Their eyes searched off into the deep woods as they ate. Even though it hadn't rained all day,
everything was still wet, and occasionally water dripped from the trees. The rock was slick with
slime in places, needing care to be crossed safely. Both watched the surrounding forest for any sign
of danger. They saw nothing.

The fact that they saw nothing began to worry Richard. There were no squirrels, no chipmunks, no
birds, no animals of any kind. It was too quiet. Daylight was slipping away. Soon they would be at
the Narrows. He worried about that, too. The idea of seeing the things from the boundary again was
frightening. The idea of seeing his father again was terrifying. His insides cringed at what Adie had
told them, that those in the boundary, would call to them. He remembered how seductive their calls
were. He had to be prepared to resist. He had to harden himself against it. Kahlan had almost been
pulled back into the underworld when they were in the wayward pine, the first night he knew her.
When they were with Zedd and Chase, something had tried to pull her in again. He was troubled
that the bone might not protect her when they were that close.

The trail leveled out and widened, allowing them to walk side by side again. He was tired from the
day's hike, and it would be another night and day before they could rest. Crossing the Narrows in
the dark and when they were exhausted sounded like a bad idea, but Adie had been insistent they
not stop. He could not question a person who knew the pass as well as she. He knew that the story
of the gripper would keep him wide awake

Kahlan looked around at the woods, turned to check behind. She stopped suddenly, grabbing his
arm. In the trail, not ten yards behind, stood a shadow.

Like the other, this one did not move. He could see through it, see the woods behind, as if it were
made of smoke. Kahlan kept a firm grip on his arm as both of them walked ahead in a sideways
fashion, watching the shadow thing. They rounded a turn in the trail and were away from it. They
walked on faster.

"Kahlan, do you remember when you told me of the shadow people that Panis Rahl sent forth?
Could those be shadow people?"

She gave him a worried look. "I don't know. I have never seen one; they were in the last war, before
I was born. But the stories were always told the same, that they floated along. I never heard anyone
say they stood still like that."

"Maybe it's because of the bones. Maybe they know we're here, but can't find us, so they stay still
to search."

She wrapped her cloak tighter, obviously afraid of his idea, but didn't say anything. In the gathering
night they walked along, close to each other, sharing the same troubling thoughts. Another shadow
stood at the side of the trail. Kahlan gripped his arm tight. They passed slowly, quietly, keeping
their eyes on it. It didn't move. Richard felt like panicking, but knew he couldn't; they had to stay
on the trail, had to use their heads. Maybe the shadows were trying to make them bolt, to run from
the trail, and cross over accidentally into the underworld. They looked around, behind, as they
went. When Kahlan was looking the other way, a branch brushed her face. She jumped against him
with a start. She looked over and apologized. Richard gave her a reassuring smile.

Pine needles held droplets from the rains and mist, and when a light breeze swayed the branches,
water from the trees above rained down. In the near darkness they had a hard time telling if there
were shadow things around them or if it was just the dark shapes of tree trunks. Twice, they had no
trouble telling; they were close to the trail and there was no doubt what they were. Still the shadows
did not follow or move, but stood as if watching, even though they had no eyes

"What are we going to do if they come for us?" Kahlan asked in a tense voice.

Her grip on his arm was becoming painful, so he pried her fingers off and put her hand in his. She
gave his hand a squeeze. "Sorry," she said with a self-conscious smile.

"If they come for us, the sword will stop them," he answered confidently.

"What makes you so sure?"

"It stopped the things in the boundary."

She seemed satisfied with the answer-he wished he were. The forest was dead quiet, except for a
soft rasp he couldn't quite figure out. There were none of the usual night sounds. Dark branches
swayed near them with the breeze, making his heart race.

"Richard," Kahlan said quietly, "don't let them touch you. If they are shadow people, their touch is
death. Even if they are not shadow people, we don't know what would happen. We must not let
them touch us."

He gave her hand a squeeze of reassurance.

Richard resisted the temptation to pull the sword. There might be too many for the sword, if the
sword's magic even worked against shadows. If there was no other choice he would use the sword,
but for now, his instincts told him not to.

The woods were getting darker. Tree trunks stood like black pillars in the murk. Richard felt as if
there were eyes everywhere, watching. The trail was beginning to traverse a hillside, and he could
see dark rocks rising up to their left. Runoff from the rains trickled through the rock. He could hear
it bubbling and dripping and splashing. The ground dropped away on the right. The next time they
looked back, there were three shadows, barely visible in the path behind. The two of them kept
moving. Richard heard the soft scraping sound again, off in the woods to either side. It wasn't a
sound he was familiar with. He could feel, more than see, that there were shadow things on each
side and behind them. A few were close enough to the trail that there was no doubt what they were.
The only way that was clear was ahead.

"Richard," Kahlan whispered, "do you think you should take out the night stone? I can hardly see
the path." She was gripping his hand tightly.

Richard hesitated. "I don't want to until we absolutely need it. I'm afraid of what might happen."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, those shadows haven't come for us yet. Maybe because they can't see us, because of the
bones." He paused a moment. "But what if they can see the light from the night stone?"

Kahlan bit her bottom lip in worry. They strained to pick out the trail as it twisted to go around
trees and boulders, over rocks and roots, cutting its way across the hillside. The soft scraping sound
was nearer, all around. It sounded like . . . It sounded like claws on rock, he thought.

Two shadows stood ahead, close, the trail between them. Kahlan pressed tight against him and held
her breath as they squeezed past. She buried her face against his shoulder when they were even
with the shadow things. Richard put his arm around her, holding her tight. He knew how she felt.
He was terrified, too. His heart pounded. It seemed they were going too far with each step, getting
in too deep. He looked behind, but in the darkness there was not enough light to see if the shadows
were standing on the trail.

Abruptly, an inky black shape loomed up before them. It was an enormous boulder, split down the
middle.

The Narrows.

They pressed their backs up against the boulder, at the split. It was too dark to see the trail
anymore, or if there were any shadow things close. They couldn't follow the trail through the
Narrows without the light of the night stone; it was far too dangerous. One wrong step in the
Narrows and they were dead. In the stillness the scraping sound was closer, and all around them.
Richard reached into his pocket and pulled out the leather pouch. He loosened the drawstring and
dumped the night stone into his palm.

Warm light flared into the night, lighting the woods around, casting eerie shadows. He held the
stone out, to see better.

Kahlan gasped.

In the warm yellowish illumination, they could see a wall of the shadow things, hundreds of them,
not an inch between any two. They formed a half circle less than twenty feet away. On the ground
were dozens and dozens of hump-shaped creatures, almost looking like rocks at first. But they
weren't rocks. Gray armor bands interlocked across their backs, jagged spikes poked out around the
bottom edge.

Grippers.

That was what the sound was, their claws on the rocks. The grippers were moving with an odd,
waddling gait, their humped bodies swaying from side to side as they struggled forward. Not fast,
but steady. Some were only a few feet away.

For the first time, the shadows began to move, floating, drifting, tightening their ring.

Kahlan stood frozen, her back against the boulder, her eyes wide. Richard reached across the split,
grabbed a fistful of her shirt and pulled her into the opening. The walls were wet and slick. The
tightness of the space made him feel as if his heart were coming up in his throat. He didn't like tight
places. They backed through, turning occasionally to check their way. He held the night stone out,
lighting the shadow things as they came. Grippers crawled into the split.

Richard could hear the sound of Kahlan's rapid breathing echoing in the confining, dank space.
They continued backing up, their shoulders sliding against the sides of the rock. Cold, slimy water
soaked their shirts. In one spot they had to duck down and turn sideways because the crack
narrowed, almost closing together, open just enough for them to pass down low. Forest debris
fallen into the split lay in the dampness, decomposing. The place smelled of sickening rot. They
continued moving sideways, and at last reached the other side. The shadows stopped when they
reached the opening in the rock. The grippers didn't.

Richard kicked one that got too close, sending it tumbling through the leaves and sticks on the floor
of the split. Landing on its back, it clawed at the air, snapping and hissing, twisting and rocking,
until it righted itself. When it did, the gripper rose up on its claw-tipped feet and let out a clicking
growl before coming on once again.

Both turned quickly to follow the path. Richard held the night stone out to light the Narrows trail

Kahlan drew a sharp breath.

The warm light illuminated the hillside where the Narrows path should have been. Spread out
before them as far as they could see was a mass of rubble. Rocks, tree limbs, splintered wood, and
mud, all tumbled together. A slide had recently plunged down the hillside.

The Narrows trail had been swept away.

They took a step beyond the rock to have a better look.

Green light of the boundary came on, surprising them. They stepped back as one.

"Richard ...

Kahlan clutched his arm. The grippers were at their heels. The shadows floated in the split

CHAPTER 1

9
TORCHES SET IN ORNATE gold brackets lit the walls of the crypt with flickering light, reflected
off the polished pink granite of the huge, vaulted room, lending their smell of pitch to the fragrance
of roses in the dead, still air. White roses, replaced every morning without fail for the last three
decades, filled each of the fifty-seven gold vases set in the wall beneath each of the fifty-seven
torches that represented each year in the life of the deceased. The floor was white marble, so that
any white rose petal that fell would not be a distraction before it could be whisked away. A large
staff saw to it that no torch was allowed to go spent for longer than a few moments, and that rose
petals were not allowed to rest long upon the floor. The staff was attentive and devoted to their
tasks. Failure to be so resulted in an immediate beheading. Guards watched the tomb day and night
to be sure the torches burned, the flowers were fresh, and no rose petal sat too long on the floor.
And of course to carry out executions.

Staff positions were filled from the surrounding D'Haran countryside. Being a member of the crypt
staff was an honor, by law. The honor brought with it the promise of a quick death if an execution
was in order. A slow death in D'Hara was greatly feared, and common. New recruits, for fear they
would speak ill of the dead king while in the crypt, had their tongues cut out.

The Master, on the evenings when he was at home in the People's Palace, would visit the tomb. No
staff or tomb guards were allowed to be present during these visits. The staff had spent a busy
afternoon replacing the torches with freshly burning ones and testing each of the hundreds of white
roses by gently shaking them to make sure none of the petals were loose, since any torch going out
during the royal visit, or any rose petal falling to the floor, would result in an execution.

A short pillar in the center of the immense room supported the coffin itself, giving it the effect of
floating in the air. The golden shrouded coffin glowed in the torchlight. Carved symbols covered its
sides, and continued in a ring around the room, cut into the granite beneath the torches and gold
vases: instructions in an ancient language from a father to a son on the process of going to the
underworld, and returning. Instructions in an ancient language understood by only a handful other
than the son; none but the son lived in D'Hara. All the others in D'Hara who understood had long
ago been put to death. Someday, the rest would be.

The crypt staff and guards had been sent away. The Master was visiting his father's tomb. Two of
his personal guards stood watch over him, one to each side of the massive, elaborately carved and
polished door. Their sleeveless leather-and-mail uniforms helped display their bulky forms, the
sharp contours of their heavy muscles, and the bands they wore around their arms just above their
elbows, bands with raised projections sharpened to deadly edges, used in close combat to tear apart
an adversary.

Darken Rahl ran his delicate fingers over the carved symbols on his father's tomb. An immaculate
white robe, its only decoration gold embroidery in a narrow band around the neck and down the
front, covered his lean frame to within an inch of the floor. He wore no jewelry, other than a curved
knife in a gold scabbard embossed with symbols warning the spirits to give way. The belt that held
it was woven of gold wire. Fine, straight, blond hair hung almost to his shoulders. His eyes were a
pain- fully handsome shade of blue. His features set off his eyes perfectly.

Many women had been taken to his bed. Because of his striking looks, and his power, some went
eagerly. The others went despite his looks, but because of his power. Whether or not they were
eager did not concern him. Were they unwise enough to be repulsed when they saw the scars, they
entertained him in ways they could not have foreseen.

Darken Rahl, as had his father before him, considered women merely vessels for the man's seed,
the dirt it grew in, unworthy of higher recognition. Darken Rahl, as his father before him, would
have no wife. His own mother had been nothing more than the first to sprout his father's wondrous
seed, and then she had been discarded, as was only fitting. If he had siblings, he didn't know, nor
did it matter; he was firstborn, all glory fell to him. He was the one born with the gift, and the one
to whom his father passed the knowledge. If he had half brothers or sisters, they were merely
weeds, to be expunged if discovered.

Darken Rahl spoke the words silently in his mind as his fingers traced the symbols. Although it was
of the utmost importance that the directives were followed exactly, he had no fear of making an
error; the instructions were burned into his memory. But he enjoyed reliving the thrill of the
passage, of hanging between life and death. He savored going into the underworld, commanding
the dead. He was impatient for the next journey.

Footsteps echoed at someone's approach. Darken Rahl showed no concern, or interest, but his
guards did; they drew their swords. No one was allowed to come into the crypt with the Master.
When they saw who it was, they stood down, replacing their weapons. No one but Demmin Nass,
that is.

Demmin Nass, the right hand of Rahl, the lightning of the Master's dark thoughts, was a man as big
as those he commanded. As he strode in, ignoring the guards, his sharply chiseled muscles stood
out in stark relief in the torchlight. His chest was covered with skin as smooth as that of the young
boys he had a weakness for. In stark contrast, his face was riddled with pockmarks. His blond hair
was cropped close enough to cause it to stand up in a collection of spikes. A streak of black hair
started in the middle of his right eyebrow and continued back over his head, to the right of center. It
made him recognizable from a distance, a fact appreciated by those who had cause to know of him.

Darken Rahl stood absorbed in the reading of the symbols, and did not look when his guards drew
their weapons, or when they replaced them. Although his guards were formidable, they were
unnecessary, mere accoutrements of his position. He had powers enough to put down any threat.
Demmin Nass stood at ease, waiting for the Master to finish. When at last Darken Rahl turned, his
blond hair and stark white robe swished around with him. Demmin gave a respectful bow of his
head.

"Lord Rahl." His voice was deep, coarse. He kept his head bowed.

"Demmin, my old friend, how good to see you again." Rahl's quiet tone had a clear, almost liquid
quality to it.

Demmin straightened, his face set in a frown of displeasure. "Lord Rahl, Queen Milena has
delivered her list of demands."

Darken Rahl stared through the commander, as if he weren't there, slowly wetting the tips of the
first three fingers of his right hand with his tongue and then carefully stroking his lips and
eyebrows with them.

"Have you brought me a boy?" Rahl asked expectantly.

"Yes, Lord Rahl. He awaits you in the Garden of Life."

"Good." A small smile spread across Darken Rahl's handsome face. "Good. And he is not too old?
He is still a boy?"

"Yes, Lord Rahl, he is but a boy." Demmin looked away from Rahl's blue eyes.

Darken Rahl's smile widened. "You are sure, Demmin? Did you take off his pants yourself, and
check?"

Demmin shifted his weight. "Yes, Lord Rahl."

Rahl's eyes searched the other's face. "You didn't touch him, did you?" His smile vanished. "He
must be unsoiled."

"No, Lord Rahl!" Demmin insisted, looking back to the Master, his eyes wide. "I would not touch
your spirit guide! You have forbidden it!"

Darken Rahl again wet his fingers and smoothed his eyebrows as he took a step closer. "I know you
wanted to, Demmin. Was it hard for you? Looking but not touching?" His smile came back,
teasing, then melted again. "Your weakness has caused me trouble before."

"I took care of that!" Demmin protested in his deep voice; but not too forcefully. "I had that trader,
Brophy, arrested for the murder of that boy."

"Yes," Rahl snapped back, "and then he submitted to a Confessor, to prove his innocence."

Demmin's face wrinkled in frustration. "How was I to know he would do that? Who could expect a
man would willingly do that?"

Rahl held up his hand. Demmin fell silent.

"You should have been more careful. You should have taken the Confessors into account. And is
that job finished yet?"

"All but one," Demmin admitted. "The quad that went after Kahlan, the Mother Confessor, failed. I
had to send another."

Darken Rahl frowned. "Confessor Kahlan is the one who took the confession of this trader, Brophy,
and found him innocent, is she not?"

Demmin nodded slowly, his face contorted in anger. "She must have found help, or the quad would
not have failed."

Rahl remained silent, watching the other. At last Demmin broke the silence.

"It is but a small matter, Lord Rahl, not worthy of your time or thought."

Darken Rahl lifted an eyebrow. "I will decide what matters are worthy of my attention." His voice
was soft, almost kind.

"Of course, Lord Rahl. Please forgive me." Demmin didn't need to hear an angry tone to know he
was treading on dangerous ground.

Rahl licked his fingers again and rubbed them on his lips. He looked sharply back up into the
other's eyes. "Demmin, if you touched the boy, I will know."

A bead of sweat rolled into Demmin's eye. He tried to blink it away. "Lord Rahl," he said in a
coarse whisper, "I would gladly give my life for you. I would not touch your spirit guide. I swear."

Darken Rahl considered Demmin Nass for a moment, then nodded. "As I said, I would know
anyway. And you know what I would do to you if you ever lied to me. I can't tolerate anyone lying
to me. It's wrong."

"Lord Rahl," Demmin said, anxious to change the subject, "what of Queen Milena's demands?"

Rahl shrugged. "Tell her I agree to all her demands in return for the box."

Demmin stared incredulously. "But Lord Rahl, you have not seen them listed."

Rahl shrugged innocently. "Now, they are truly a matter not worthy of my time or thought."

Demmin shifted his weight again, making the leather he wore creak. "Lord Rahl, I do not
understand why you play this game with the queen. It is humiliating to be issued a list of demands.
With no trouble, we could crush her like the fat toad she is. Just give me the word, allow me to
issue my own demands, on your behalf. She will be made to regret not bowing down to you as she
should have."

Rahl smiled a small private smile as he studied the pockmarked face of his loyal commander. "She
has a wizard, Demmin," he whispered, his blue eyes intense.

"I know." Demmin's fists tightened. "Giller. You have only to ask, Lord Rahl, and I will bring you
his head."

"Demmin, why do you think Queen Milena would enlist a wizard in her service?" Demmin only
shrugged, so Rahl answered his own question. "To protect the box, that is why. It is her protection
too, she believes. If we kill her or the wizard, we may find he has hidden the box with magic, and
then we would have to spend time finding it. So why move too quickly? For now, the easiest path is
to go along with her. If she gives me any trouble, I will deal with her, and the wizard." He walked
slowly around his father's coffin, trailing his fingers along the carved symbols as he kept his blue
eyes on Demmin. "And anyway, once I have the last box, her demands will be meaningless." He
came back to the big man, stopping in front of him. "But there is another reason, my friend."

Demmin cocked his head to the side. "Another reason?"

Darken Rahl nodded, leaned closer, and lowered his voice. "Demmin, do you kill your little
boyfriends before . . . or after?"

Demmin leaned back a little, away from the other, hooking a thumb in his belt. He cleared his
throat. At last he answered. "After."

"And why after? Why not before?" Rahl asked, his face in a coy, questioning frown.

Demmin avoided the Master's eyes, looked down at the floor, and shifted his weight to his other
foot. Darken Rahl continued to keep his face close, watching, waiting. In a voice too low for the
guards to hear, Demmin spoke.

"I like it when they squirm." `

A slow smile spread over Rahl's face. "That is the other reason, my friend. I too enjoy it when they
squirm, so to speak. I want to enjoy watching her squirm, before I kill her." He licked the ends of
his fingers again, and stroked them on his lips.

A knowing grin grew across the pockmarked face. "I will tell Queen Milena that Father Rahl has
graciously agreed to her terms."

Darken Rahl put his hand on Demmin's. muscled shoulder. "Very good, my friend. Now, show me
what manner of boy you have brought me."

Both wearing smiles, they strode toward the door. Before they reached it, Darken Rahl stopped
suddenly. He spun on his heels, his robes flinging around him.

"What was that sound?" he demanded.

Except for the hiss of the torches, the crypt was as silent as the dead king. Demmin and the guards
looked slowly around the chamber.

"There!" Rahl thrust out his arm.

The other three looked where he pointed. A single white rose petal sat on the floor. Darken Rahl's
face reddened, his eyes fierce. Shaking, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, his eyes filled
with tears of wrath. He was too furious to speak. Regaining his composure, he held out his hand
toward where the white petal lay on the cold marble floor. As if touched by a breeze, it rose into the
air and floated across the room, settling in Rahl's outstretched hand. He licked the petal, turned to
one of the guards, and stuck it to the man's forehead.

The heavily muscled guard looked back impassively. He knew what the Master wanted, and gave a
single grim nod before turning and going through the door in one fluid motion, pulling his sword as
he went.

Darken Rahl straightened his body, smoothed his hair and then his robes with the flats of his hands.
He took a deep breath, letting his anger out with it. Frowning, his blue eyes searched up at
Demmin, who stood calmly beside him.

"I ask nothing else of them. Only that they care for my father's tomb. Their needs are seen to, they
are fed and clothed and taken care of. It is a simple request." His face took on a hurt look. "Why do
they mock me with their carelessness?" He looked over to his father's coffin, then back to the
other's face. "Do you think I am too harsh with them, Demmin?"

The commander's hard eyes scowled back. "Not harsh enough. If you were not so compassionate, if
you didn't allow them a quick punishment, maybe the others would learn to treat your heartfelt
requests with more commitment. I would not be as lenient."

Darken Rahl stared off at nothing in particular, and nodded absently. After a time he took another
deep breath and strode through the door, with Demmin at his side, and the remaining guard
following at a respectful distance: They went down long corridors of polished granite lit by torches,
up spiral stairs of white stone, down more corridors with windows that let the light out into the
darkness. The stone smelled damp, stale. Several levels up, the air regained its freshness. Small
tables of lustrous wood stationed at intervals along the halls held vases with bouquets of fresh
flowers that lent a light fragrance to the rooms.

As they came to a pair of doors with a scene of hillsides and forests carved in relief, the second
guard rejoined them, the task assigned him completed. Demmin pulled on the iron rings, and the
heavy doors opened smoothly, silently. Beyond .was a room of dark, brown oak panels. It gleamed
in the light of the candles and lamps set about on heavy tables. Books lined two walls, and an
immense fireplace warmed the two-story room. Rahl stopped for a short time to consult an old
leather-bound book sitting on a pedestal; then he and his commander walked on through a labyrinth
of rooms, most covered in the same warm wood panels. A few were plastered and painted with
scenes of the D'Hara countryside, forests and fields, game and children. The guards followed at a
distance, watching everywhere, alert but silent: the Master's shadows.'

Logs crackled and popped as flames wavered in a brick hearth, providing the only light in one of
the smaller rooms they passed into. On the walls hung trophies of the hunt, heads of every sort of
beast. Antlers jutted out, lit by the light of the flames. Darken Rahl stopped suddenly in midstride,
his robes made pink in the firelight.

"Again," he whispered.

Demmin had stopped when Rahl did, and now watched him with questioning eyes.

"Again she comes to the boundary. To the underworld." He licked his fingertips, smoothing them
carefully over his lips and eyebrows as his eyes fixed in a stare.

"Who?" Demmin asked.

"The Mother Confessor. Kahlan. She has the help of a wizard, you know."

"Giller is with the queen," Demmin insisted, "not with the Mother Confessor."

A thin smile spread on Darken Rahl's lips. "Not Giller," he whispered, "the Old One. The one I
seek. The one who killed my father. She has found him."

Demmin stood straight in surprise. Rahl turned and walked over to the window at the end of the
room. Made up of small panes and round at the top, it stood twice his height. Firelight glinted off
the curved knife at his belt. Clasping his hands behind him, he stood gazing down on the darkened
countryside, on the night, on the things others couldn't see. He turned back to Demmin, his blond
hair brushing his shoulders.

"That is why she went to Westland, you know. Not to run from the quad, as you thought, but to find
the great wizard." His blue eyes sparkled. "She has done me a great favor, my friend; she has
flushed out the wizard. It is fortunate she slipped past the ones in the underworld. Fate . is truly on
our side. You see, Demmin, why I tell you not to worry so? It is my destiny to succeed; all things
have a way of working toward my ends."

Demmin's brow knitted into a frown. "Just because one quad failed, that does not mean she has
found the wizard. Quads have failed before." Rahl slowly licked his fingertips. He stepped closer to
the big man. "The Old One has named a Seeker," he whispered.

Demmin unclasped his hands in surprise. "Are you sure?"

Rahl nodded. "The old wizard vowed never to help them again. No one has seen him in many
years. No one has been able to offer his name, even to save their own lives. Now the Confessor
crosses into Westland, the quad vanishes, and a Seeker is named." He smiled to himself. "She must
have touched him, to make him help. Imagine his surprise when he saw her." Rahl's smile faded.
He clenched his fists. "I almost had them. Almost had all three, but I was distracted by other
matters, and they slipped away. For the time being." He considered this silently for a moment, then
announced, "The second quad will fail too, you know. They will not be expecting to encounter a
wizard."

"Then I will send a third quad, and I will tell them of the wizard," Demmin promised.

"No." Rahl licked his fingertips, thinking. "Not yet. For now, let's wait and see what happens.
Maybe she is meant to help me again." He considered this a moment. "Is she attractive? The
Mother Confessor?"

Demmin scowled. "I have never seen her, but some of my men have. They fought. over who would
be named to the quads, who would have her."

"Don't send another quad for now." Darken Rahl smiled. "It is time I had an heir." He nodded
absently. "I will have her for myself," he declared.

"If she tries to go through the boundary, she will be lost," Demmin cautioned.

Rahl shrugged. "Maybe she will be smarter than that. She has already shown herself to be clever.
Either way, I will have her." He glanced over at Demmin. "Either way, she will squirm for me."

"The two of them are dangerous, the wizard and the Mother Confessor. They could cause us
trouble. Confessors subvert the word of Rahl; they are an annoyance. I think we should do as you
first planned. We should kill her."

Rahl gave a wave of his hand. "You worry too much, Demmin. As you said, Confessors are an
annoyance, nothing more. I will kill her myself, if she proves troublesome, but after she bears me a
son. A Confessor son. The wizard cannot harm me, as he did my father. I will see him squirm and
then I will kill him. Slowly."

"And the Seeker?" Demmin's face was lined with apprehension.

Rahl shrugged. "Even less than an annoyance."
"Lord Rahl, I need not remind you, winter approaches."

The Master lifted an eyebrow, the firelight flickering in his eyes. "The Queen has the last box. I
will have it soon enough. There is no need for concern."

Demmin leaned his grim face closer. "And the book?"

Rahl took a deep breath. "After I have traveled to the underworld, I will search out the Cypher boy
again. Worry yourself of it no more, my friend. Fate is on our side."

He turned and walked off. Demmin followed, the guards slipping through the shadows behind.

-+---
The Garden of Life was a cavernous room in the center of the People's Palace. Leaded windows
high overhead let in light for the lush plants. This night they let in the moonlight. Around the
outside of the room were flowers set in beds, with walkways winding through. Beyond the flowers
were small trees, short stone walls with vines covering them, and well-tended plants completing the
landscaping. Except for the windows overhead, it mimicked an outdoor garden. A place of beauty.
A place of peace.

In the center of the expansive room was an area of lawn that swept around almost into a circle, the
grass ring broken by a wedge of white stone, upon which sat a slab of granite, smooth but for
grooves carved near the edge of the top, leading to a small well in one corner. It was held up by two
short fluted pedestals. Beyond the slab stood a polished stone block set next to a fire pit. -The block
held an ancient iron bowl covered with beasts which served as legs to support the round bottom.
The iron lid in the same half-sphere shape had but one beast upon it, a Shinga, an underworld
creature, reared up on its two hind legs, serving as a handle. In the center of the lawn lay a round
area of white sorcerer's sand, ringed with torches that burned with fluid flames. Geometric symbols
crisscrossed in the white sand.

In the center of the sand was the boy, buried in an upright position to his neck.

Darken Rahl approached slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. Demmin waited off by the
trees, before the grass. The Master stopped at the border of the grass and white sand, looking down
at the boy. Darken Rahl smiled.

"What is your name, my son?"

The boy's lower lip quivered as he looked up at Rahl. His eyes shifted to the big man back by the
trees. It was a fearful look. Rahl turned and looked to the commander.

"Leave us, .and please take my guards with you. I wish not to be disturbed."

Demmin bowed his head and left, the guards following. Darken Rahl turned back, regarding the
boy, then lowered himself to sit on the grass. He rearranged his robes once on the ground, and
smiled again at the boy.

"Better?"

The boy nodded. His lip still quivered.

"Are you afraid of that big man?" The boy nodded. "Did he hurt you? Did he touch you where he
shouldn't?"

The boy shook his head. His eyes, reflecting a mix of fear and anger, stayed locked on Rahl. An ant
crawled from the white sand onto his neck.

"What is your name?" Rahl asked again. The boy did not answer. The Master watched his brown
eyes closely. "Do you know who I am?" `

"Darken Rahl," the boy answered in a weak voice.

Rahl smiled indulgently. "Father Rahl," he corrected.

The boy stared at him. "I want to go home." The ant inspected its way across his chin.

"Of course you do," Rahl said with a tone of sympathy and concern. "Please believe me, I'm not
going to harm you. You are simply here to help me with an important ceremony. You are an
honored guest, meant to represent the innocence and strength of youth. You were selected because
people told me what a fine boy you are, what a very good boy you are. Everyone has spoken highly
of you. They tell me you are smart, and strong. Do they speak the truth?"

The boy hesitated, his shy eyes looking away. "Well, I guess they do." He looked back to Rahl.
"But I miss my mother, and I want to go home." The ant went in a circle around his cheek.

Darken Rahl stared off wistfully and nodded. "I understand. I miss my mother also. She was such a
wonderful woman, and I loved her so. She took good care of me. When I would do a chore that
pleased her, she would make me a special supper, whatever I wanted."

The boys eyes got bigger. "My mother does that too."

"My father, mother, and I had wonderful times together. We all loved each other very much and
had fun together. My mother had a merry laugh. When my father would tell a boastful story, she
would poke fun at him and the three of ,us would laugh, sometimes until we got tears in our eyes."

The boy's eyes brightened, he smiled a little. "Why do you miss her? Is she gone away?"

"No," Rahl sighed, "she and my father died a few years ago. They were both old. They both had a
good life together, but I still miss them. So I understand how you miss your parents."

The boy nodded a little. His lip had stopped quivering. The ant walked up the bridge of his nose.
He scrunched up his face trying to get it off.

"Let's just try to have as good a time as we can for now, and you will be back with them before you
know it."

The boy nodded again. "My name is Carl."

Rahl smiled. "Honored to meet you, Carl." He reached out and carefully picked the ant off the boy's
face.

"Thanks," Carl said with relief.

"That's what I'm here for, Carl, to be your friend and help you in any way I can."

"If you're my friend, then dig me up and let me go home?" His eyes glistened wetly.

"Soon enough, my son, soon enough. I wish I could right now, but the people expect me to protect
them from evil people who would kill them, so I must do what I can to help. You are going to be a
part of that help. You are going to be an important part of the ceremony that will save your mother
and father from the evil ores who would kill mum. -"You do want to protect your mother from
harm, don't you?"

The torches flickered and hissed as Carl thought.

"Well, yes. But I want to go home." His lip began quivering again.

Darken Rahl reached out and stroked the boy's hair reassuringly, combing it back with his fingers,
then smoothing it down. "I know, but try to be brave. I won't let anyone harm, you, I promise. I will
guard you and keep you safe." He gave Carl a warm smile. "Are you hungry? Would you like
something to eat?"

Carl shook his head.

"All right, then. It is late, I will leave you to rest." He stood, straightening his robes, brushing off
grass.

"Father Rahl?"

Rahl stopped, and looked back down. "Yes, Carl?"

A tear rolled down Carl's cheek. "I'm afraid to be here alone. Could you stay with me?"

The Master regarded the boy with a comforting expression. "Why, of course, my son." Father Rahl
lowered himself back down to the grass. "For as long as you want, even all night if you want me."

CHAPTER 2

0
GREEN LIGHT GLOWED ALL about as they cautiously shuffled their feet through the rubble of
the hillside, climbing over or under tree trunks, kicking limbs aside when necessary. The iridescent
green sheet of the boundary walls pressed against' them from both sides as they groped their way
ahead. Blackness lay thick all about except for the uncanny illumination that made them feel as if
they were in a cave.

Richard and Kahlan had come to the same decision at the same time. No choice had been left to the
two of them; they couldn't go back, and they couldn't stay at the split rock, not with the grippers
and shadow things coming for them, and so they were forced ahead, into the Narrows.

Richard had put the night stone away; it was useless for following the trail, as there was no trail to
follow, and it made it difficult to tell where the boundary light changed to- the green wall. He
hadn't put it back into its leather pouch, in case it was needed again in a' hurry, but had simply
dropped it into his pocket.

"Let the walls of the boundary show us the way," he had said, his quiet voice echoing back from the
blackness. "Go slow. If one wall turns dark, don't take another step, go a little more to the other
side. That way we can stay between them, and get through the pass."

Kahlan had not hesitated, the grippers and shadows being a sure death; she had taken Richard's
hand as they had stepped back into the green glow. Shoulder to shoulder, they had entered the
invisible passage. Richard's heart pounded; he tried not to think about what it was they were doingwalking blindly between the walls of the boundary.

He knew what the boundary looked like from when he had been close to it with Chase, and again
when the dark thing had tried to pull Kahlan in. He knew that if they stepped into the . dark wall,
there would be no return, but that if they could stay in the green glow before the wall, then they at
least had a chance.

Kahlan stopped. She pushed him to the right. She was close to the wall. Then it appeared on his
right. They centered themselves and continued forward, finding that if they went slowly, carefully,
they could stay between the walls, walking a thin line of life, with death to each side. Years of
being a guide were of no help to him. Richard finally stopped trying to find a trace of the trail, and
let himself feel the force of the walls pressing from each side, let the pressure be his guide. It was
slow going, with no sign of the trail in sight, no view of the hillside around them, only the tight
world of the luminous green light, like a bubble of life floating helplessly through an endless sea of
darkness and death.

Mud sucked at his boots, fear at his mind. Any obstacle they encountered had to be crossed, they
couldn't go around; the boundary walls dictated where they went. Sometimes it was over fallen
trees, sometimes over boulders, sometimes through washouts where they had to use exposed roots
to pull themselves up the other side. They helped each other silently, giving only a squeeze of the
hand for encouragement. Never was there more than a step or two to either side of their way that
didn't bring up the dark walls. Each time the trail turned, the dark wall appeared, sometimes several
times, until they could decipher which way it turned. Each time the wall loomed up, they pulled
back as quickly as possible, and each time it scared him with a cold jolt.

Richard realized his shoulders ached. The tension of what they were doing was making his muscles
tighten, his breathing shallow. He relaxed, took a deep breath, let his arms hang loose, shook his
wrists to ease the stress away, and then took Kahlan's hand again. He smiled down at her face lit by
the haunting green light. She smiled back, but he could see the controlled terror in her eyes. At
least, he thought, the bones were keeping the shadow things and the beasts away from them, and
nothing appeared beyond the walls when they accidentally encountered them.

Richard could almost feel his will to live draining from his soul with each careful step. Time took
on an abstract dimension, holding no solid meaning. He could have been in the Narrows for hours,
or days; he had trouble telling anymore. He found himself wishing only for peace, for it to be over,
to be safe again. His fear was beginning to dull from the sheer level of tension he had maintained as
they probed their way ahead.

Movement caught his attention: He looked behind. Shadow things, a flush of green light around
each, floated in a line between the walls, close at their backs, following the two of them down the
path, skimming above the ground, each lifting in turn to pass over a tree trunk that lay across the
way. Richard and Kahlan stopped, frozen, watching. The shadows didn't stop.

"Lead the way," he whispered, "and keep hold of my hand. I'll watch them."

He could see that her shirt was soaked with sweat, same as his, even though it wasn't a warm night.
Without so much as a nod, she started off. He walked backward, his back to hers, his eyes to the
shadows, his mind in a panic. Kahlan went as fast as she could, having to stop and change direction
several times, pulling him after by the hand.

She stopped again, at last groping her way to the right, when the unseen path made a sharp turn
down the hill. Walking backward downhill was difficult; he stepped carefully to avoid falling. The
shadows followed in a single file, turning with the path. Richard resisted his urge to tell Kahlan to
go faster, as he didn't want her to make a mistake, but the shadows were getting closer

It would only be a matter of minutes before they closed the distance, before they were on him.

Muscles tense, his hand gripped the hilt of his sword. He debated in his mind whether or not to
draw it, not knowing if it could help them, or if it would bring them to harm. Even if the sword
worked against the shadows, a fight in the confines of the Narrows would be a big risk, at best. But
if there was no choice, if they came too close, he would have to use the sword.

The shadows seemed as if they had taken on faces. Richard tried to remember if they had faces
before, but couldn't. His fingers gripped the hilt of the sword tighter as he walked backward,
Kahlan's soft hand warm in his. The faces appeared sad, gentle, in the green glow. They regarded
him with kind, pleading countenances. The raised lettering of the word "Truth" on the sword
seemed to burn painfully into his fingers as he clutched it tighter. Anger seeped from the sword,
searching his mind, searching for his own anger, but, finding only fear and confusion, the anger
wilted. The forms no longer gained on him, but paced along, keeping him company in the lonely
darkness. Somehow, they made him feel less afraid, less tense.

Their whispers calmed him. Richard's hand relaxed on the sword as he strained to make out the
words. The slow, easy smiles reassured him, gentled his caution, his alarm, making him want to
hear more, to understand the murmurs. Green light around the faint forms shimmered comfortingly.
His heart pounded with the need for rest, for peace, for their company.

Like the shadows, his mind drifted, smoothly, quietly, gently. Richard thought of his father, longed
for him. He remembered joyful, easy times with him, times of love, sharing, caring, times of safety
when nothing threatened him, nothing ,frightened him, nothing worried him. He longed for those
times again. He realized that that was what the whispers were saying, that it could be like that
again. They wanted to help him reach that place again, that was all.

Small warnings burgeoned deep in his mind, but then withered and were gone. His hand slipped
from the sword.

He had been so wrong, so blind, and hadn't been able to see it before. They weren't there to harm
him, but to help him reach the peace he wanted. It wasn't what they wanted, but what he wanted,
that's what they offered him. They wished only to help release him from loneliness. A wistful smile
spread on his lips. How could he have not seen it before? How could he have been so blind?
Whispers like sweet music washed over him in gentle waves, soothing his fears, giving him soft
light in the dark places of his mind. He stopped walking so that he wouldn't step out of the bathing
warmth of the enchanting murmurs, the breath of the music.

A cold hand tugged annoyingly at his, trying to pull him on, so he released it. It went without
objection, to bother him no more.

The shadows drifted closer. Richard waited for them, watched their gentle faces, listened to their
soft whispers. When they sighed his name it made him shudder with pleasure. He welcomed them
as they came around in a comforting circle, floating closer, their hands reaching to him as they did
so. Hands lifted to his face, almost touching him, seeking to caress him. He looked from one face to
another, meeting the eyes of his saviors, each holding his gaze in turn, each whispering a promise
of wonderment.

A hand almost brushed his face, and he thought he felt searing pain, but wasn't sure. The keeper of
the hand promised that he would feel pain no more, after he joined with them. He wanted to speak,
to ask them so many questions, but it seemed so suddenly unimportant, so trivial. He had only to
give himself over to their care, and everything would be all right. He turned to each, offering
himself to each, waiting to be taken.

As he turned, he looked for Kahlan, thinking to take her with him, to share the peace with her.
Memories of her flamed into his mind, distracting his attention even though the whispers told him
to ignore them. He scanned the hillside, peering off into the dark rubble. Faint light tinged the sky,
morning materializing. Black voids of the trees ahead stood against the pale pink sky; he was
almost to the end of the slide. He didn't see Kahlan anywhere. The shadows whispered insistently to
him, calling his name. Memories of Kahlan blazed brightly into his mind. Sudden choking fear
flamed up inside him, burning the whispers in his mind to ash.

"Kahlan!" he screamed

There was no answer.

Dark hands, dead hands, reached for him. The faces of the shadows wavered like vapors rising
from boiling poison. Gnarled voices called his name. He took a step back, away from them,
confused.

"Kahlan!" he screamed again.

Hands reached for him, bringing searing pain even though they did not touch him. Again he took a
step back, away from them, but this time the dark wall was there, at his back. The hands extended
up, to push at him. He looked around for Kahlan, bewildered. This time the pain brought him fully
awake. Terror raced through him as he realized where he was and what was happening.

And then his anger exploded.

Heat of rage from the magic surged through him as the sword, came free, sweeping in an arc at the
shadows. The ones caught by the blade flared into nothingness, the smoke of their form spinning,
as if caught in a vortex of wind, before coming apart with a howl. More came at him. The sword
flashed through them, and still more came, as if there were no end to their numbers. As he cut them
down on one side, the ones on the other side would reach for him, the pain of their near touch
burning into him before he turned with the sword. Richard wondered for an instant what it would
feel like if they were able to finally touch him, if he would feel the pain or simply be dead in that
moment. He stepped away from the wall, slashing with the sword as he did so. He took another step
forward, cutting furiously as he moved, the blade whistling as he swung it.

Richard stood, feet dug in, destroying the shadows as fast as they came. His arms ached, his back
hurt, his head ,pounded. Sweat poured from his face. He was exhausted. With nowhere to run, he
was forced to stand his ground, but he knew he couldn't keep this up forever. Screams and howls
filled the night air as the shadows seemed to fall eagerly on his sword. A knot of them rushed
forward, forcing him back again before he could slash through them. Again the dark wall came up
at his back. Black forms on the other side of it reached for him while giving out agonizing cries.
Too many shadows were coming at once to allow him to step away from the wall; it was all he
could do to hold where he was. Pain from the reaching hands was wearing him down. He knew that
if they came at him fast enough and in enough numbers, he would be pushed through the wall, into
the underworld. He fought on numbly, endlessly.

Anger was giving way to panic. The muscles of his arms burned with the effort of swinging the
sword. It seemed the shadows' intent was simply to wear him down with their numbers. He realized
that he had been right not to use the sword before, that it would bring them to harm. But there had
been no choice. He had to use it to save them.

But there was no "them," he realized; Kahlan was nowhere to be found. It was only him. Swinging
the sword, he wondered if it had been like this for her, if the shadows had seduced her with their
whispers, and touched her, forced her into the wall. She had no sword to protect her; that was what
he had said he would do. Fury erupted in him anew. The thought of Kahlan being taken by the
shadows, by the underworld, brought the rage roaring forth again, the magic of the Sword of Truth
rising to the summons. Richard cut through the shadows with renewed vengeance. Hatred, flaming
into white-hot need, took him ahead through the forms, swinging the sword faster than they could
come forward to meet it. So he went to them. Howls of their end joined in a mass cry of anguish.
Richard's wrath at what they had done to Kahlan drove him forward in a frenzy of violence.

Without his realizing it at first, the shadows had stopped moving and instead hovered as Richard
continued down the path between the walls, slashing at them. For a time, they made no attempt to
avoid his blade, but simply floated in place. Then they began to glide, like trailers of smoke in a
near still air. They drifted into the walls of the boundary, losing their green glow as they went
through to become the dark things on the other side. At last, Richard came to a panting halt, his
arms throbbing with weariness.

That was what they were, not shadow people, but the things from the other side of the boundary
wall, the things that had been escaping and taking people, just as they had tried to take him.

Just as they had taken Kahlan.

A pain from deep inside welled up, and tears came to his eyes

"Kahlan," he whispered into the cool morning air.

His heart ached with wrenching agony. She was gone, and it had been his fault; he had let down his
guard, he had let her down, had not protected her. How could it have happened so fast? So easily?
Adie had warned him, warned him that they would call to him. Why hadn't he been more cautious?
Why hadn't he paid more attention to her warning? Over and over in his mind he imagined her fear,
her confusion at why he wasn't there with her, her pleading for him to help her. Her pain. Her
death. Desperately, his mind raced as he cried, trying to make time go backward, to do it again
differently, to ignore the voices, to keep hold of her hand, to save her. Tears ran down his face as he
let the tip of the sword lower and drag on the ground, too tired to put it away as he walked forward
in a daze. Rubble of the slide was at an end. The green light faded and was gone as he stepped into
the woods and onto the trail.

Someone whispered his name, a man's voice. He stopped and looked back.

Richard's father stood in the light of the boundary.

"Son," his father whispered, "let me help you."

Richard stared woodenly at him. Morning lit the overcast, washing everything in a wet gray light.
The only color was the glowing green around his father, who held his hands open.

"You can't help me," Richard whispered back hoarsely.

"Yes, I can. She is with us. She is safe now.".

Richard took a few steps toward his father. "Safe?"

"Yes, she is safe. Come, I will take you to her."

Richard took a few more steps, dragging the tip of the sword on the ground behind. Tears ran down
his cheeks. His chest heaved. "You could really take me to her?"

"Yes, son," his father said softly. "Come. She waits for you. I will take you to her."

Richard walked numbly toward his father. "And I can be with her? Forever?"

"Forever," came the answer in the reassuring, familiar voice.

Richard trudged back into the green light, to his father, who smiled warmly at him.

When he reached him, Richard brought the Sword of Truth up, and ran it through his father's heart.
Wide-eyed, his father looked up at him as he was impaled.

"How many times, dear father," Richard asked through tears and gritted teeth, "must I slay your
shade?"

His father only shimmered and then dissolved into the dim morning air.

Bitter satisfaction replaced the anger; then it, too, was gone as he turned once again to the path.
Tears ran in streaks through the dirt and sweat on his face. He wiped .them on his shirtsleeve as he
swallowed back the lump in his throat. Woods enveloped him indifferently as he rejoined the trail.

Laboriously, Richard slid his sword home, into its scabbard. When he did so, he noticed the light
from the night stone shining through his pocket, it still being just dark enough to cause it to glow
weakly. He stopped and took the smooth stone out once more and replaced it in its leather pouch,
quenching the dim yellow light.

His face set in grim determination, Richard slogged ahead, his fingers reaching up to touch the
tooth under his shirt. Loneliness, deeper than he had never known, sagged his shoulders. All his
friends were lost to him. He knew now that his life was not his own. It belonged to his duty, to his
task. He was the Seeker. Nothing more. Nothing less. Not his own man, but a pawn to be used by
others. A tool, same as his sword, to help others, that they might have the life he had only glimpsed
for a twinkling.

He was no different from the dark things in the boundary. A bringer of death.

And he knew quite clearly who he was going to bring it to.

-+---
The Master sat straight-backed and cross-legged on the grass in front of the sleeping boy, his hands
resting palm up on his knees, a smile on his lips, as he thought about what had happened with
Confessor Kahlan at the boundary. Morning sunlight streamed crossways through the windows
overhead, making the colors of the garden flowers vibrant. Slowly, he brought the fingers of his
right hand to his lips, licking the tips and then smoothing his eyebrows before carefully returning
the hand to its, resting place. Thoughts of what he would do to the Mother Confessor had caused
his breathing to quicken. He slowed it now, returning his mind to the matter at hand. His fingers
wriggled, and Carl's eyes popped open.

"Good morning, my son. Good to see you again," he said in his most friendly voice. The smile,
though for another reason, was still on his lips.

Carl blinked and squinted at the brightness of the light. "Good morning," he said in a groan. Then,
his eyes looking about, thought to add, "Father Rahl."

"You slept well," Rahl assured the boy.

"You were here? Here all night?" ..

"All night. As I promised you I would be. I would not lie to you, Carl."

Carl smiled. "Thanks." He lowered his eyes shyly. "I guess I was kind of silly to be scared."

"I don't think it's silly at all. I am glad I could be here to reassure you."

"My father says I'm being foolish when I get afraid of the dark."

"There are things in the dark that can get you," Rahl said solemnly. "You are wise to know it, and
to be on guard for them. Your father- would do himself a favor to listen, and learn from you."

Carl brightened. "Really?" Rahl nodded. "Well, that's what I always thought too." `

"If you truly love someone, you will listen to them."

"My father always says for me to keep my tongue still."

Rahl shook his head disapprovingly. It surprises me to hear this. I had thought they loved you very
much."

"Well, they do. Most of the time anyway."

"I'm sure you are right. You would know better than L"

The Master's long blond hair glistened in the morning light; his white robe shone brightly. He
waited. There was a long moment of awkward silence..

"But I do get pretty tired of them always telling me what to do."

Rahl's eyebrows went up. "You seem to me to be of the age where you can think and decide things
for yourself. A fine boy like you, almost a man, and they tell you what to do," he added, half to
himself, shaking his head again. As if he couldn't believe what Carl was telling him, he asked, "You
mean they treat you like a baby?"

Carl nodded his earnest confirmation, then thought to correct the impression. "Most of the time,
though, they're good to me."

Rahl nodded, somewhat suspiciously. "That is good to hear. It is a relief to me."

Carl looked up at the sunlight. "But I can tell you one thing, my parents are going to be madder
than hornets that I've been gone so long."

"They get mad because of when you come home?"

"Sure. One time, I was playing with a friend, and I got home late, and my mother was real mad. My
father took his belt to me. He said it was for worrying them so."

"A belt? Your father hit you with his belt?" Darken Rahl hung his head, then came to his feet,
turning his back to the boy. "I'm sorry, Carl, I had no idea it was like this with them."

"Well, it's only because they love me," Carl hastened to add. "That's what they said, they love me
and I caused them to worry." Rahl still kept his back to the boy. Carl frowned. "Don't you think that
shows they care about me?"

Rahl licked his fingers and smoothed them over his eyebrows and lips before he turned back to the
boy and sat once more in front of his anxious face.

"Carl"-his voice was so soft that the boy had to strain to hear-"do you have a dog?"

"Sure," he nodded, "Tinker. She's a fine dog. I had her since she was a pup."

"Tinker," Rahl rolled the name out pleasantly. "And has Tinker ever been lost, or run away?"

Carl scrunched up his eyebrows, thinking. "Well, sure, a couple times before she was grown. But
she came back the next day."

"Were you worried, when your dog was gone? When she was missing?"

"Well, sure."

Why?" "Because 1 love her."

"I see. And so then when Tinker came back the next day, what did you do?"

"I picked her up in my arms and I hugged her and hugged her."

"You didn't beat Tinker with your belt?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because I love her!"

"But you were worried?".

"Yes."

"So you hugged Tinker when she came back because you loved her and you were worried about
her."

"Yes."

Rahl leaned back a little, his blue eyes intense. "I see. And if you had beaten Tinker with your belt
when she came back to you, what do you think she would have done?"

"I bet she might not have come back the next time. She wouldn't want to come back so I could beat
her. She'd have gone somewhere else where people loved her."

"I see," Rahl said meaningfully.

Tears streamed down Carl's cheeks. He looked away from Rahl's eyes as he cried. At last, Rahl
reached out, stroking back the boy's hair.

"I'm sorry, Carl. I did not mean to upset you. But I want you to know that when this is all over, and
you go home again, that if you ever need a home, you will always be welcome here. You are a fine
boy, a fine young man, and I would be proud to have you stay here, with me. Both you and Tinker.
And I want you to know I trust you to think for yourself, and you may come and go as you please."

Carl looked up with wet eyes. "Thank you, Father Rahl."

Rahl smiled warmly. "Now, how about some food?"

Carl nodded his approval.

"What would you like? We have anything you could want."

Carl thought a minute, and a smile came to him. "I like blueberry pie. It's my favorite." He cast his
eyes down, the smile fading. "But I'm not allowed to have it for breakfast." A big grin came to
Darken Rahl's face. He stood. "Blueberry pie it is, then. I'll go get it and be right back."

The Master walked off through the garden to a small vine covered door at the side. The door
opened for him as he approached, the big arm of Demmin Nass holding it back as Rahl passed
through into the dark room. Foul-smelling gruel boiled in an iron kettle hung over a fire in a small
forge. The two guards stood silently against the far wall, a sheen of sweat covering them.

"Master Rahl." Demmin bowed his head. "I trust the boy meets with your approval."

Rahl licked his finger tips. "He will do nicely." He smoothed his eyebrows down. "Dish me out a
bowl of that slop so it can cool."

Demmin picked up a pewter bowl and started ladling gruel into it with the wooden spoon from the
kettle.

"If everything is all right"-a wicked grin came over his pockmarked face-"then I will be off to pay
our respects to Queen Milena."

"Fine. On the Way, stop and tell the dragon I want her."

Demmin stopped ladling. "She doesn't like me."

"She doesn't like anyone," Rahl said flatly. "But don't worry, Demmin, she will not eat you. She
knows what I will do if she stretches my patience." '

Demmin started ladling again. "She will ask how soon you will need her."

Rahl glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "That is none of her concern, and tell her I said so.
She is to come when I ask, and wait until I am ready." He turned and looked out a small slit, off
through the foliage, at the side of the boy's head. "But I want you back here in two weeks."

"Two weeks, all right." Demmin set the bowl of gruel down. "But does it really need to take that
long with the boy?"

"It does if I want to return from the underworld." Rahl continued to look out the slit. "It may take
longer. Whatever it takes, it takes. I must have his complete trust, the freely given pledge of his
unconditional loyalty."

Demmin hooked a thumb in his belt. "We have another problem." Rahl glanced back over his
shoulder. "Is that all you do, Demmin? Go around looking for problems?"

"It keeps my head attached to my shoulders."

Rahl smiled. "So it does, my friend, so it does." He sighed. "Get it off your tongue, then."

Demmin shifted his weight to his other foot. "Last night I received reports that the tracer cloud has
vanished."

"Vanished?"

"Well, not so much vanished, as hidden." He scratched the side of his face. "They said clouds
moved in and hid it."

Rahl laughed. Demmin frowned in confusion.

"Our friend, the old wizard. It sounds like he saw the cloud and has been up to his little tricks to
vex me. It was to be expected. This one is not a problem, my friend. It is not important."

"Master Rahl, that was how you were to find the book. Other than the last box, what could be more
important?"

"I did not say the book was unimportant. I said the cloud was unimportant. The book is very
important, that is why I would not trust it only to a tracer cloud. Demmin, how do you suppose I
hooked the cloud to the Cypher boy?"

"My talents lie in areas other than magic, Master Rahl."

"True enough, my friend." Rahl licked his fingertips. "Many years ago; before my father was
murdered by that evil wizard, he told me of the boxes of Orden, and the Book of Counted Shadows.
He was trying to recover them himself, but he was not well enough studied. He was too much a
man of action, of battle." Rahl looked up into Demmin's eyes. "Much the same as you, my big
friend. He didn't have the necessary knowledge. But he was wise enough to teach me the value of
the head over the sword; how by using your head, you could defeat any number of men. He had the
best instructors tutor me. Then he was murdered." Rahl pounded his fist down on the table. His face
turned red. After a moment, he calmed himself. "So I studied harder, for many years, so that I
might succeed where my father failed, and return the house of Rahl to its rightful place as rulers of
all the lands."

"You have exceeded your father's deepest,, hopes, Master Rahl."

Rahl smiled his slight smile. He took another look through the slit as he went on. "In my studies, I
found where the Book of Counted Shadows lay hidden. It was in the Midlands, on the other side of
the boundary, but I was not yet able to travel the underworld, to go there and retrieve it. So I sent a
guard beast, to watch over it for me, until the day when I could go myself and liberate it."

He stood up straight, turning back to Demmin, a dark look on his face. "Before I could get the
book, a man named George Cypher killed the guard beast, and stole the book. My book. He took a
tooth from the beast as a trophy. A very stupid thing to do, as the beast was sent by magic, my
magic"-he lifted an eyebrow-"and I can find my magic."

Rahl licked his fingers, stroking them over his lips, staring off absently. "After I put the boxes of
Orden in play, I went to get the book. That's when I found it had been stolen. It took time, but I
found the man who stole it. Unfortunately, he no longer had the book, and would not tell me where
it was." Rahl smiled up at Demmin. "I made him suffer for not helping me." Demmin smiled back.
"But I did learn that he had given the tooth to his son."

"So that is how you know the Cypher boy has the book."

"Yes, Richard Cypher has the Book of Counted Shadows. And he also wears the tooth. That's how I
hooked the tracer cloud to him, by hooking it to the tooth his father gave him, the tooth with my
magic. I would have recovered the book before now, but I have had many matters to attend to. I
only hooked the cloud to him to help me keep track of him in the meantime. It was a mere
convenience. But the matter is as good as settled; I can get the book at any time of my choosing.
The cloud is of little importance. I can find him by the tooth."

Rahl picked up the bowl of gruel, handing it to Demmin. "Taste this, see if it is cool enough." He
arched an eyebrow. "I wouldn't want to hurt the boy."

Demmin sniffed the bowl, his nose turning up in distaste. He handed it to one of the guards, who
took it without objection and put a spoon of gruel to his lips. He gave a nod.

"Cypher could lose the tooth, or simply throw it away. Then you would not be able to find him, or
the book." Demmin gave a submissive bow of his head as he spoke. "Please forgive me for saying
so, Master Rahl but it would seem to rite you leave a lot to chance."

"Sometimes, Demmin, I leave things to fate, but never to chance. I have other ways of finding
Richard Cypher."

Demmin took a deep breath, relaxing as he thought about Rahl's words. "I can see now why you
haven't been worried. I didn't know all this."

Rahl frowned up at his loyal commander. "We have scarcely stroked the fur of what you do not
know, Demmin. That is why you serve me, and not me you." His expression softened. "You have
been a good friend, Demmin, since we were boys, so I will ease your mind on this subject. I have
many pressing matters that require my time, matters of magic that cannot wait. Like this." His arm
went out, indicating the boy. "I know where the book is, and I know my own talents. I can get the
book at a time of my convenience. For now, I look upon it as if Richard Cypher is simply keeping it
safe for me." Rahl leaned closer. "Satisfied?"

Demmin diverted his eyes to the ground: "Yes, Master Rahl." He looked back up. "Please know
that I only bring my concerns to you because I want success for you. You are rightfully the master
of all the lands. We all need you to guide us. I wish only to be part of delivering you victory. I fear
nothing but that I should fail you."

Darken Rahl put his arm around Demmin's big shoulders, looking up at the pockmarked face, the
streak of black hair through the blond. "That I had more like you, my friend." He took his arm away
and picked up the bowl. "Go now and tell Queen Milena of our alliance. Don't forget to summon
the dragon." His hint of a smile came back. "And don't let your little diversions make you late in
returning."

Demmin bowed his head. "Thank you, Master Rahl, for the honor of serving you." the big man left
through a backdoor as Rahl went out the one into the garden. The guards stayed in the small, hot,
forge room.

Picking up the feeding horn, Rahl went over to the boy. The feeding horn was a long brass tube,
small at the mouthpiece, large at the other end. The big end was held up to shoulder height by two
legs, so the gruel would slide down. Rahl set it down so the mouthpiece was in front of Carl

"What's this thing?" Carl asked, squinting up at it. "A horn?" "Yes, that's right. Very good, Carl. It's
a feeding horn. It's a part of the ceremony you will be in. The other young men who have helped
the people in the past have thought it a most fun way to eat. You put your mouth over the end there,
and I serve you by pouring the food in the top."

Carl was skeptical. "Really?"

"Yes." Rahl smiled reassuringly. "And guess what, I got you a fresh blueberry pie, still warm out of
the oven."

Carl's eyes lit up. "Great!" He eagerly put his mouth over the end of the horn.

Rahl passed his hand in a circle over the bowl three times to change the taste, then looked down at
Carl. "I had to mash it up so it will go through the feeding horn, I hope that's all right."

"I always mash it up with my fork," Carl said with a grin, then put his mouth back over the horn.

Rahl poured a little gruel into the end of the horn. When it reached Carl's mouth, he ate it eagerly.

"It's great! The best I ever had!"

"I'm so pleased," Rahl said with a shy smile. "It's my own recipe. I feared it wouldn't be as good as
your mother's."

"It's better. Can I have more?"

"Of course, my son. With Father Rahl, there is always more."

CHAPTER 2

1
WEARILY, RICHARD SEARCHED THE ground where the trail resumed at the end of the slide,
his hopes fading. Dark clouds scudded low overhead, occasionally bringing a few fat drops of cold
rain to splatter on the back of his head as he hunted. It had occurred to him that maybe Kahlan had
made it through the Narrows, that she had only become separated for him, and had continued on.
She was wearing the bone Adie had given her, and it should have kept her safe. She should have
been able to make it through. But he was wearing the tooth, and Adie had said he couldn't be seen
either, yet the shadows had come from them anyway. It seemed odd; the shadows hadn't moved
until it was dark, at the split rock. Why didn't they come for them before?

There were no tracks. Nothing had been through the Narrows for a long time. Fatigue and despair
enveloped him again as fits of icy wind flapped his forest cloak around him, seeming to urge him
on, away from the Narrows. All hope gone, he turned once more to the path, toward the Midlands.

He had taken only a few steps when a thought brought him to a sudden halt

If Kahlan had become separated from him, if she thought the underworld had taken him, if she
thought she had lost him and was alone; would she have continued on, to the Midlands? Alone?

No.

He turned to the Narrows. No. She would have gone back. Back to the wizard.

It would be no use for her to go to the Midlands alone. She needed help, that's why she had come to
Westland in the first place. Without the Seeker, the only help was the wizard.

Richard dared not put too much faith in the thought, but it wasn't that far back to the place where he
had fought the shadows, where he had lost her. He couldn't go on without checking, without
knowing for sure. Fatigue forgotten, he plunged back into the Narrows.

Green light welcomed his return. Following his tracks back, in a short time he found the place
where he had fought the shadows. His footprints wandered all about in the mud of the slide, telling
the tale of his battle. He was surprised at how much ground he had covered in the fight. He didn't
remember all the circling, the back and forth. But then he didn't remember much of the fight, until
the last part.

With a jolt of recognition, he saw what he was looking for. The tracks of the two of them, together,
then hers, alone. His heart pounded as he followed them, hoping so hard it hurt, that they wouldn't
lead into the wall. Squatting, he inspected them, touched them. Her tracks wandered about a while,
seemingly confused, and then they stopped, and turned. Where their pair of tracks led in from the
other way, one set of tracks lead back.

Kahlan's.

Richard stood in a rush, his breathing rapid, his pulse racing. The green light glowed irritatingly
about him. He wondered how far she could have gone. It had taken them most of the night to
laboriously cross the Narrows. But they hadn't known where the trail was. He looked down at the
footprints in the mud. He did now.

He would have to go fast; he couldn't be timid in following the way back. A memory of something
Zedd had told him when the old man had given him the sword came into his mind. The strength of
rage, the wizard had said, gives you the heedless drive to prevail.

The clear metallic ringing filled the dim morning air as the Seeker drew his sword. Anger flooded
through him. Without a second thought, Richard dashed down the trail, following the tracks. The
pressure of the wall buffeted him as he jogged through the cool mist. When the tracks turned,
switching back and forth; he didn't slow, but set his feet to one side or the other to throw his weight
the other way down the path.

Keeping a steady, sustainable pace, he was able to traverse the span of the Narrows before
midmorning. Twice, he had come across a shadow floating in place on the path. They didn't move
or seem to be aware of him. Richard charged through, sword first. Even without faces, they had
seemed surprised as they howled apart.

Without slowing he went through the split rock, kicking a gripper out of the way. On the other side
he stopped to catch his breath. He was overwhelmed with relief that her footprints went all the way.
Now, back on the forest trail, her tracks would be harder to see, but it didn't matter. He knew where
she was going, and he knew she was safely through the Narrows. He felt like crying with joy in the
knowledge that Kahlan was alive.

He knew he was getting closer to her; the mist hadn't yet had time to soften the sharp edges of her
footprints, the way it had when he had first found them. When it had gotten light, she must have
followed their tracks instead of using the walls to show the way, or else he would have caught her
long before now. Good girl, he thought, using your head. He would make a woods woman of her
yet.

Richard trotted off down the trail, keeping the sword-and his anger-out. He didn't waste time to stop
and look for signs of her trail, but whenever there was a soft or muddy patch, he looked down,
checking, as he slowed a little. After running over an area of mossy ground, he came to a small bare
patch with footprints. He gave a cursory glance as he went by. Something he saw made him stop so
suddenly that he fell. On his hands and knees, he peered down at the prints. His eyes widened.

Overlapping part of her footprint was a man's boot print, nearly three times as large as hers. He
knew without a doubt who it belonged to: the last man of the quad.

Rage brought him to his feet scrambling into a dead run. Branches and rock flashed by in a blur.
His only concern was to stay on the trail and avoid accidentally running into the boundary, not out
of fear for himself, but because he knew he couldn't help Kahlan if he got himself killed. His lungs
burned for air as his chest heaved with exertion. The anger of the magic made him ignore his
exhaustion, his lack of sleep.

Clambering to the top of a small jut of rock, he saw her at the bottom of the other side. For an
instant, he froze. Kahlan stood on the left, feet apart, in a half crouch, a rock wall at her back. The
last man of the quad stood in front of her, to Richard's right. Panic slashed through his anger. The
man's leather uniform glistened in the wet. The hood of his chain-mail shirt covered his head of
blond hair. His sword rose in his massive fists, and muscles stood out in knots along his arms. He
howled a battle cry.

He was going to kill her.

Wrath exploded through Richard's mind. He screamed "No!" in a murderous rage as he leapt off the
rock. With both hands he brought the Sword of Truth up while still in midair. When he hit the
ground he recoiled, swinging it around from behind, in an arc. The sword whistled with its speed.
The man had turned as Richard hit the ground. Seeing Richard's sword coming, he brought his own
up defensively with lightning speed, the tendons in his wrists and hands making a popping sound as
he did so.

Richard watched as if in a dream as his sword came around.

Every ounce of his strength went into trying to make the sword go faster, go truer. Be deadlier. The
magic raged with his need. Richard looked from the man's sword, hard into the steel blue eyes. The
Seeker's sword followed the track of his eyes. He heard himself still screaming. The man held his
sword straight up, to deflect the blow.

Everything else around the man dissolved in Richard's vision. His anger, the magic, was unleashed
like never before. No power on earth could deny him the man's blood. Richard was beyond all
reason. Beyond all other need. Beyond all other cause for living. He was death, brought to life

Richard's entire life force focused lethal hatred into the drive of his sword.

With a beat of his heart that he could feel in the straining muscles of his neck, Richard watched out
of his peripheral vision with expectant elation as he held the man's blue eyes, watched his sword
finally sweep the rest of the agonizing distance around in a smooth arc, at long last contracting the
enemy's raised sword. He saw the detail of it shattering ever so. slowly in a burst of hot fragments,
freeing the bulk of the severed blade to lift into the air, twisting as it went, its polished surface
glinting in the light with a flash upon each of the three revolutions it made before the Seeker's
sword; with all the power of his rage and the magic behind it, reached the man's head, contacting
the chain mail, making the head deflect only the tiniest bit before the sword exploded through the
steel links of the mail, through the man's head at eye level, filling the air with a shower of steel
pieces and links.

The misty morning erupted with a burst of red fog that made Richard feel a flush of exhilaration as
he watched clumps of blond hair and bone and brain tumble madly away as the blade continued its
sweep through the crimson air, clearing the last ragged fragments of the enemy's skull, continuing
its journey around, while the body with only a neck and jaw and little else recognizable above that,
began dropping away as if all its bones had dissolved, leaving nothing to hold it up, finally hitting
the ground with a hard jolt. Globs of blood were flung up into the' air in long strings which finally
arced and fell back to the ground and onto Richard, offering the victor the hot satisfying taste of it
in his mouth where some of it had landed as he screamed his rage. More pumped thick and copious
out into the dirt at the same time as bits of steel from the chain mail and shattered sword rained to
earth while other bits of bone and steel that had already flown past Richard bounced and skittered
across the, rock behind him and still more bone and brain and blood from up in the air fell back at
last onto the ground all about„ tinting everything a rich red.

The bringer of death stood victorious over the object of his hate and rage, soaked in blood and the
glory of joy such as he had never imagined. His chest heaved in rapture. Bringing the sword to the
front again, he checked for any other threat. There was none.

And then the world imploded upon him.

Everything about jolted back into his sight. Richard saw a wide-eyed look of shock on Kahlan's
face before the pain took him to his knees, ripping through him, doubling him over.

The Sword of Truth dropped from his hands.

Sudden realization of what he had done slashed through him. He had killed a man. Worse, he had
killed a man he had wanted to kill. It didn't matter that he was protecting another life; he had
wanted to kill. Had reveled in it. He would have allowed nothing t9 deny him the killing.

The vision of his sword exploding through the man's head flashed over and over in his mind. He
couldn't make it stop.

In searing pain like none he had ever known he clutched his arms across his abdomen. His mouth
was open, but no scream came forth. He tried to let himself lose consciousness to stop the pain, but
could not. Nothing else existed but the pain, just as nothing else had existed, in his desire to kill,
but the man.

The pain whited his vision out. He was blind. Fire burned through every muscle, bone, and organ of
his body, consuming him, taking his breath from his lungs, choking him in convulsing agony. He
fell to his side on the ground, his knees pulled up to his chest, the screams coming at last in pain
now as he had screamed in rage before. Richard felt the life being drawn from him. Through the
anguish and hurt, he knew that if this went on he wasn't going to be able to retain his sanity, or
worse, his life. The power of the magic was crushing him. He could never have imagined that this
level of pain existed; now he couldn't imagine it ever leaving. He felt it stripping his sanity from
him. In his mind, he begged for death. If something didn't change, and quick, he would have it, one
way or -another.

In the fog of agony, a realization came to him; he recognized the pain. It was the same as the anger.
It coursed through him the same way as the anger from the sword. He knew that feeling well
enough; it was the magic. Once he recognized it as the magic, he urgently tried to take control of it,
the way he had learned to control the anger. This time he knew he must win control, or die. He
reasoned with himself, came to comprehend the need of what he had done, horrible as it was. The
man had sentenced himself to death with his own intent to kill.

At last, he was able to put away the pain, as he had learned to put away the anger. Relief washed
over him. He had won both battles. The pain lifted, and was gone.

Lying on his back, panting, he felt the world come rushing back. Kahlan was kneeling beside him,
wiping a cool, damp cloth over his face. Wiping off the blood. Her brow was wrinkled; tears ran
down her cheeks. Splatters of the man's blood lay in long streaks across her face.

Richard rose to his knees and took the cloth from her hand, to wipe her face, as if to wipe from her
mind the sight of what he had done. Before he could, she threw her arms around him, embracing
him tighter than he would have thought her capable of. He hugged her back just as tight while her
fingers went up the back of his neck, into his hair, holding his head to her as she cried. He couldn't
believe how good it felt to have her back. He didn't want to let her go, ever.

"I'm so very sorry, Richard," she sobbed.

"For what?"

"That you had to kill a man on my account."

He rocked her gently, stroking her hair. "It's all right."

She shook her head against his neck. "I knew how much the magic would hurt you. That's why I
didn't want you to have to fight the men back at the inn."

"Zedd told me the anger would protect me from the pain. Kahlan, I don't understand; There is
absolutely no way I could have been any more angry."

She separated from him, her hands on leis arms, squeezing as if to keep testing that he was real.
"Zedd told me to watch out for you, if you used the sword to kill a man. He told me that what he
said about the anger protecting you was true, but he said the first time was different, that the magic
tested, took a measure of the Seeker with the pain, and nothing could protect you from it. He said
that he couldn't tell you because if you knew, it would make you hold back, be more cautious in its
use, and that could be disastrous. He said the magic has to join to the Seeker with its first ultimate
use, to ascertain his intent when he kills." She squeezed his arms. "He said the magic could do
terrible things to you. It tests with the pain, to see who will be the master, who the ruled."

Richard sat back on his heels, startled. Adie had said the wizard kept a secret from him. This must
have been it. Zedd must have been very worried, and afraid for him. Richard felt sorry for his old
friend.

For the first time, Richard truly understood the meaning of being Seeker, in a way no one else but a
Seeker could. Bringer of death. He understood it now. Understood the magic, how he used it, how
it used him, how they were now joined. For better or worse, he would never be the same again. He
had tasted fulfillment of his darkest desire. It was done. There was no going back to being as he
was before.

Richard brought the cloth up and wiped the blood from Kahlan's face.

"I understand. I know now what he was talking about. You were right to not tell me." He touched
the side of her face, his voice gentle. "I was so afraid you were killed."

She put her hand over his. "I thought you were dead. One minute I was holding your hand, and then
I realized I wasn't." Her eyes filled with tears again. "I couldn't find you. I didn't know what to do.
The only thing I could think of was to go get Zedd, to wait for him to wake, to get him to help me. I
thought you were lost to the underworld."

"I thought that's what happened to you too. I almost went on, alone." He grinned. "Seems I have to
keep coming back for you."

She smiled for the first time since he had found her, then put her arms around him again. Quickly,
she pushed away.

"Richard, we have to get out of here. There are beasts about. They will come for his body; we can't
be here when they do."

He nodded, turned, picked up his sword, and got to his feet. He reached down for her, to help her
up. She took his hand.

The magic ignited in a rage, warning its master.

Startled, Richard stared at her in shock. Just as the last time, when she had touched his hand when
he held the sword, the magic had come to life, only this time it was stronger. Smiling,

292

she didn't seem to feel anything. Richard forced the anger down. It went with great reluctance.

She hugged him once more, a quick hug with her free arm. "I still can't believe you are alive. I was
so sure I had lost you."

"How did you get away from the shadows?'.'

Kahlan shook her head: "I don't know. They were following us, and when we became separated and
I went back, I didn't see them anymore. Did you see any?"

Richard nodded solemnly. "Yes, I saw them. And my father again. They came for me, tried to push
me into the boundary."

Concern came over Kahlan's face. "Why just you? Why not both of us?"

"I don't know. Last night at the split rock, and later, when they started following us, it must have
been me they were after, not you. The bone protected you."

"The last time at the boundary, they came for everyone but you;" she said. "What's different this
time?"

Richard thought a moment. "I don't know, but we have to get across the pass. We're too tired to
have to spend tonight fighting shadows again. We must get to the Midlands before dark. And this
time, I promise I won't let go of your hand."

Kahlan smiled and squeezed his hand.

"I won't let go of yours either."

"I ran back through the Narrows. It didn't take long that way. You up to that?"

She nodded arid they started running at an easy pace he thought she could keep up. As the last time
he crossed, no shadows followed, although several floated above the path. And as before, Richard-
went through them sword-first without waiting to find out what they would do. Kahlan flinched at
their howls. He watched the tracks as he ran, pulling her through the turns, keeping her on the trail.

When they were clear of the slide, and on the forest path on the other side of the Narrows, they
slowed to a fast walk to catch their breath. Drizzle wet their faces and hair. Happiness over finding
her alive dimmed his worry about the difficulties that lay ahead. They shared bread and fruit as they
kept moving. Even though his stomach was grumbling with hunger, he didn't want to stop for
anything more elaborate

Richard was still confused by the reaction of the magic when Kahlan had taken his hand. Was it
something the magic felt in her, or was the magic reacting to something in his own mind? Was it
because he was afraid of her secret? Or was it something more, something the magic itself felt in
her? He wished Zedd was around, so he could ask him what he thought. But then, Zedd had been
there the last time, and he hadn't asked him about it then. Was he afraid of what Zedd might tell
him?

After they had eaten a little and the afternoon had worn on, they heard growls off in the woods.
Kahlan said it was the beasts. They decided to run again, to get clear of the pass as soon as
possible. Richard was beyond being tired. He was simply numb as they ran through the thick wood.
Light rain on the leaves washed out the sound of their footfalls.

Before dark they came to the edge of along ridge. Below, the trail descended in a series of
switchbacks. They stood at the top of the ridge, in the woods, as if at the mouth of a cave, looking
out over an open grassland swept with rain.

Kahlan held herself erect, rigid. "I know this place," she whispered.

"So what is it?"

"It is called the Wilds. We are in the Midlands." She turned to him. "I am returned home."

He lifted an eyebrow. "The place doesn't look that wild to me."

"It is not named after the land. It is named after those who live in it."

After descending the steep ridge, Richard found a small protected spot under a slab of rock, but it
wasn't deep enough to keep out all the rain, so he cut pine boughs and leaned them against the jut of
rock, making a small, reasonably dry shelter where they could spend the night. Kahlan crawled
inside, and Richard followed, pulling boughs over the entrance, sealing out most of the rain. Both
slumped down, wet and exhausted.

Kahlan took her cloak off and shook out the water. "I've never seen it be overcast so long, or rain so
much. I can't even remember what the sun looks like. I'm becoming weary of it."

"Not me," he said quietly. She frowned, so he explained. "Re- member the snakelike cloud that
followed me, the one sent by Rahl to track me?" She nodded. "Zedd cast a wizard's web to bring
other clouds to hide it. As long as it's cloudy, and we can't see the snake cloud, neither can Rahl. I
prefer the rain to Darken Rahl."

Kahlan thought this over. "From now on, I will be happier about the clouds. But next time, could
you ask him to bring clouds that are not so wet?" Richard smiled and nodded. "Do you want
anything to eat?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I'm too tired. I just want to sleep. Is it safe here?"

"Yes. No one lives near the boundary in the Wilds. Adie said we are protected from the beasts, so
the heart hounds should not bother us."

The sound of steady rain was making him all the more sleepy. They wrapped themselves in their
blankets, the night being cold already. In the dim light Richard could just make out the features of
Kahlan's face as she leaned up against the rock wall. The shelter was too small for a fire, and
everything too wet anyway. He reached into his pocket, fingering the pouch with the night stone,
considering if he should take it out, to see better, but at last decided against it.

Kahlan smiled over at him. "Welcome to the Midlands. You have done as you said you would: you
got us here. Now the hard work begins. What would you have us do?"

Richard's head was throbbing; he leaned back next to her. "We need someone with- magic who can
tell us where the last box is, where to find it. Or at least where to look for it. We can't just go
running around blindly. We need someone who can point us in the right direction. Who do you
know like that?"

Kahlan gave him a sideways glance. "We are a long way from anyone who would want to help us."

She was avoiding telling him something. His anger jumped. "I didn't say they had to want to help
us, I said they had to be, able to. You just take me to them and I'll worry about the rest!" Richard
immediately regretted his tone of voice. He leaned his head back against the rock wall and put the
anger down. "Kahlan, I'm sorry." He rolled his head away from her. "I've had a hard day. Besides
killing that man, I had to run my sword through my father again. But the worst of it was I thought
my best friend was lost to the underworld. I just want to stop Rahl, to end this nightmare."

He turned his face to hers, and she gave him one of her special, tight-upped smiles. Kahlan watched
his eyes in the near darkness for a few minutes.

"Not easy, being Seeker," she said softly.

He smiled back at her. "Not easy," he agreed.

"The Mud People," she said at last. "They may be able to tell us where to search, but there is no
guarantee they will agree to help us. The Wilds are a remote part of the Midlands, and the Mud
People are not used to dealing with outsiders.. They have strange customs. They do not care about
the problems of others. They wish only to be left alone."

"If he succeeds, Darken Rahl will not respect their wishes," he reminded her.

Kahlan took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Richard, they can be dangerous."

"Have you dealt with them before?"

She nodded. "A few times. They do not speak our language, but I speak theirs."

"Do they trust you?"

Kahlan looked away as she wrapped her blanket tighter. "I guess so." She looked up at him from
under her eyebrows. "But they are afraid of me, and with the Mud People, that may be more
important than trust."

Richard had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from asking why they were afraid of her. "How
far?"

"I'm not sure exactly where we are in the Wilds. I didn't see enough to tell for certain, but I'm sure
they are no more than a week to the northeast."

"Good enough. In the morning we head northeast."

"When we get there, you must follow my lead, and if I tell you something, you must pay heed. You
must convince them to help you, or they will not, sword or no sword." He gave her a nod. She took
her hand out from under the blanket and put in on his arm. "Richard," she whispered, "thank you
for coming back for me. I'm sorry for what it cost you."

"I had to-what good would it do to go to the Midlands without my guide?"

Kahlan grinned. "I will try to live up to your expectations."

He gave her hand a squeeze before they both lay down. Sleep took him as he thanked the good
spirits for protecting her

CHAPTER 2

2
ZEDD'S EYES POPPED OPEN. The aroma of spice soup was thick in the air. Without moving, he
looked cautiously about. Chase lay next to him, there were bones hung on the walls, and it was dark
outside the window. He looked down at his body. Bones were piled upon him. Without moving, he
carefully caused them to rise slowly into the air, then he silently made them float aside, and finally
to set down. Making no sound, he rose. He was in a house full of bones, bones of beasts. He turned
around.

He was surprised to come face-to-face with a woman just as she also turned around.

In a fright, they both screamed and 'threw their skinny arms into the air.

"Who are you?" he asked, leaning forward, peering into her white eyes.

She snatched her crutch just before it toppled over and put it back under her arm. "I be Adie," she
answered in a raspy voice. "You gave me a scare! You awoke sooner than I expected."

Zedd straightened his robes. "How many meals have I missed?" he demanded

Scowling, Adie looked him up and down. "Too many, by the looks of it."

A grin creased Zedd's cheek. He in turn eyed Adie from top to bottom. "You are a fine-looking
woman," he announced. With a bow he took her hand and kissed it lightly, then stood up proud and
straight, holding one bony finger skyward. "Zeddicus Zu'1 Zorander, humbly at your whim, my
dear lady." He leaned forward. "What's wrong with your leg?"

"Nothing. It be perfectly fine."

"No, no," he said with a frown, pointing. "Not that one, the other."

Adie looked down at the missing foot, then back up to Zedd. "It does not go all the way to the
ground. What be the matter with your eyes?"

"Well, I hope you learned your lesson; you only have one foot left, you know." Zedd's frown
melted back to a grin. "And the problem with my eyes," he said in his thin voice, "is that they have
been famished, but now they are feasting."

Adie smiled a little smile. "Would you like a bowl of soup, wizard?"

"I thought you would never ask, sorceress."

He followed her as she worked her way across the room to the kettle hanging in the. fireplace and,
after she had dished out two bowls of soup, carried them to the table. Leaning her crutch against the
wall, she sat opposite him, and cut a thick slice each of bread and cheese, pushing them Across the
table to him. Zedd bent over and dug right in, but stopped after one swallow of soup and looked up
at her white eyes.

"Richard made this soup," he said in an even voice, the second spoonful hanging midway between
the bowl and his mouth.

Adie tore off -a piece of bread and dunked it in the soup as she watched him. "That be true. You be
fortunate; mine would not be this good."

Zedd looked around as he put the spoon down in the bowl. "And where is he?"

Adie took a bite of the bread and chewed, watching Zedd. When she had swallowed, she answered.
"He and the Mother Confessor have gone through the pass, to the Midlands. Although he knows
her only as Kahlan; she still hides her' identity from him." She went on to tell the wizard the story
of how Richard and Kahlan had come to her, seeking her help for their stricken friends.

Zedd picked up the cheese in one hand, the bread in the other, taking alternating bites as he listened