Temple of the Winds tsot-4

by Terry Goodkind

In the sudden silence that filled Petitioners’ Hall, Kahlan paused to acknowledge the gathered visitors.

  A young woman standing against the far wall watched as all those around her fell to one knee. She glanced in Kahlan’s direction, back to those kneeling, and then followed suit.

  Kahlan’s brow tightened.

  In the Midlands, the length of a woman’s hair denoted her power and standing. Matters of power, no matter how trivial they might seem on the surface, were taken seriously in the Midlands. Not even a queen’s hair was allowed to be as long as a Confessor’s, and no Confessor’s hair was as long as that of the Mother Confessor.

  This woman had a thick mass of brown hair close to the length of Kahlan’s.

  Kahlan knew nearly every person of high rank in the Midlands; it was her duty, and she took it seriously. A woman with hair that long was obviously a person of high standing, but Kahlan didn’t recognize her. There was likely to be no man or woman in the entire city, other than Kahlan, who would outrank the woman—if she was in fact from the Midlands.

  “Rise, my children,” Kahlan said in formal response to the tops of the waiting, bowed heads.

  Dresses and coats rustled as everyone began coming to their feet, most keeping their eyes to the floor, out of respect, or needless fear. The woman rose to her feet, twisting a simply made kerchief in her fingers, watching those around her. She turned her brown eyes to the floor, as most of the others were.

  “Cara,” Kahlan whispered, “could that woman there, with the long hair, be from D’Hara?”

  Cara had been watching her, too; she had learned some of the customs of the Midlands. Though Cara’s long blond hair was about the length of Kahlan’s, she was D’Haran. They didn’t live by the same customs.

  “Her nose is too ‘cute’ to be D’Haran.”

  “I’m serious. Do you think she could be D’Haran?”

  Cara studied the woman a moment longer. “I doubt it. D’Haran women don’t wear flower-print dresses, nor are the dresses they do wear of that cut. But clothes can be changed to fit the occasion, or to fit in with local people.”

  The dress didn’t really fit the local dress of Aydindril, but it might not be so out of place in other, more remote, areas of the Midlands. Kahlan nodded and turned to a waiting captain, motioning him over.

  He leaned his head close as she spoke in a low tone. “There is a woman with long brown hair standing against the wall in the back, over my left shoulder. Do you see who I’m talking about?”

  “The pretty one, in the blue kirtle?”

  “Yes. Do you know why she’s here?”

  “She said she wished to speak with Lord Rahl.”

  Kahlan’s brow drew tighter. She noticed that Cara’s did, too. “What about?”

  “She said that she’s looking for a man—Cy something—I didn’t recognize his name. She said he’s been missing since last autumn, and she was told that Lord Rahl would be able to help her.”

  “Is that right,” Kahlan said. “And did she say what business she has with this missing man?”

  The captain glanced to the woman and then brushed his sandy hair back from his forehead. “She said that she’s to marry him.”

  Kahlan nodded. “It could be that she’s a dignitary, but if she is, I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t know her name.”

  The captain glanced at a tattered list with scribbles all over it. He turned the paper and scanned the other side until he found what he was looking for. “She said her name was Nadine. She gave no title.”

  “Well, please see to it that Lady Nadine is taken to a private waiting room where she will be comfortable. Tell her that I will come speak with her and see if I can help. Have dinner brought to her, along with anything else she might require. Give her my apology and tell her that I have something of vital importance that I must attend to first, but I will come see her as soon as I am able, and that I wish to do what I can to help her.”

  Kahlan could understand the woman’s distress if she really was separated from her love and was searching for him. Kahlan had been in that situation herself and knew well the anguish.

  “I’ll see to it at once, Mother Confessor.”

  “One other thing, captain.” Kahlan watched the woman twisting her kerchief. “Tell Lady Nadine that there is trouble about, what with the war with the Old World, and that for her own safety we must insist that she remain in the room until I can come to speak with her. Post a heavy guard outside the room. Place archers at a safe distance down the hall to either side of the door.

  “If she comes out, insist that she must return to the room at once and wait. If you must, tell her that it is by my command. If she still tries to leave”—Kahlan looked into the captain’s waiting blue eyes—“kill her.”

  The captain bowed as Kahlan swept on through the passageway, Cara right at her heels.

  “Well, well,” Cara said, once outside Petitioners’ Hall, “at last the Mother Confessor comes to her senses. I knew I had a good reason for allowing Lord Rahl to keep you. You will make him a worthy wife.”

  Kahlan turned down the corridor toward the room where guards held the man. “I haven’t changed my mind about anything, Cara. Considering our strange visitor, I’m giving Lady Nadine every chance to live, every chance I can afford to give, but you’re mistaken if you think I’ll balk at doing whatever it takes to protect Richard. Besides being the man I love more than life itself, Richard is a man of vital importance to the freedom of the people of both D’Hara and the Midlands. There’s no telling what the Imperial Order would try in order to get to him.”

  Cara smiled, sincerely, this time. “I know he loves you the same. That’s why I don’t like you going to see this man; Lord Rahl may separate me from my hide if he thinks I allowed you near danger.”

  “Richard is one born with the gift; I, too, have been born with magic. Darken Rahl sent quads to kill the Confessors because there is little danger to a Confessor from one man.”

  Kahlan felt the familiar, yet distant anguish of their deaths. Distant, because it seemed so long ago, though it had been hardly a year. For months, in the beginning, she had felt as if she should be dead along with her sister Confessors, and that she had somehow betrayed them by escaping all the traps laid for her. Now, she was the last.

  With a flick of her wrist, Cara snapped her Agiel into her fist. “Even a man, like Lord Rahl, born with the gift? Even a wizard?”

  “Even a wizard, and even if, unlike Richard, he knows how to use his power. I not only know how to use mine, I am very experienced at it. I long ago lost count of the number . . .”

  As Kahlan’s words trailed off, Cara considered her Agiel, rolling it in her fingers. “I guess there is even less than ‘little’ danger—with me there.”

  When they reached the richly carpeted and paneled corridor they were seeking, it was thick with soldiers and bristling with steel from swords, axes, and pikes. The man was being held in a small, elegant reading room close to the rather simple one Richard liked to use for meeting with officers and for studying the journal he had found in the Wizard’s Keep. The soldiers hadn’t wanted to risk an escape attempt and had simply stuffed the man in the room nearest to the spot they found him, pinning him down until it could be decided what was to be done.

  Kahlan gently took the elbow of a soldier to urge him back out of the way. The muscles of his bare arm felt as hard as iron. His pike, pointed toward the closed door, could hardly have been more steady had it been embedded in granite. There had to be fifty pikes likewise aimed at the silent door. More men, gripping swords or axes, hunkered beneath the pike points.

  The guard turned as Kahlan tugged on his arm. “Let me through, soldier.”

  The man gave way. Others glanced back and began moving aside. Cara shouldered her way ahead of Kahlan, pushing men out of the way. They did so reluctantly, not out of disrespect, but out of concern for the danger that waited beyond the door. Even as they moved aside, they kept their weapons pointed toward
the thick oak door.

  Inside, the windowless, dimly lit room smelled of leather and sweat. A lanky man squatted on the edge of an embroidered footstool. He seemed too spare, should he make the wrong move, to permit all the steel aimed at him to find a virgin patch to penetrate. His young eyes dithered among the steel and grim glares until he caught sight of Kahlan’s approaching white dress. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he looked up expectantly.

  When the burly soldiers in leather and chain mail behind him saw Kahlan and Cara forcing their way into the room, one of them landed the side of his boot on the small of the young man’s back, pitching him forward.

  “Kneel, you filthy cur.”

  The young man, dressed in an outsized soldier’s uniform that looked to have been scrounged together from dissimilar sources, peered up at Kahlan, then over his shoulder at the man who had kicked him. He ducked his head of disheveled dark hair and shielded it with a gangly arm, expecting a blow.

  “That’s enough,” Kahlan said in a quietly authoritative tone. “Cara and I wish to speak with him. All of you, wait outside, please.”

  The soldiers balked, reluctant to lift a weapon from the young man cowering on the floor.

  “You heard her,” Cara said. “Out.”

  “But—” an officer began.

  “You doubt that a Mord-Sith is capable of handling this one scrawny man? Now, go wait outside.”

  Kahlan was surprised that Cara hadn’t raised her voice. Mord-Sith didn’t have to raise their voices to get people to follow their orders, but still it surprised her, considering Cara’s nervousness over the young man before them. The men began withdrawing, turning sideways to eye the intruder on the floor as they filed out the door. The knuckles of the officer’s fist around his sword hilt were white. As he backed out last, he gently closed the door with his other hand.

  The young man looked up from under his arm to the two women standing three strides away. “Are you going to have me killed?”

  Kahlan didn’t answer the question directly. “We have come to talk with you. I am Kahlan Amnell, the Mother Confessor—”

  “Mother Confessor!” He straightened on his knees. A boyish grin swept onto his face. “Why, you’re beautiful! I never expected you to be so beautiful.”

  He put a hand to a knee and began to rise. Cara’s Agiel was instantly at the ready.

  “Stay where you are.”

  He froze, staring at the red Agiel before his face, and then lowered the knee back onto the fringe of the crimson carpet. Lamps on the fluted mahogany pilasters supporting shallow pediments over bookcases to each side of the room cast flickering light across his bony face. He was hardly more than a boy.

  “Can I have my weapons back, please? I need my sword. If I can’t have that, then I’d like my knife, at least.”

  Cara heaved an irritated sigh, but Kahlan spoke first. “You are in a very precarious position, young man. None of us is in the mood to be indulgent if this is some kind of prank.”

  He nodded earnestly. “I understand. I’m not playing a game. I swear.”

  “Then tell me what you said to the soldiers.”

  His grin returned as he lifted a hand, gesturing casually toward the door. “Well, like I was telling those men when I was—”

  Fists at her side, Kahlan advanced a stride. “I told you, this is no game! You’re only alive by my grace! I want to know what you’re doing here, and I want to know right now! Tell me what you said!”

  The young man blinked. “I’m an assassin, sent by Emperor Jagang. I’m here to kill Richard Rahl. Can you direct me to him, please?”

  Chapter 2

  “Now,” Cara said in a dangerous voice, “can I kill him?”

  The incongruous nature of this harmless-looking, skinny young man, kneeling, seemingly helpless, in enemy territory, surrounded by hundreds, thousands of brutish D’Haran soldiers, saying so openly and confidently that he intended to assassinate Richard, had Kahlan’s heart hammering against her ribs.

  No one was this foolish.

  She realized, only after the fact, that she had retreated a step. She ignored Cara’s question and kept her attention riveted on the young man.

  “And just how do you think you could accomplish such a task?”

  “Well,” he said in an offhanded manner as he exhaled, “I had designs on using my sword, or if I must, my knife.” His smile returned, but it was no longer boyish. His eyes had taken on a steely set that belied his young face. “That’s why I need them back, you see.”

  “You’ll not be getting your weapons back.”

  Disdain powered the dismissive shrug of his shoulders. “No matter. I have other ways to kill him.”

  “You’ll not be killing Richard; you have my word on that. Your only hope, now, is to cooperate and tell us everything of your plan. How did you get in here?”

  His smirk mocked her. “Walked. Walked right in. No one paid me any mind. They’re not too smart, your men.”

  “They’re smart enough to have you under their swords,” Cara pointed out.

  He ignored her. His eyes remained locked on Kahlan’s.

  “And if we don’t let you have your sword and knife back,” she asked, “then what?”

  “Then things will get messy. Richard Rahl will only suffer greatly. That’s why Emperor Jagang sent me: to offer him the mercy of a quick death. The emperor is a man of compassion, and wishes to avoid any undue suffering; he is basically a man of peace, the dream walker, but also one of iron determination.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to be killing you, too, Mother Confessor: to spare you the suffering of what’s to come if you resist. I have to admit, though, that I don’t like the idea of killing such a beautiful woman.” The grin widened. “Rather a waste.”

  Kahlan found his confidence grating. To hear him claim that the dream walker was compassionate turned her stomach. She knew better.

  “What suffering?”

  He spread his hands. “I am but a grain of sand. The emperor does not share his plans with me. I am but simply sent to do his bidding. His bidding is that you and Richard are to be eliminated. If you don’t let me kill him mercifully, then Richard will be destroyed. I’m told that it won’t be pleasant, so why don’t you just let me get it over with?”

  “You must be dreaming,” Cara said.

  His gaze shifted to the Mord-Sith. “Dreaming? Maybe you’re dreaming. Maybe I’m your worst nightmare.”

  “I don’t have nightmares,” Cara said. “I give them.”

  “Really?” he taunted. “In that ridiculous outfit? What are you pretending to be, anyway? Maybe you’re dressed like that to scare the birds away from the spring planting?”

  Kahlan realized that the man didn’t know what a Mord-Sith was, but she wondered how she could ever have thought he looked hardly more than a boy; his demeanor was one of age and experience. This was no boy. The air crackled with peril. Remarkably, Cara only smiled.

  Kahlan’s breathing stilled when she realized the man was standing, and she couldn’t recall seeing him come to his feet.

  His gaze shifted, and one of the lamps went dark. The remaining lamp cast harsh, flickering light against one side of his face, letting the other side hide in shadow, but, for Kahlan, that act had brought his nature, his true threat, out of the shadows.

  This man commanded the gift.

  Her resolve to spare a possible innocent unnecessary violence evaporated with the heat of need to protect Richard. This man had been given a chance; now he was going to confess all he knew—he was going to confess it to a Confessor.

  She had but to touch him, and it would be over.

  Kahlan had walked among the thousands of corpses of innocent people slaughtered by the Order. When she had seen the women and children in Ebinissia, butchered at Jagang’s command, she had sworn undying vengeance against the Imperial Order. This man had proven himself to be part of the Imperial Order, and the enemy of free people. He did the dream walker’s bidding.r />
  She focused on the familiar flush of magic deep within herself, always at the ready. A Confessor’s magic wasn’t released so much as her restraint on it was simply withdrawn. The act was faster even than thought. It was the lightning of instinct.

  No Confessor enjoyed using her power to destroy a person’s mind, but unlike some Confessors, Kahlan didn’t hate what she did, what she was born to; it was simply part of who she was. She didn’t maliciously use what she was given, but used her magic to protect others. She was at peace with herself, with what she was and what she could do.

  Richard was the first to see her for herself, and care about her despite her power. He didn’t irrationally fear the unknown, fear what she was. Instead, he had come to know her, and to love her, Confessor’s power and all. For that reason only, he could be with her without her power destroying him when they shared their love.

  She intended to use that power, now, to protect Richard, and for that reason it was as close as she ever came to valuing her ability. She had but to touch this man and the threat would be eliminated. Retribution was at hand for a willing minion of Emperor Jagang.

  Keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the man, Kahlan held up an admonishing finger to Cara. “He’s mine. Leave this to me.”

  But when his squinting gaze sought the remaining lamp, Cara swept between them. The air cracked as she backhanded him with her armored glove. Kahlan nearly screamed in rage at the interference.

  Sprawled across the carpet, the man sat up, looking genuinely surprised. Blood ran down his chin from a split in his lower lip. His look changed to genuine displeasure.

  Cara towered over him. “What is your name?” Kahlan couldn’t believe that Cara, who had always professed to fear magic, seemed to be deliberately provoking a man who had just shown his command of it.

  He rolled away from her and into a crouch. His eyes were on Kahlan, but he spoke to Cara. “I don’t have time for court buffoons.”

  With a smile, his gaze flicked to the lamp. The room plunged into darkness.

  Kahlan dove for the spot on the floor where he hunkered. She had but to touch him and it would be over.