Wizard's First Rule

by Terry Goodkind

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

  “You must use your head. That is Darken Rahl’s way. Meet him on his terms, and you will lose. It will not be easy. You will have to suffer, as will our people, as will other people, before you have even a chance to succeed. And in all probability, you will still fail. Heed our warning, Richard With The Temper.”

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

  “Then we will test the truth of your pledge. There is something else we would tell you.” They paused for a moment. “Darken Rahl is here. He looks for you.”

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

  “What! He is here now? Where is he, what is he doing?”

  “He is in the center of the village. He is killing people.”

  Fear raged through Kahlan. Richard took a step forward. “I have to get out of here. I have to get my sword. I have to try to stop him!”

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

  Richard and Kahlan sank back down, looking wide-eyed at each other, clutching each other’s hands. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Hurry, then,” Richard said.

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

  “But I have to go out sooner or later!”

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

  “The symbols painted upon you open our eyes to you, so we may see you. They close his eyes to you; he cannot see you. Unless you draw your sword. That, he will be able to see; then he would have you. As long as the symbols are upon you, and the magic of your sword remains in its scabbard, while you are in Mud People territory, he cannot find you.”

  “But I can’t stay here!”

  “Not if you wish to stop him. When you leave our territory, the power of the symbols will be gone, and he will be able to see you again.”

  Richard breathed hard, his hands shook. Kahlan could see by the look on his face that he was close to disregarding the warning, close to going out to fight.

  “The choice is yours,” the spirits said. “Wait in here while he kills some of our people, and when he is gone, go after the box, to kill him. Or go out now, and accomplish nothing.”

  Richard closed his eyes tight, swallowed hard. His chest rose and fell with his labored breathing.

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

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

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

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

  The clouds were gone. Even the snakelike cloud.

  Dawn was less than an hour away, and already the eastern sky had a hint of color to it. A solemn-faced hunter handed them their clothes, and Richard his sword. Wordlessly, they dressed and went out.

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

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

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

  “The red demon came from the sky, carrying a man. He wanted you.” Fire in his eyes, he pushed his spearpoint against Richard’s chest. The Bird Man, stone-faced, put his hand on the spear, raising the point away from Richard. “When he could only find your clothes, he began killing people. Children!” His chest was heaving with anger. “Our arrows would not touch him. Our spears would not touch him. Our hands would not touch him. Many of those who tried were killed by magic fire. Then he became even more angry when he saw that we use fire. He made all the fires go out. Then he climbed back on the red demon and told us that if we use fire again, he will come back and kill every child in the village. With magic, he floated Siddin into the air, and took him under his arm. A gift, he said, for a friend. Then he flew away. And where were you and your sword!”

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

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

  “I heard the voices of our ancestors’ spirits,” Savidlin said. “I know this is not his failing!”

  Kahlan put her arms around Savidlin, and comforted him. “Be strong. We have saved him once when it seemed he was lost. We will save him again.”

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

  “A lie,” she answered, “to ease his pain.”

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

  “Show me the ones he killed,” he said without emotion.

  “Why?” the man demanded.

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

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

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

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

  “If it eases your pain to think so, then blame me. I choose to blame the one whose hands have the blood on them.” He addressed the Bird Man and the other elders. “Until this is over, don’t use fire. It will only invite more killing. I swear to stop this man or die in the attempt. Thank you, my friends, for helping me.”

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

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

  They were going to die.

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

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

  “Remember me,” she whispered.

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

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

  29

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

  Turning back to the shiny, polished wall of little wooden drawers, Princess Violet put her stubby finger through a gold handle and slid open another drawer, taking out a sparkling silver necklace studded with large blue stones.

  “This one’s pretty. Hold my hair up.”

  She turned to the tall wood-framed mirror, admiring herself as her fingers hooked the clasp behind her plump neck while Rachel held her long, dull, brown hair out of the way for her. Rachel eyed herself in the mirror, inspecting the red mark on her face. She hated looking at herself in the mirror, hated seeing her hair, how it looked when the Princess chopped it off short. She wasn’t allowed to let her hair grow, of course, she was a nobody, but she wished so much it could at least be cut even. Almost everyone else had their hair cut short, but it was even. The Princess liked chopping it for her, liked making it all jagged. Princess Violet liked it when other people thought Rachel was ugly.

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

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

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

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

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

  The Princess turned with an innocent expression, then tossed her the box. Rachel gasped, catching the box, horrified it might crash against the wall. Terrified that she had it in her hands, she immediately set it down on the floor as if it were a hot coal. She backed away, fearful of getting whipped just for being caught near the Queen’s precious box.

  “What’s the big deal?” Princess Violet snapped. “Magic keeps it from being taken from this room. It’s not like anyone’s going to steal it or anything.”

  Rachel didn’t know anything about any magic, but she knew she didn’t want to be caught touching the Queen’s box.

  “I’m going down to the diningroom,” the Princess said, lifting her nose, “to watch the guests arrive, and wait for dinner. Clean up this dreadful mess, then go to the kitchen and tell the cooks I don’t want my roast cooked like leather, like the last time, or I’ll tell my mother to have them beaten.”

  “Of course, Princess Violet.” Rachel curtsied.

  The Princess held her big nose up. “And?”

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

  “Well, it’s the least I can do; you must get tired of looking at your ugly face in the mirror. My mother says we must do kind things for the less fortunate.” She reached in a pocket and brought out something. “Here. Take the key and lock the door when you’re finished putting everything back.”

  Rachel curtsied again. “Yes, Princess Violet.”

  While the key was dropping into Rachel’s outstretched hand, the Princess’s other hand came out of nowhere, slapping Rachel’s face unexpectedly, and unexpectedly hard. She stood stunned as Princess Violet walked out of the room, laughing a high, squeaky, snorting laugh. Princess Violet’s laugh hurt almost as much as the slap.

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

  Rachel deliberately worked around the Queen’s box, giving it sidelong glances, afraid to touch it, yet knowing she would have to, because she had to put it back. She worked slowly, meticulously laying the jewelry in its place, carefully pushing the drawers closed, hoping somehow she wouldn’t finish, so she wouldn’t have to pick up the box, the Queen’s favorite thing in the whole world.

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

  When all the jewelry was put away, the last drawer closed, she looked out of the corner of her eye, down at the box sitting on the floor. She felt as if it were looking back, as if it might somehow tell the Queen. Finally, squatting down, eyes wide, she picked it up. Holding it at arm’s length, she carefully shuffled her feet over the edges of carpets, terrified she might drop it. She set the box in its place as slowly as she could, carefully, gingerly, fearing a jewel might fall out or something. She quickly drew her fingers away, relieved.

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

  The wizard.

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

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

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

  She opened the other eye, just as cautiously. “You’re not?” She didn’t believe him. She saw with a start that the big heavy door was closed, her only escape route blocked.

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

  “We were playing. That’s all, just playing. I was putting it back for the Princess. She’s very good to me, so very good, I wanted to help her. She’s a wonderful person, I love her, she’s so kind to me…”

  He put a long finger over her lips, to gently silence her. “I get the point, child. So, you are the Princess’s playmate then?”

  She nodded in earnest. “Rachel.”

  His grin got bigger. “That’s a pretty name. Glad to meet you, Rachel. I’m sorry I frightened you. I was only coming to check on the Queen’s box.”

  No one had ever told her that her name was pretty. But h
e had shut the big door. “You’re not going to strike me dead? Or change me into something horrid?”

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

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

  “Better?”

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

  “So? She is not so kind to you, then?”

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

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

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

  “Tell you what, I have something here that might help.” A thin hand reached into his robes, and he looked up into the air while his hand felt around. Then his hand found what it was looking for. Her eyes went wide as he pulled out a doll with short hair the same yellow color as hers. He patted the doll’s tummy. “This is a trouble doll.”

  “Trouble doll?” she whispered.

  “Yes.” He nodded. There were deep wrinkles at the ends of his smile. “When you have troubles, you tell them to the doll, and she takes them away for you. She has magic. Here. Try it out.”

  Rachel could hardly take a breath as she reached out with both hands, her fingers carefully clutching the doll. She pulled it to her chest cautiously and hugged it. Then, tentatively, slowly, she held it out, looking at its face. Her eyes got all watery.

  “Princess Violet says I’m ugly,” she confided in the doll.