gurgling sound that Richard took for laughter. "Mistress not afraid of Seeker."

-+---
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."

The heat was oppressive in the wood. Richard took off his cloak and put it in his pack, then stuffed
Kahlan's back in hers. Samuel watched without protest. He seemed happy, confident, to be back in
the Reach. Richard pretended he could see where they were going, not wanting to give the
companion any idea that he was almost blind in the thick darkness. Richard let himself be guided
along by the rope, like a blind man. Samuel loped along as if it were bright as midday. Whenever
he turned his hairless head back to Richard, his yellow eyes shone like twin lanterns.

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.

"How much farther?"

"Close." Samuel grinned.

Richard took up the slack on the rope. "Just remember, if anything goes wrong, you die first."

The grin faded from the bloodless lips.

Here and there in the mud Richard could see the same pair of footprints that he had seen in the
snow. Kahlan was still walking. Dark forms followed, keeping to the shadows, the thick brush,
sometimes letting out whoops and howls. Richard wondered, and worried, if they were more things
like Samuel. Or worse. Some followed in the treetops, just beyond sight. Despite his best efforts to
halt it, a shiver went up his spine.

Samuel skirted off the, path, around the twisted roots of a squat, fat-trunked tree.

"What're you doing?" Richard asked, pulling the companion to a halt.

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.

As the sun climbed higher, the woods of Agaden Reach seemed to become even darker. Dead
branches twisted together overhead, and mist occasionally drifted across their way. At times
Richard couldn't even see Samuel on the other end of the wet rope. But always he could hear
things: scratching, clawing, whistling, things clicking at them from just out of sight. Sometimes the
mist twirled and spun at the passing of creatures darting by, near but unseen.

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.

From ahead, through the tangles mass of trees, came light, sunlight, and the sound of rushing water.
The farther they went, the brighter it became. Soon they reached the edge of the dark wood. The
trail simply ended. Samuel gurgled with glee.

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.

Samuel pointed down into the valley. "Mistress."

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.

In the center of it all, set among a carpet of grand trees, was a beautiful palace of breathtaking grace
and splendor. Delicate spires stretched into the air, wispy bridges spanned the high gaps between
towers, stairs spiraled around turrets. Colorful flags and streamers atop every point snapped lightly
and flew lazily in the wind. The magnificent palace seemed to be reaching joyously to the sky.

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.

The two of them started off again, down the valley's edge. In places, there were steps, thousands of
them, cut from the stone of the wall, twisting, tunneling and turning downward, sometimes
spiraling back on themselves, going underneath the ones above. Samuel sprang down them as if he
had done it a thousand times before. He was obviously thrilled to be home again, near the
protection of his mistress.

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

AS they crossed the valley floor, following a clear stream for a time, moving ever closer to the
palace, the trees became a little thicker, closer together, each a magnificent specimen, shading road
or field from the bright sun. The road took them gently uphill. At the top of a rise, the trees seemed
as if they were gathered, sheltering, surrounding a place before them. Richard could see the spires
of the palace off through the branches ahead.

They entered a shady, still, enveloping cathedral of trees.

Richard could hear the gentle sound of water running through mossy rock. Hazy streamers of
sunlight penetrated the quiet, muted area. There was the sweet smell of grass and leaves.

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.

"Mistress," Samuel said, glassy-eyed. He pointed again, off to the side of the road, closer to them.
"Pretty lady."

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.

"Seeker promises," he said in a low growl.

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.

Richard swallowed hard as he walked to Kahlan, a tight knot in his stomach. With a jolt, he saw at
last what it was that was moving on her.

Snakes.

Kahlan was covered by a writhing mass of snakes. The ones he recognized were all poisonous. Big,
fat ones were wrapped around her legs, one coiled tightly around her waist, constricting; others
were wrapped around her arms, which hung at her sides

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.

"Be still," he said in a quiet voice. "I'll get them off."

"No!" she whispered back. Her eyes, wide with panic, met his. "If you touch them, or if I move,
they will bite me."

"It's all right," he tried to reassure her, "I'll get you out of this."

"Richard," she said in a pleading whisper, "I'm dead. Leave me. Get out of here. Run."

He felt as if an invisible hand were constricting his throat. In her eyes, he could see how she was
struggling to control her panic. He tried to look as calm as he could, to hearten her. "I'm not leaving
you," he breathed.

"Please, Richard," she whispered hoarsely, "for me, before it's too late. Run."

A thin, poisonous banded viper, its tail coiled in her hair, dropped its head down in front of her
face. The red tongue flicked at her. Kahlan closed her eyes, and another tear ran down her cheek.
The snake wriggled around the side of her face, down over her collarbone. The banded body
disappeared into her shirt. She gave out the slightest whimper.

"I'm going to die. You can't save me now. Please, Richard, save yourself. Please. Run. Run while
you still have a chance."

Richard was afraid she would move deliberately, to be bitten, to try to save him, thinking he then
would have no reason to stay. He had to convince her that that would do no good. He gave her a
sober look.

"No. I came here to find out where the box is. I'm not leaving until I know. Now be still."

She opened her eyes wide at what the snake was doing in her shirt. She bit her bottom lip; her
eyebrows wrinkled together. Richard swallowed back dryness in his mouth.

"Kahlan, just hold on. Try to think of something else."

In a rage, he strode over to the woman sitting on the rock with her back still to him. Something
inside warned him not to pull the sword, but he could not, would not, hold back his anger at what
she was doing to Kahlan. He breathed through gritted teeth.

When he reached her, she stood and gently turned to him, speaking his name in a voice he
recognized.

His heart leapt into his throat when he saw the 'face that matched the voice

CHAPTER 3

1
IT WAS HIS MOTHER.

Richard felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. His whole body went rigid. His rage flinched,
and the anger dropped its grip from him, recoiling at the idea of lethal intent and his mother in the
same mental image.

"Richard." She smiled sadly at him, showing in that smile how much she loved and missed him.

His mind raced, trying to grasp what was happening, unable to fit what he was seeing with what he
knew. This couldn't be. It was simply impossible.

"Mother?" he breathed in a whisper.

Arms. he knew, remembered, slipped around him, comforted him, brought tears to his eyes, a lump
to his throat.

"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."

Reeling, he fought to regain control of his emotions. He struggled to focus his mind an Kahlan. He
couldn't let her down again, let himself be fooled again. She was in this trouble be- cause he had
allowed himself to be fooled. This wasn't his mother, it was Shota, a witch woman. But what if he
was somehow wrong?

"Richard, why have you come to me?"

Richard put his hands on her small shoulders, gently pushing her back a little. Her hands slipped to
his waist, squeezing with familiar affection. She was not his mother, he forced himself to say in his
mind, she was a witch woman, a witch woman who knew where the last box of Orden was, and he
had to know the answer to that. But why would she be doing this? And what if he was wrong?
Could this somehow be true?

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.

Even the whipping his father had given him didn't hurt as much as the thought of what he had done
to his mother. His father had sent him to bed without supper, and that night, when it was dark, she
had come to sit on the side of his bed, run her fingers through his hair as he cried. He had sat up
and asked her if it hurt a lot. She had smiled at him and said . . .

"Not as much as it hurts you," the woman in front of him whispered.

Richard's eyes went wide; bumps ran up his arms. "How do you . . .

"Richard," came an even, cautioning voice from behind him, jolting him again. "Stand away from
her." It was Zedd's voice.

His mother's hand cupped the side of his face. He ignored it and turned his head, looking back up
the road, to the top of the rise. It was Zedd, or at least he thought it was Zedd. It looked just like
Zedd, but then, this looked just like his mother. Zedd was standing there, with a look he recognized,
a look of cold danger, warning.

"Richard," came Zedd's voice again. "Do as I say. Stand away from her. Now."

"Please, Richard," his mother breathed, "don't leave me. Don't you know me?" Richard turned to
her soft face. "Yes. You are Shota."

He took her wrists, pulled her hands from his waist, and stepped back from her. Near tears, she
watched him move away.

Suddenly, she spun toward the wizard. Her hands snapped up. With an earsplitting crack, blue
lightning erupted from her fingers, streaking toward Zedd, The wizard's hands instantly brought up
a shield, like glass, reflecting light in its gloss. The lightning from Shota hit it with a thunderous
peal and glanced off, striking a huge oak, snapping its trunk in a shower of splinters. The tree
crashed to earth. The ground shuddered.

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.

"No!" Richard screamed.

The ball of liquid flame harshly illuminated the shady area with intense blue and yellow light.

He couldn't let this happen! Shota was the only way to find the box! The only way to stop Rahl!

The fire wailed as it expanded, heading right for Shota. She stood motionless.

"No!" Richard yanked the sword free and jumped in front of her. Gripping the hilt in one hand, the
point in the other, with arms locked, he held it up horizontally in front of himself, as a shield.

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.