Wizard's First Rule

by Terry Goodkind

  Richard was furious at what Darken Rahl was doing to Zedd, and he was furious that he couldn’t move, that he was helpless and could only watch.

  Richard relaxed his mind, shed the effort of trying to move, and replaced it with calm. He let his mind be empty, let himself be soft, limp. The force melted away. He took a step forward, free of the grip that had held him.

  Rahl smiled warmly. “Very good, my boy. You know how to break a wizard’s web, at least a little one. But very good nonetheless. The Old One chooses his Seekers well.” He nodded. “But you are more than a Seeker. You have the gift. I look forward to the day we will be on the same side. I will enjoy having you around. The ones I have to deal with are very limited. After the world is joined, I will teach you more, if you wish.”

  “We will never be on the same side. Never.”

  “That is your choice, Richard. I bear no ill will toward you. I hope we will become friends.” Rahl studied Richard’s face. “There is one more thing. You may stay in the People’s Palace, or you may leave if you wish. My guards will accommodate you. You will, however, have a wizard’s web around you. Unlike the one you just broke, it will not affect you, but those who see you, and therefore you will not be able to break it. It’s called an enemy web. All will see you as their enemy. That means that when your allies see you, they will see an enemy. Those who honor me will see you as yourself, since you are my enemy, for the time being, and therefore already their enemy. At least for now. But those who are your friends will see you as the person they fear most, their worst enemy. I would like you to see the way people think of me, see the world through my eyes, see how unjustly I am regarded.”

  Richard didn’t have to try to hold back the anger; there was none. He felt an odd sort of peace. “Am I free to go now?”

  “Of course, my boy.”

  “What about Mistress Denna?”

  “Once you leave this room, you will be back under her power. She still controls the magic of your sword. Once a Mord-Sith has your magic, it is hers to keep. I cannot take it from her to give it back to you. You must get it back yourself.”

  “Then how am I free to leave?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? If you want to leave, you must kill her.”

  “Kill her!” Richard was stunned. “Don’t you think if I could kill her, I would have done so by now? Do you think I would have endured what she has done to me if I could have killed her?”

  Darken Rahl smiled a little smile. “You have always been able to kill her.”

  “How?”

  “There is nothing that exists that has only one side. Even a piece of paper, thin as it is, has two sides. Magic is not one-dimensional either. You have been looking at only one side of it; most people do. Look at the whole.” He pointed at the bodies of his two guards. The guards Richard had killed. “She controls your magic, yet you did this.”

  “But that’s different, it won’t work against her.”

  Rahl nodded. “Yes, it will. But you must be its master; half measures will get you in a lot of trouble. She controls you with one dimension of your magic, the side you offered her. You must use the other side. It is something all Seekers have been capable of, but none has ever succeeded in mastering. Perhaps you will be the first.”

  “And if I’m not? If I don’t succeed at it?” Darken Rahl was sounding altogether too much like Zedd for Richard’s comfort. This was the way Zedd had always taught him—by making him think for himself, find the answers in his own way, with his own mind.

  “Then, my young friend, you are going to be in for a very rough week. Denna is not pleased at how you embarrassed her. At the end of the week, she will bring you to me, and you will tell me your decision; to help, or to let all your friends suffer and die.”

  “Just tell me how to use the magic of the sword, how to master it.”

  “Of course. Right after you tell me the knowledge in the Book of Counted Shadows.” Rahl smiled. “I didn’t think so. Good night, Richard. Don’t forget, one week.”

  The sun was fading as Richard left the garden and Darken Rahl. His mind was spinning with all the things he had learned. That Darken Rahl knew which box would kill him was troublesome, but he reasoned that Rahl might be using the Wizard’s First Rule on him. Worse was that one of his own had betrayed him. He liked that not one bit. What he liked less was that he knew who it had to be. Shota had told him that Zedd and Kahlan would use their power against him. It had to be Zedd or Kahlan. He couldn’t make that fit, no matter how he tried, no matter how he reasoned it out. It couldn’t be either, yet it had to be one. He loved them both more than his need to live. Zedd had told him he had to be prepared to kill any of them if they jeopardized winning, even if he thought there was only a chance that they did. He forced the thought out of his mind.

  He had to think of a way to get away from Denna. He could be of no help, and none of the rest of it mattered if he couldn’t get away from Denna. It would do him no good to think of the other problems if he couldn’t get away, and if he didn’t figure it out soon, then Denna was going to hurt him, and he wouldn’t be able to think anymore. The things she did to him made it too hard to think, made him forget things. He had to concentrate on that problem first, and worry about the others later.

  The sword, he thought—Denna controlled the magic of the sword. He didn’t need the sword; maybe he could just get rid of it, get rid of the magic she controlled. He reached for the hilt, but the pain of the magic stopped him before he could even touch it.

  He walked on through the halls, toward Denna’s quarters. It was still a long way. Maybe he could simply go another way, leave the People’s Palace. Darken Rahl had told him none of the guards would stop him. When the next intersection of halls came, he started to turn down one. The pain dropped him to his knees. With great effort, he managed to get back to the hall he was supposed to be in. He had to stop and rest, the pain having taken his breath away.

  Close, just ahead, the way he was going, the bell for the evening devotion rang. He would go to the devotion; that would give him time to think. He knelt, relieved that the pain of the magic didn’t come on. It was one of the squares with water. He liked them best; they were the most peaceful. Close to the edge of the water, with people all about, Richard put his head to the tile floor and began chanting, clearing his mind, letting himself go empty. He used the chanting to melt his worries, his fears, his concerns. He put his thoughts of all the problems away, let his mind seek peace, let it wander where it would. The devotion was over, it seemed, in no time. He stood, refreshed, renewed, and started off again toward Denna’s quarters.

  The halls he passed through, the rooms and stairways, were breathtakingly beautiful, and Richard again marveled at them as he passed. He wondered at how someone as vile as Darken Rahl would care to surround himself with such loveliness.

  Nothing was one-dimensional. Two sides to the magic.

  Richard thought about the times the strange power had come awake in him. When he had felt sorry for Princess Violet, when the Queen’s guard had tried to harm Denna, when he had felt the pain of what had been done to Denna, when he thought of Rahl hurting Kahlan, when Rahl’s guards had tried to hurt Denna. He remembered that each time it had made part of his vision turn white.

  Each time, he knew, it was the magic of the sword. But in the past the magic of the sword had been rage, too. Yet this was a different kind of rage. He thought of how he used to feel when he drew the sword in anger. The wrath, the fury, the want to kill.

  The hate.

  Richard stopped dead still in the center of the quiet hall. It was late and there were no people around. He was alone. He felt a wave of cold wash through him, prickling his skin.

  Two sides. He understood.

  The spirits help him, he understood.

  He brought it forth, let it cast everything in a white sheen.

  Cradled numbly in the white haze of the magic, nearly in a trance, Richard pushed the door to Denna’s quarters closed behind hi
mself. He calmly held the power, held the whiteness of it, held the joy and the sorrow of it. The quiet room was lit by one lamp on the bedside table, giving the softly scented air a warm, flickering glow. Denna sat completely naked in the center of her bed. Her legs were crossed, her braid undone, and her hair brushed out. The Agiel was on a gold chain around her neck, hanging between her breasts. Her hands lay nested in her lap. She watched him with big, wistful eyes.

  “You have come to kill me, my love?” she whispered.

  He nodded slowly, watching her. “Yes, Mistress.”

  She smiled a little. “That is the first time you have ever called me simply ‘Mistress.’ You have always called me Mistress Denna, in the past. It means something?”

  “Yes. It means everything, my mate. It means I forgive you everything.”

  “I have made myself ready.”

  “Why are you naked?”

  The lamplight reflected in the wetness of her eyes. “Because everything I have to wear is Mord-Sith. I have nothing else. I did not wish to die in the clothes of a Mord-Sith. I wish to die as I was born. Denna. Nothing more.”

  “I understand,” he whispered. “How did you know I was coming to kill you?”

  “When Master Rahl chose me to go after you, he said he wouldn’t order me to go, but that I must volunteer. He said the prophecies foretold of a Seeker who would be the first to master the magic of the sword: the white magic. That this one would cause the blade of the sword to turn white. He said that if you turned out to be the one of whom the prophecies spoke, it would mean that I was to die by your hand, if you so chose. I asked to be sent, to be your Mord-Sith. Some of the things I have done to you, I have done to no other, in the hope you would be the one, and kill me for it. When you did what you did to the Princess, I suspected. When you killed the two guards today, I knew. You should not have been able to. I was holding you by the sword’s magic at the time.”

  Everything was white around the childlike beauty of her face. “I’m so sorry, Denna,” he whispered.

  “You will remember me?”

  “I will have nightmares the rest of my life.”

  Her smile widened. “I’m glad.” She seemed genuinely proud. “You love this woman, Kahlan?”

  He frowned a little. “How do you know that?”

  “Sometimes, when I hurt men enough, and they don’t know what they’re saying, they cry for their mothers, or their wives. You cried for one named Kahlan. You will choose her for your mate?”

  “I cannot,” he said past the lump in his throat. “She is a Confessor. Her power would destroy me.”

  “I’m sorry. This hurts you?”

  He nodded slowly. “More than anything you have done to me.”

  “Good.” Denna smiled sadly. “I’m glad the one you love is able to give you more pain than was I.”

  Richard knew that in her twisted way, Denna meant this as a comfort to him; that for her to be happy that he would get more pain from another was a giving of her love. He knew that Denna sometimes gave him pain to show that she cared for him. In her eyes, at least, if this other woman could give him more pain, that was a demonstration of love.

  A tear ran down his face. What had they done to this poor child?

  “It is a different kind of pain. None could be your equal in the things you have done.”

  A tear of pride rolled down her cheek. “Thank you, my love,” she breathed. She took the Agiel from her neck and held it up hopefully. “Would you wear this, to remember me by? It will not hurt you around your neck, or if you hold the chain, only if you hold the Agiel itself in your hand.”

  Richard held her face in the white glow. “It would be my honor, my mate.” He bent, letting her put it over his head, letting her give his cheek a kiss.

  “How will you do it?” she asked.

  He knew what she meant. He swallowed back the lump in his throat. His hand went smoothly to the hilt of the sword.

  Slowly, he drew the Sword of Truth. It didn’t ring, the way it always had in the past.

  It hissed. A white-hot hiss.

  Richard didn’t look, but he knew, knew the blade had turned white. He held her wet eyes. The power flooded through him. He was at peace. All anger, all hate, all malice, was gone. Where he had felt these things from the sword before, he now felt only love for this child, this vessel into whom others had poured pain, this receptacle of cruelty, this innocent, tortured soul, who had been trained to do the things she hated above all else: hurting others. His empathy with her made him ache with sorrow for her; with love for her.

  “Denna,” he whispered. “You could just let me go; there is no need to do this. Please. Let me go. Don’t make me have to do this.”

  She held her chin up. “If you try to leave, I will stop you with the pain of the magic, and make you sorry you have been trouble to me. I am Mord-Sith. I am your mistress. I can be no more than who I am. You can be no less, my mate.”

  He nodded sadly, and put the tip of the sword between her breasts, the tears in his eyes and the white glow making it difficult to see.

  Denna gently took the tip of the sword and moved it up a few inches. “My heart is here, my love.”

  Holding the sword against her, he bent and put his left arm tenderly around her soft shoulders. He held the power with all his strength as he kissed her cheek.

  “Richard,” she whispered, “I have never had a mate like you before. I’m glad I will have no other. You are a very rare person. You are the only person since I was chosen who has cared that I was in pain, or done anything to stop it. Thank you for last night, for teaching me what it could be like.”

  Tears dripped from his face. He held her close. “Forgive me, my love.”

  She smiled. “Everything. Thank you for calling me ‘my love.’ It is good to hear it once in truth before I die. Twist the sword, to be sure it is finished. And Richard, please, take my last breath? As I have taught you? I wish you to have my last breath of life.”

  In a daze, he put his mouth over hers, kissing her, and didn’t even feel his right hand moving. There was no resistance. The sword went through her as if she were gossamer. He felt his hand twist the sword, and he took her last breath of life.

  He laid her gently back on the bed, lay down next to her, and wept uncontrollably as he stroked her ashen face.

  He grieved to undo what he had done.

  44

  It was deep in the night when he left Denna’s quarters. The halls were empty except for flickering shadows. Richard’s footsteps echoed from the polished stone floors and walls as he walked in a mournful daze, watching his shadow rotate around himself as he passed torches, feeling comfort only at having his pack on his back once more, and to be leaving the People’s Palace. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he was going to go away from here.

  The pain of an Agiel in the small of his back slammed him to a halt, brought sweat instantly to his face as he tried to take a breath, but couldn’t. Fire seared through his hips and legs.

  “Going somewhere?” came a ruthless whisper.

  Constance.

  His shaking hand struggled to reach his sword. She laughed as she watched him. A vision of giving her control of the magic, of the whole nightmare starting over again, flashed through his mind. His hand backed away from the sword and kept the anger of the magic in check. She came around to stand before him, her arm around him, holding the Agiel against his back, keeping his legs paralyzed. She was wearing her red leather.

  “No? Not ready to try to use the magic on me yet? You will. You will try before long; you will try to save yourself with it.” She smiled. “Save yourself the extra pain, use it now. Maybe I will have mercy on you if you try it now.”

  Richard thought about all the ways Denna had given him pain, and how she had taught him to tolerate it, so she could give him more. He brought to bear everything he had learned. He controlled the pain, blocking it enough to draw a deep breath.

  He swept his left arm around C
onstance, forcing her body tight against himself. He grabbed the Agiel in his fist, Denna’s Agiel, hanging from his neck. Pain shot up his arm. He endured it, dismissed it. Constance gave a grunt as he lifted her off her feet, pulling her up his body. She tried to press her Agiel harder into his back, but she didn’t have the leverage, and he had her arm pinned, so she couldn’t move it.

  When he had her lifted high enough, her contorted face in front of his, he pressed Denna’s Agiel to her chest. Her eyes widened. Her expression slackened. Richard remembered Denna holding her Agiel against Queen Milena in this manner. It had the same effect on Constance. She shook, easing the pressure against his back. Still, it was hurting him, as was the Agiel in his hand.

  Richard gritted his teeth against the pain. “I’m not going to kill you with the sword. To do that, I would have to forgive you everything. I could never bring myself to forgive you for betraying a friend. I could forgive your deeds against me, but not those against your friend, Denna. That is the one thing I could never forgive.”

  Constance gasped with the agony. “Please…”

  “Promise made…” he sneered.

  “No… please… don’t.”

  Richard twisted the Agiel as he had seen Denna do to the Queen. Constance flinched, and went limp in his grip. Blood ran from her ears. He let her lifeless body slip to the ground.

  “Promise kept.”

  Richard stared a long time at the Agiel held tightly in his fist, before he realized it was causing pain, and released it at last to hang from its chain around his neck.

  He looked down at the dead Mord-Sith as he caught his breath. Thank you, Denna, he thought, for teaching me to endure the pain. You have saved my life.

  It took him the better part of an hour to find his way out of the labyrinth of halls, out into the frigid night, to the expanse of grounds. He kept a tight grip on the hilt of the sword as he went past two big guards at the open gate through the outer wall, but they only gave a polite nod of their heads, as if he were an invited guest departing after a royal dinner.