Richard put his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. “Everything is fine,” he whispered to her. “It wasn’t what I thought. I’ll tell you about it later.”
“What about the murderer? Has anyone found him yet?”
“Yes, someone found him, and murdered him for his crime,” Richard told her. “What about the representatives? Did you take care of it?”
Her answer was a moment in coming. “Grennidon, Togressa, and Pendisan Reach surrendered. Jara may yet, but they wish to wait for two weeks for a sign from the sky.” Richard frowned. “Mardovia refused to join with us. They choose to remain neutral.”
Richard jerked to a halt. “What!”
Everyone marching behind almost lurched into him.
“They refuse to surrender. They claim to be neutral.”
“The Order doesn’t recognize neutrality. Neither do we. Didn’t you tell them that?”
Kahlan’s face showed nothing. “Of course I did.”
Richard hadn’t meant to yell at her. He was angry at Mardovia, not her.
“General Reibisch is in the south. Maybe we could have him take Mardovia before the Order grinds them into carrion.”
“Richard, they were given a chance. They are now the walking dead. We can’t waste the lives of our soldiers to take Mardovia just so that we might protect them. It would serve no purpose and it would weaken our effort.”
Nadine pushed between them and glared at Kahlan. “You talked to that evil Jagang. You know what he’s like. Those people will all die if you leave them to the Order. You just don’t care about the lives of innocent people. You’re heartless.”
From the corner of his eye, Richard saw a red flash as Cara’s Agiel spun up into her hand.
Richard shoved Nadine on ahead of him. “Kahlan is right. It just took a moment for it to sink in through my thick skull. Mardovia has chosen their own path; they must walk it. Now, if you want to show me someone, then show me. I have important things to do.”
Nadine huffed, flipped her thick brown hair back over her shoulder, and marched on. Cara and Raina were scowling at the back of her head. A scowl from a Mord-Sith was more often than not prelude to a serious consequence. Richard had probably just spared Nadine that consequence. Someday, he was going to have to do something about Shota. Before Kahlan tried.
Richard leaned toward Kahlan. “I’m sorry. I’m dead tired and I just wasn’t thinking.”
She squeezed his arm. “You promised you would get some sleep, remember?”
“Soon as I see to this business with Nadine, whatever it is.”
At the door to her room, Nadine snatched Richard’s hand again and tugged him in. Before he could object, he saw the boy sitting on a red chair. Richard thought he recognized him as one of the Ja’La players he had watched.
The boy was shuddering in tears. When he saw Richard coming into the room, he jumped down off the chair and swiped the floppy wool hat from his head of blond hair. He stood crushing his hat in his fists, trembling expectantly, tears coursing down his face.
Richard crouched down before the boy. “I’m Lord Rahl. I hear you need to see me. What’s your name?”
He wiped his nose. The tears kept coming. “Yonick.”
“There now, Yonick, what’s the matter?”
He could only get out the word “brother” before succumbing to gasping sobs. Richard took the boy in his arms and comforted him. He wept in racking sobs as he clung to Richard. His misery was heartbreaking.
“Can you tell me what’s the matter, Yonick?”
“Please, Father Rahl, my brother’s sick. Real sick.”
Richard stood the boy on his feet before him. “He is? What’s he sick with?”
“I don’t know,” Yonick cried. “We bought him herbs. We tried everything. He’s so sick. He’s just been getting worse since I came to see you before.”
“Since you came to see me before?”
“Yes,” Nadine snapped. “He came begging for your help a few days ago.” Nadine thrust a finger at Kahlan. “She sent him away.”
Kahlan’s face went crimson. Her jaw worked, but no words came out.
“All she cares about are her armies and fighting wars and hurting people. She doesn’t care about a miserable little boy who’s sick. She would only care if he was some fancy, important diplomat. She doesn’t know what it is to be poor and sick.”
With a glare, Richard froze Cara’s advance. He turned and glared at Nadine.
“That’s enough.”
Drefan laid a hand on Kahlan’s shoulder. “I’m sure you had a good reason. You couldn’t have known how sick his brother was. No one is blaming you.”
Richard turned back to the boy. “Yonick, my brother here, Drefan, is a healer. Take us to your brother, and we’ll see if we can’t help him.”
“And I have herbs,” Nadine said. “I’ll help your brother, too, Yonick. We’ll do everything we can. We promise.”
Yonick wiped his eyes. “Please hurry. Kip is real sick.”
Kahlan looked on the verge of tears. Richard put a hand tenderly to her back. He could feel her trembling. He feared how sick the boy’s brother might be, and wanted to spare her seeing it. He feared she might blame herself.
“Why don’t you wait here while we see to this.”
Her wet green eyes flashed up at him. “I’m going,” she said through gritted teeth.
Richard gave up trying to remember the warren of narrow streets and twisting alleys they went down, and simply noted where the sun was in the sky in order to keep his bearings as Yonick led them through a maze of buildings and walled courtyards hung with laundry.
Chickens flapped and squawked as they scattered out of the way. Some of the tiny, walled courtyards held a few goats, or sheep, or a pig or two. The animals seemed incongruous amid the tightly packed buildings.
Overhead, people carried on conversations from opposing windows. Some leaned out on elbows to have a look at the procession led by a boy. It created quite a stir. Richard knew that it was the sight of Lord Rahl, dressed in his black war wizard’s outfit with a gold cloak billowing out behind, and the Mother Confessor in her pristine white dress, that was the object of wonder, rather than the knot of soldiers or two Mord-Sith—soldiers were common, and the city people probably didn’t have a clue as to who the two women in brown leather were.
People in the streets and alleyways pushed their carts of vegetables, wood, or household goods to the side to get out of the way. Others stood against the walls and watched, as if it were a miniature, impromptu parade unexpectedly coming through their neighborhood.
At intersections, soldiers on patrol cheered their Lord Rahl, and called out their thanks for his curing their ailment.
Richard held a tight grip on Kahlan’s hand. She hadn’t spoken a word since they left the palace. He had made Nadine walk behind, between the two Mord-Sith. He hoped Nadine knew enough to keep her mouth shut.
Yonick pointed. “Just up there.”
They followed him as he turned from the street down a narrow alley between stone walls forming the bottom floors of houses, with wood above for the second story. Water dripping from melting snow overhead splashed mud from the alley a few feet up onto the stone. With one hand, Kahlan held Richard’s, and with the other she held the hem of her dress up as she followed him down the line of boards laid in the mud.
Yonick paused at a door under a small shed roof. People peered out windows to each side. When Richard caught up, Yonick opened the door and ran up the stairs, calling out for his mother.
A door at the top of the stairs squeaked open. A woman in a brown dress and white apron stared down at the boy running up the stairs.
“Ma—it’s Lord Rahl! I brought Lord Rahl!”
“The good spirits be praised,” she said.
She rested a weary hand on her son’s back as he threw his arms around her waist. She lifted her other hand toward a doorway at the rear of the small room used as kitchen, dining room, and living are
a.
“Thank you for coming,” she mumbled to Richard, but she broke down in tears before she could finish.
Yonick ran for the back room. “This way, Lord Rahl.”
Richard squeezed the woman’s arm to reassure her as he swept past, following Yonick. Kahlan still gripped his other hand. Nadine and Drefan followed on their heels, with Cara and Raina close behind. Yonick balked at the bedroom door as the rest of them entered.
A single candle on a small table struggled to ward off the shroud of darkness. A basin of water and soapy rags stood vigil beside the candle. The rest of the room, mostly taken up with three pallets, seemed to be waiting for the candle’s diligence to flag, so night could seize the room.
A small figure lay on the far pallet. Richard, Kahlan, Nadine, and Drefan crowded in beside it. Yonick and his mother, silhouetted by the light from beyond the door, stood at the brink of the darkness, watching.
The room stank like rotting meat.
Drefan pushed back the hood of his flaxen cloak. “Open the shutters so I can see.”
Cara drew both open and folded them against the wall, allowing the light to flood into the tiny room and reveal a blond-headed boy covered to his neck with a white sheet and blanket. The side of his neck, just above the sheet, was grossly distended. His uneven breaths rattled.
“What’s his name?” Drefan called back to the mother.
“Kip,” she said in a whining cry.
Drefan patted the boy’s shoulder. “We’re here to help you, Kip.”
Nadine leaned in. “Yes, Kip, we’ll have you up and about in no time.”
She put her hand back over her mouth and nose against the smell of rot that gagged them all.
The boy didn’t respond. His eyes were closed. His sweaty hair was plastered against his forehead.
Drefan drew the bed covers down to Kip’s waist, below his hands resting on his stomach. The boy’s fingertips were black.
Drefan stiffened. “Dear spirits,” he breathed.
He rocked back on his heels and touched the back of his hand to the legs of the two Mord-Sith towering behind them.
“Get Richard out of here,” he whispered urgently. “Get him out, now.”
Without questioning, Cara and Raina thrust hands under Richard’s arms and started to pull him up. Richard jerked away from their grip.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. “What’s the matter?”
Drefan wiped a hand across his mouth. He glanced over his shoulder at the mother and Yonick. His gaze took in the rest of them before settling on Richard. He leaned closer.
“This boy has the plague.”
Richard stared at him.
“What do we have to do to cure him?”
Drefan lifted an eyebrow. He turned back to the boy, elevating a little hand. “Look at his fingers.” The fingertips were black. He pulled the bedcover aside. “Look at his toes.” His toes were black. He opened the boy’s trousers. “Look at his penis.” The tip of it was black, too.
“That’s gangrene. It rots the extremities. This is why they call it the black death.”
Richard cleared his throat. “What can we do for him?”
Drefan’s voice lowered even more with incredulity. “Richard, did you hear what I said? Black death. People sometimes recover from the plague, but not when it’s this advanced.”
“If we would have gotten to him sooner…” Nadine’s imputation trailed off.
Kahlan grip on Richard’s forearm tightened painfully. He heard her stifle a cry.
Richard glared at Nadine. She looked away.
“And do you know how to cure the plague, herb woman?” Drefan sneered.
“Well, I—” Nadine blushed and fell silent.
The boy’s eyes fluttered open. His head rolled toward them.
“Lord… Rahl,” he said with a shallow breath.
Richard put a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, Kip. I came to see you. I’m here.”
Kip nodded the slightest bit. “I waited.” His chest rested longer between each breath.
“What can you do to help?” came a tearful question from the doorway. “How soon will he be well again?”
Drefan opened the collar of his white, ruffled shirt as he leaned close to Richard. “Say something comforting to the boy—that’s all we can do. He won’t last long. I’ll go talk to the mother. It’s part of the job of healer.”
Drefan stood, pulling Nadine away with him. Kahlan was leaning against Richard’s shoulder. He feared looking at her, lest she break down in tears. Lest he break down in tears.
“Kip, you’ll be up and playing Ja’La soon. You’ll be getting over this any day now. I’d like to come watch another of your Ja’La games. I promise to come, just as soon as you’re better.”
A faint smile passed over the boy’s face. His eyelids closed partway. His ribs sank as breath abandoned his lungs.
Richard crouched, feeling his heart pounding, as he waited for the boy’s lungs to fill again. They didn’t.
Silence settled into the room, patiently waiting for darkness to return.
Richard could hear the wheels of a handcart outside squeaking, and the distant, raucous cry of ravens. The music of children’s laughter drifted in the air.
This child would never laugh again.
Kahlan’s head fell against his shoulder. Soft sobs claimed her as she clutched his sleeve.
Richard reached over to pull the sheet over the body.
The boy’s hand rose slowly off his stomach. Richard froze.
The hand floated purposefully to Richard’s throat. The black fingers curled, gathering Richard’s shirt in a death grip.
Kahlan had fallen silent.
They both knew that the boy had died.
The boy’s hand drew Richard closer. The long-silent lungs filled once more with a breath.
Richard, the hair at the base of his neck stiffening, put his ear close.
“The winds,” the dead boy whispered, “hunt you.”
29
Richard stared in a daze as Drefan wrapped the dead boy in the sheet. Only Richard and Kahlan had seen what had happened—had heard what the dead boy had said. Behind him, in the outer room, the mother wailed in anguish.
Drefan leaned close to him. “Richard.” Drefan touched his arm. “Richard.”
Richard started. “What?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Do? What do you mean?”
Drefan glanced over his shoulder at the rest of them back by the door. “What do you want to tell people about this? I mean, he died of the plague. Do you want to try to keep it a secret?”
Richard couldn’t seem to make his mind work.
Kahlan leaned past Richard. “A secret? Why would we want to do that?”
Drefan took a deep breath. “Well, word of a plague might cause a panic. If we let people know, believe me, word of it will beat us back to the palace.”
“Do you think others have it?” she asked.
Drefan shrugged. “I doubt there would be only one isolated case. We have to bury or burn the body at once. His bedcovers, bed, and anything else he touched should be burned. The room should be treated with smoke.”
“Won’t people want to know why that’s being done?” Richard asked. “Won’t they guess the reason?”
“Probably.”
“Then how could it be kept a secret?”
“You’re the Lord Rahl. Your word is law. You would have to suppress any information. Arrest the family. Accuse them of a crime. Have them held until this is over. Have the soldiers carry off all their possessions to be burned and shut up their home.”
Richard closed his eyes and pressed his fingertips to them. He was the Seeker of Truth, not the suppressor of it.
“We can’t do that to a family who just lost a boy. I won’t do that. Besides, wouldn’t it be better if people knew? Don’t people have a right to know of the danger they’re in?”
Drefan nodded. “If it were my decisio
n, I would want people to know. I’ve seen the plague before, in small places. Some have tried to suppress the knowledge of it to prevent panic, but when more people started dying, it couldn’t be kept a secret.”
Richard felt as though the sky had fallen on him. He struggled to make his mind work, but the dead boy’s words kept echoing around in his head. The winds hunt you.
“If we try to lie to people, they won’t believe anything we say. We have to tell them the truth. They’ve a right to know.”
“I agree with Richard,” Kahlan said. “We shouldn’t try to deceive people, especially about something that could endanger their lives.”
Drefan nodded his concurrence. “We’re fortunate, at least, with the time of year. Plague is worst in the heat of summer. It could run rampant if this were summer. In the colder weather of the spring it shouldn’t be able to get a good foothold. With luck, the outbreak of plague will be weak and soon over.”
“Luck,” Richard muttered. “Luck is for dreamers; I only have nightmares. We have to warn people.”
Drefan’s blue eyes looked to each in turn. “I understand, and I agree with your reasoning. The problem is, there’s not much to be done, other than burying the dead quickly and burning their things. There are remedies, but I fear they are of limited value.
“I just want to warn you: news of plague will spread like a firestorm.”
Richard’s flesh prickled with goose flesh.
On the red moon will come the firestorm.
“Dear spirits spare us,” Kahlan whispered. She was thinking the same as he.
Richard sprang up. “Yonick.” He crossed the room, rather than make the boy come to his dead brother.
“Yes, Lord Rahl?” His brow creased as he struggled to hold back his tears.
Richard put one knee to the floor and held the boy’s shoulders.
“Yonick, I’m so sorry. But your brother isn’t suffering any longer. He’s with the good spirits now. He’s at peace, and hoping we will remember the good times with him, and not be too sad. The good spirits will watch over him.”
Yonick brushed his blond hair aside. “But… I…”
“I don’t want you to blame yourself. Nothing could have been done. Nothing. Sometimes people get sick, and none of us has the power to make them well. No one could have done anything. Even if you had brought me right at the first, we couldn’t have done anything.”
Temple of the Winds Page 35
