Stone of Tears tsot-2

by Terry Goodkind

  On the landing leading to the great staircase, Orsk lopped off a guard’s head. The body rolled down the stairs, spilling a trail of blood, as if unrolling a red carpet for them. The headless man flopped to a stop against the statue of Magda Searus, the first Mother Confessor.

  They ran down the stone steps, the sound echoing in the vast chamber. Near the bottom, a sudden stab of pain took Kahlan’s feet out from under her. She tumbled down the last few steps. The others shouted and rushed to her, wanting to know how she was hurt. She told them that she had just stumbled.

  She hadn’t stumbled.

  Kahlan pulled her bow off her shoulder and pointed with it. “Down that hall. All of you, head down that hall. Turn right at the end. I’ll catch up with you. Go.”

  “We’re not leaving you!” Chandalen insisted.

  “I said go!” Kahlan stood against the blistering pain in her legs. “Orsk, get them moving, now. I’ll catch up. I will be displeased with you if you fail to get them out of here.”

  Orsk raised his axe and growled. The other two backed toward the hall as they pleaded with her. They protested that they had risked their lives to rescue her, and they would not leave her, now.

  “Orsk! Get them out of here!”

  “Why!” Chandalen and Jebra yelled together.

  Kahlan pointed with her bow. Across the great chamber, up in one of the distant arcades, stood a shadowed figure. “Because otherwise he’ll kill you.”

  “We must escape! He will kill you, too!”

  “If he lives, he will hunt us down, with magic, and kill us all.”

  A bolt of yellow lightning arced across the broad room. Stone crashed down, nearly covering the opening where the others stood.

  Kahlan drew one of Chandalen’s flat-bladed, man-killer arrows from her quiver.

  “Mother Confessor!” Chandalen screamed. “You cannot make that shot! I could not make that shot! You must run!”

  She didn’t tell them that the wizard was sending slashing shards of pain through her, and she couldn’t run. It was all she could do just to stand. “Orsk! Get them out! Now! I’ll catch up!”

  Another bolt of lightning sent stone flying everywhere and the three of them running down the hall, Orsk pushing them along.

  Kahlan put a knee to the floor to steady herself as she nocked the arrow. She drew the string to her cheek. The blade of the arrow was horizontal in her line of sight. She could hardly see Ranson, he was so far away, and the pain was blurring her vision.

  But she could hear him laugh as he sent violent splinters of magic ripping through her. It sounded like Darken Rahl’s laugh. She bit the inside of her cheek against the pain, against the scream trying to fight its way out. She couldn’t hold back the clipped whimpers.

  “An archer, Mother Confessor?” he called from the distance. His laughter echoed off the stone around her. “Your freedom was brief, Mother Confessor. I hope it was worth it to you. You will spend a good long time in the pit, thinking about it.”

  He was too far away. She had never made a shot from this far. Richard had. She had seen him do it. Please, Richard, help me. Show me how, like you did that day. Help me.

  Stone vines tore from the panel next to her and whipped around her middle, squeezing. The shearing pain made her shriek.

  She brought up the bow again. With her last breath, if need be, she told herself. Her arms shook. She could hardly see the wizard. He was too far away. The vines held her tight. She couldn’t run, even if she wanted to.

  Help me, Richard.

  Another brutal wave of pain seared up her legs and through her insides. Burning tears ran down her cheeks as she shuddered and gasped. She couldn’t hold the bow up.

  Lightning arced around the great staircase. The sound was deafening. Stone chips whistled past. Clouds of dust rose as a column collapsed with a crash.

  She heard Richard’s words in her mind: You have to be able to shoot no matter what is happening. Just you and the target, that’s all there is. Nothing else matters. You have to be able to block everything else out. You can’t think about how afraid you are, or what will happen if you miss. You have to be able to make the shot under pressure.

  She remembered how he had whispered to her, whispered for her to call the target.

  With a jolt, the target came to her, as if the wizard were standing right in front of her. She could see the flashes of liquid light jumping from his fingertips.

  She could see her target—the bump in his throat bobbing up and down as he laughed. She let her breath flow out, as Richard had taught her. The arrow found the notch in the air.

  As gentle as a baby’s breath, the arrow left the bow.

  She saw the feathers clear the bow. She saw the string hit her wrist. The stone vine wrapped around her throat. She kept her eyes on the target. She watched the feathers of the arrow as it flew. The pain tearing her insides rose with his laughter.

  The wizard’s laughter cut off abruptly. Kahlan heard the thunk of the blade hitting his throat. When the stone vine suddenly dropped away, she fell forward on her hands and knees, tears dripping from her face, as she waited for the pain to melt away. It went with merciful swiftness.

  Kahlan staggered to her feet. “To the Keeper with you, too, Wizard Neville Ranson!”

  There was an earsplitting crack, like a lightning strike, but instead of a flash of light, a ripple of total darkness swept across the room. Bumps rippled up her arms. The lamps flickered back on.

  Kahlan knew—the Keeper had indeed taken Wizard Neville Ranson.

  She heard a grunt, and turned just in time to see a guard leaping down the steps toward her. Kahlan ducked and came up under him as he landed. She used his momentum to loft him over the railing, into the well below.

  He snatched at her as he went over, but his fingers caught only her necklace. It tore from her, and went down with him. Kahlan bent over the railing, seeing him smack the stone floor, three flights down. She saw the necklace tumble from his hand when he hit, and slide across the floor.

  “Curse the good spirits,” she growled.

  Kahlan started for the stairs to retrieve her bone necklace, but skidded to a stop and looked up at the sound of boots on stone. More guards were coming. She hesitated for a moment, looking down, and then ran for the hallway instead. The spirits hadn’t helped her; what good was a necklace going to do? It wasn’t worth her life.

  Kahlan caught the others as they made the outside doors. They all sighed with relief to see her, and to hear that the wizard wouldn’t be coming after them. Kahlan led as they ran out into the night. The four of them raced down the expanse of steps to the relentless sound of the alarm bells behind. She headed south—the shortest distance to the woods.

  A breathless Jebra caught her arm, dragging her to a stop. “Mother Confessor . . . !”

  “I am not the Mother Confessor any longer. I am Kahlan.”

  “Kahlan then. But you must listen to me. You cannot run away.”

  Kahlan turned back to the path through the courtyard. “I’m through with this place.”

  “Zedd needs you.”

  Kahlan spun back. “Zedd? You know Zedd? Where is he?”

  Jebra gulped air. “Zedd sent me to Aydindril. The day after you left D’Hara. He said he had to go get a woman named Adie, and then he would come to the Wizard’s Keep. He sent me here to help you and Richard, and have you wait. Zedd needs you.”

  Kahlan gripped Jebra’s shoulders. “I need Zedd. I need him very badly.”

  “Then you must let me help you. You must not leave. They will expect you to run, and will search the countryside. They will not expect you to remain in Aydindril.”

  “Remain? Stay in Aydindril?”

  She thought a moment. She was known in Aydindril. No, not exactly. Her long hair was known. People other than councilors, ambassadors, staff, and nobility rarely saw the Mother Confessor up close, and when they did they mostly stared at her long hair. She no longer had that hair.

  The th
ought of her loss made her insides knot up. She hadn’t known how much her power, and her long hair, meant to her—until they were gone.

  “It might work, Jebra. But where would we hide?”

  “Zedd gave me gold. No one knows of my involvement in your escape. I will rent rooms and hide you, all of you.”

  Kahlan considered it a moment, then smiled. “We could be your servants. A lady like you would have servants.”

  Jebra shrank back. “Mother Confessor, I could not do that. I am nothing but a servant myself. Zedd made me pretend to be a lady. But I could not pretend that. You are a true lady.”

  “Being a servant does not make you less than me. We all can be only who we are, no more, no less.” Kahlan started them all off again, toward a part of Aydindril with quiet, secluded, and exclusive inns. “And it is startling to learn what you can do when you have to. We will do what we must. But if you keep calling me Mother Confessor, you are going to get us all killed.”

  “I will do my best . . . Kahlan. All I know is that we must wait until Zedd returns to Aydindril.” She tugged insistently on Kahlan’s sleeve. “Mother Confessor, where is Richard! It is vital!” Her voice lowered with unease. “No slight intended, and I pray none is taken, but it is Richard that is important. Zedd needs Richard.”

  “That is why I need Zedd,” Kahlan said.

  Chapter 61

  Richard grabbed an arm of each boy. “Slow down,” he said in a low voice. “I told you, I have to go first.”

  Kipp and Hersh sighed impatiently. Richard checked around the corner, peeking down the hall, and then pushed the two boys up against the wall. Frogs kicked in their pockets.

  “This is serious. I picked you two because I know you’re the best. Now, you do as I told you, the way we planned it. Stay here, with your backs to this wall, and count to fifty. You don’t so much as peep around the corner until you get to fifty. I’m depending on you to do it right.”

  They grinned. “We’re your men,” Kipp said. “We’ll get them out of there.”

  Richard squatted and put a finger close to each face in turn. “This is serious business. This isn’t just some game. This time you could get in real trouble. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Kipp put his hands in his pockets, feeling the frogs. “You came to the right men. We can do it. We want to do it, Richard.”

  They were excited because they had never made it past the guards before. This was uncharted territory for their specialty. Richard knew they didn’t appreciate the danger involved, and he hated to have to use them in this manner, but it was the only thing he could think of.

  “All right then, start counting.”

  Richard rounded the corner and swept down the hall, his mriswith cape billowing open. When he reached the proper door, he stood against the white marble wall opposite the double doors and drew the hood up. He pulled the cape closed and concentrated on the marble behind him.

  He stood motionless. The boys burst around the corner, yelling and screaming at the top of their lungs as they ran down the hall. They stopped in front of the double doors, looking both ways. They didn’t see him standing behind them, and he knew they were wondering where he was hiding.

  As they had been instructed, they threw the doors open and, giggling with excitement, began pulling frogs from their pockets and pitching them into the room. The two Sisters were frozen in surprise for only an instant. Richard watched as both came flying around their desks, one snatching up a rod. The boys heaved their last frogs with a squeal and raced away in opposite directions, shouting taunts of “Can’t catch us! Can’t catch us!”

  Sisters Ulicia and Finella slid to a stop on the polished marble floor outside the doors. They almost slid right into him, and were only inches away. Richard held his breath.

  The Sisters saw the boys make the turns at opposite ends of the hall. They threw their hands out. Pictures crashed to the floor as flashes of shimmering light knocked them from the walls at the end, but they missed the boys. Growling in anger, the Sisters parted, one dashing after each boy.

  Richard waited until they had turned the corner, and then he stepped away from the wall, letting his concentration relax, letting the cape return to black. He wondered what it would look like if someone were to see it happen, to see a person seem to materialize out of the air.

  The outer room was empty. Before the door between the desks, the air seemed to sparkle and hum. Experimentally, Richard put his hand into it. The air felt thick, but it seemed to have no harmful effect. He pressed himself through the sparkles and went through the door beyond.

  The room inside, not quite as large as his own outer room, was dimly lit, and paneled in rich, dark wood. In the center sat a heavy walnut table piled with papers and books, and three candles. Down the length to each side were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed full of disheveled books, and a few other odd objects.

  An old woman, one of the cleaning staff, in a heavy, dark gray work dress, was standing on a stool, dusting a top bookshelf. She turned with surprise as he came to a halt. She glanced to the door, and then back to him.

  “How did you . . .”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just came to see the Prelate. Is she about?”

  The woman squatted, her foot searching for the floor. Richard gave her his hand. She smiled her appreciation as she brushed a wisp of graying hair back from her face. Most of it was drawn into a loose knot at the back of her head. Once she was standing on the floor, the top of her head only came up to the lower tip of his breastbone. Her body was on the wide side, as if she had once been taller, and a giant had put his hand on the top of her head and squashed her down a good foot.

  She looked up, giving him a curious frown. “Did Sisters Ulicia and Finella let you come in?”

  “No,” Richard said as he looked about the comfortably cluttered room. “They stepped out.”

  “But they would have left a shield . . .”

  “Ma’am, I must speak to the Prelate.” Across the room, Richard saw doors to a courtyard standing open. “Is she about?”

  “Do you have an appointment?” she asked in a quiet, gentle voice.

  “No,” he admitted. “I’ve been trying to get one for days. Those two wouldn’t cooperate, so I made my own appointment.”

  She put a finger to her lower lip. “I see. But you must have an appointment. Those are the rules. I’m sorry.”

  Richard started for the open doors. He was getting impatient, but kept his voice calm, as he didn’t want to frighten the old maidservant. “Look, ma’am, I must see the Prelate, or we are all going to have an appointment with the Keeper himself.”

  Her eyebrows lifted in wonder. “Reeeeally.” She clicked her tongue. “The Keeper, is it. My, my, my.”

  Richard stopped suddenly. He winced and let out a groan. He turned on his heel.

  “You’re the Prelate, aren’t you?”

  An impish grin came to her face, her eyes twinkling with it. “Yes, Richard, I guess I am.”

  “You know who I am?”

  She chuckled. “Oh, yes, I know.”

  Richard sighed. “So you’re the one who runs this place?”

  She laughed louder. “As I hear it told, you seem to be running it now. Been here hardly a month, and you have half the palace wound around your will. I’ve been thinking about asking for an appointment to see you.”

  Richard gave her a friendly scowl. “I would have granted it.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” She patted his arm. “From now on, you may come to see me whenever you wish.”

  “Then why wouldn’t you let me in before?”

  She folded her hands together beneath her ample, rounded breasts. “A test, my boy. A test.” She smiled up at him. “I am impressed. I expected it to take you another six or eight months yet.”

  The door burst open. Richard was jerked from his feet, yanked back by his collar, and smacked up against the wall. He was stuck tigh
t, the wind knocked from his lungs. Two irate Sisters stood just inside the doorway with their fists on their hips.

  “Now, now,” the Prelate said, “Stop that, you two. Let the boy down.”

  Richard thumped to the ground, glaring at the two Sisters. “I am the one who talked those two boys into doing as they did. What they did is my fault. If there is any revenge, it had better be against me, and not them. If you harm them, you will answer to me.”

  One of the Sisters took a step toward him. “Their punishment has already been ordered. This time, for once, they will learn a lesson.” She angrily pointed a stout rod at him. “You are going to have your own punishment to worry about.”

  “Yes, Sister Ulicia,” the Prelate said, “I think punishment is in order.” The Sister gave Richard a self-satisfied smile. “Yours,” the Prelate said.

  Sister Ulicia gaped. “Prelate Annalina?”

  “Did I not give you specific instructions that Richard was not to be allowed in here?”

  The two Sisters straightened. “Yes, Prelate Annalina.”

  “And here he is. Standing in my office.”

  Sister Ulicia pointed at the door. “But . . . we left a shield! He could not . . .”

  “Oh? Could not?” The Sister’s hand dropped at seeing the Prelate’s wrinkled brow. “Seems I see him standing here. Do I not, Sisters?”

  “Yes, Prelate Annalina,” the two said as one.

  “And so now your idea is to reward your own failure by going back to your posts, as if nothing had happened, and punish their success?” The Prelate clicked her tongue. “You two will take the punishment you have ordered for the two boys.”

  The Sisters blanched. “But Prelate . . .” the second whispered. “You can’t have that done to a Sister.”

  “Really, Sister Finella? What did you order for the boys?”

  “To have their bottoms strapped . . . publicly . . . tomorrow morning, after breakfast.”

  “That sounds fair. You two will take their place.”

  “But Prelate,” Sister Ulicia whispered in astonishment. “We are Sisters of the Light. That would be humiliating.”