“It’s better. Can I have more?”
“Of course, my son. With Father Rahl, there is always more.”
21
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 from 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 for 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 had 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 woodswoman 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 bootprint, 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 contacting 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 f
lash 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 to 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 his 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, 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 and 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.
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