The Scribbly Man

by Terry Goodkind

  “She would prefer not to wait for your eventual death, so she wants you both to surrender your world now. You can’t win in this. It is time you recognize that and surrender.”

  “What the Golden Goddess fails to understand is that the House of Rahl has stood for thousands of years. It will continue to stand and to rule.”

  Nolo looked even more amused. “I think not. But I have an alternative for you, although not for Lord Rahl.”

  “Are you making a proposal of some kind?”

  He showed her a devious smile. “Yes, a proposal. I would like to put forward a private negotiation just between you and me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Lord Rahl is not the only one at the dead end of his lineage. You are the last Confessor, the last of your line.”

  Kahlan folded her arms and peered down at him, but didn’t answer. The line of Confessors was none of this man’s business.

  “You have been with Richard Rahl for what—years, now?”

  “If you have a point, you had better get to it soon.”

  “The point, Mother Confessor, is that Richard Rahl has failed in his duty as a man.”

  She frowned. “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “He has failed in all this time to give you a child to carry on not only the Rahl line, but the Confessor line as well. In all the times you have given your body to him, he has failed to put you with child. He is not a real man. He is weak, and his seed is obviously worthless. Your empire is on the verge of crumbling because of that and you don’t even realize it.”

  Kahlan had been pregnant before, but had been severely beaten and as a result lost the baby. That was none of this man’s business.

  Nolo twirled a hand in the air, making his false chins jiggle. “In all this time he has failed to continue the Rahl line, and now his inability to father a child also threatens to be the end of the Confessor line as well. So you see, Mother Confessor, what you need—if you are to carry on the line of the Confessors—is a man who can give you a child.”

  He abruptly pumped his hips toward her in a lewd fashion, leaving no doubt as to what he meant. “I am here to negotiate for the service you need to continue your line. I am here to offer you my seed so you may conceive.”

  Kahlan’s arms came unfolded in disbelief as her fists dropped to her sides. She thought that Richard must be right—this man was simply deranged.

  “Even if I did need someone else to father a child,” she said, her anger driving her to ask, “what in the world makes you think for a second that I would pick you?”

  An arrogant smile further plumped his already plump cheeks. “I think you would be wise to select me for this task because I could negotiate with the goddess to allow you to live.” He flicked a hand dismissively. “Lord Rahl, of course, would have to die.”

  “Is this what your goddess suggested?”

  “No, of course not. This is simply my idea of sparing you the suffering that is to come if you don’t agree to her terms. A way out, if you will, for yourself. I might be able to see to it that you could live to raise your Confessor child—the child I sire.”

  “You must be out of your mind,” Kahlan said. “I would die first.”

  “That’s hardly a wise negotiating position.”

  “There is nothing to negotiate.” At the end of her patience, Kahlan gritted her teeth. “It is the threat from your goddess we are here to discuss, and nothing else. I have heard enough of your own nonsense and I will hear no more of it.

  “Surely you must realize that, as a Confessor, I am going to insist on your cooperation in telling me everything you know about this Golden Goddess. This is not a negotiation, Consul General. You will not leave this room alive unless you tell me every bit of what you know.”

  He paced off a few steps, then turned back. “You are correct, Mother Confessor… in that one of us is not going to leave this room alive. You have made a foolish mistake in turning down my generous offer to negotiate on your behalf to spare your life. Since I am the only one who could have helped you and you are turning me down, you have sealed your fate.

  “You are the one who will not leave this room alive.”

  Kahlan had a hard time believing that an Estorian would make such an open threat.

  She believed it when he pulled a knife from a sheath at his waist under his cloak.

  He charged toward her with the knife.

  As he came crashing in on her, Kahlan thrust her hand out, her palm turned up.

  It may have all seemed lightning fast to him, seemed that he had the advantage—but not to Kahlan. She had known that he had the knife and had let him keep it to see if he would dare to try to use it. Even with a knife and even had he been more agile and a great deal faster, he still would have had no chance against a Confessor. None.

  But in the attempt, he had erased her last shred of doubt and sealed his own fate.

  As the very tip of the razor-sharp blade touched the palm of her upturned hand, her Confessor power had already slammed time to a stop.

  The tip of that blade felt less than a feather touching her palm.

  Time was hers, now.

  This man was hers, now.

  While some of the other Confessors had needed to deliberately invoke their power, Kahlan never had. Her birthright was always there deep inside her, a coiled fury that had to be continually restrained rather than occasionally summoned. She had always had to tightly contain it lest it slip its bonds unintentionally. To use it, she had only to withdraw that restraint. It all happened in an infinitesimal glimmer of an instant.

  This man had condemned himself when he pulled a knife intending to kill her. Worse than that, in her eyes, he had threatened Richard’s life as well as the lives of all the people she and Richard protected.

  She no longer saw the consul general, or even a man.

  This was the embodiment of a shapeless enemy come to destroy their world—her world. This was the face of evil.

  There would be no mercy.

  If he recognized what was about to happen, he didn’t show it. All she saw in his dark eyes was the twisted hate of his determined, lethal intent. She no longer felt anger, nor was there any sorrow for what she was about to do to this man. As angry as she had been at him moments before, as her power ignited all emotion vanished, replaced by an overwhelming void, a space between thought, between feeling, between instants.

  Time was hers.

  Frozen there before her, she saw every bead of sweat on his brow and the bald top of his head. She had enough time to have counted those droplets. If she had wanted to, she could have counted all the whiskers on his face.

  She had an eternity of time as the full fury of her will came to life.

  It was breathtaking, intoxicating, as if her entire being were being sucked into that avalanche of power as it crashed into the man thrusting his knife toward her.

  Thunder without sound jolted the air… exquisite, violent, and for that pristine instant, sovereign.

  4

  “What do you think it could mean, Lord Rahl?” the gravedigger asked.

  As he wrung his hands, his head hunched down into his shoulders with the anxiety of standing before the Lord Rahl as well as an array of officials and so many soldiers and spectators. Richard could see that the man’s fingernails were permanently stained with the dirt he worked in every day, but more so from the dead bodies he routinely handled.

  “How often has this happened?” Richard asked.

  “Several times,” the man said, suddenly becoming animated as he gestured with the hand holding his battered old hat. “The dead animals were found on all the graves twice last month alone. People are frightened.”

  “What kind of animals?” Richard asked.

  The gravedigger spread his hands with a shrug. “All sorts of animals, Lord Rahl. Raccoons, a few foxes, cats, dogs, squirrels, chipmunks, pigeons, starlings, an owl, and other sorts of birds. Even some fish. All manner of ani
mals. Some looked fresh dead, and some looked long dead, with everything else in between. Some still warm, some barely more than bones inside scraps of hide, some writhing with maggots. It has the entire town upset and they expect an answer from me as I have been entrusted to care for the graves of their loved ones, but I have no answer for them.”

  As the gravedigger was talking, Richard spotted a woman in among the petitioners pushing her way forward through the spellbound crowd as they waited to hear what the Lord Rahl would have to say about the alarming mystery of dead animals found on graves. People grumbled irritably but moved aside as the woman pushed them out of her way.

  The statuesque woman looked to be no older than Richard. She had long, straight dark hair, parted in the middle, and the kind of achingly feminine features that could easily melt men’s hearts, or just as easily turn intimidating enough to make them stutter. This was a woman who appeared to brook no one questioning her authority to do as she pleased, a woman who expected her orders to be followed without question.

  While she was distinctively dressed, it wasn’t the kind of attire worn by nobility. It had more the look of practical yet alluring traveling clothes. The black cloak draped over her shoulders was held together at the top with bone buttons connected by a short silver chain. The black dress beneath the black cloak revealed a figure that had all the men gaping at her. It looked like she was used to ignoring such looks.

  As she finally made her way to the front of the petitioners, a soldier to each side stepped up in front of her, to stop her from coming any closer and interrupting as well as to remind her to wait her turn.

  Without so much as a glance at the soldiers, the woman put a finger to their shoulders, first one and then the other. The soldiers’ eyes rolled up as they crumpled to the ground at her feet. She stepped over them without missing a stride as she continued forward.

  Richard lifted the finger of each hand resting on the table to signal the guards to each side not to interfere. This was a situation he needed to handle or it could get ugly.

  The gravedigger still hadn’t seen the graceful creature approaching from behind. “So what do you think, Lord Rahl? What do you think could be the cause of all those dead animals found on graves?”

  The woman gently pushed the gravedigger aside. “Have you considered that maybe some boys are playing pranks?” she said to him.

  The gravedigger suddenly saw her and shrank away.

  Richard couldn’t help smiling. That was what he had been about to say.

  The woman had the strangest aura radiating around her. It had some elements he recognized and others he’d never seen before. Even had he not been able to see her aura, though, he could have told by her bearing alone that this was not a woman to be trifled with.

  She opened the gate without invitation and stepped inside the railing.

  “I have come a long way to see you, Lord Rahl. I did not realize that once I got here I would find that you are an idiot.”

  Those close enough to have heard her gasped.

  Richard came to his feet as the woman boldly strode up the three steps onto the broad platform.

  “What have you done to my men? If you’ve harmed them, you are going to find yourself in a great deal of trouble.”

  She glanced briefly over her shoulder to see the men still crumpled, unmoving, on the floor. She dismissed it with a flick of a hand. “They are merely asleep. No harm has come to them.”

  “How can I be sure of that?”

  She made a face at the fuss and then snapped her fingers. The men suddenly woke, rubbing their eyes as if groggy. They realized where they were and quickly scrambled to their feet, looking embarrassed but no worse for wear.

  “See?” she asked. “I don’t lie.”

  Richard leveled a glare on her. “And who might you be?”

  She waved the hand again, this time as if to say she was sorry to have forgotten to introduce herself.

  “My name is Shale.”

  “And where have you traveled this great distance from?”

  She flicked the hand back over her shoulder. “I come from the Northern Waste.”

  Richard had never heard of the Northern Waste. “Does it snow a lot in the Northern Waste?”

  Curiosity creased her smooth brow. “Of course. That, among other reasons, is why it is called the Waste.”

  Richard gestured to her dark clothing. “Don’t you kind of stand out in the snow?”

  “Stand out… ?” She looked down at herself and suddenly understood his meaning. She looked unexpectedly amused. The look flattered her features. “I see what you mean.”

  She lifted her arms and then turned her hands palm up while letting her hands gracefully glide down beside the length of her to her hips. As her hands descended, her hair remained the same dark color, but her outfit transformed from black to white, making her look like some sort of mythical snow queen.

  “There. Better?”

  The crowd gasped and buzzed at the sight. First a threat of assassination, and now this display of magic. It was proving to be the kind of exciting day they had come hoping for.

  Richard now knew at least some of what he was dealing with and what it was about her aura that had puzzled him.

  He crooked two fingers, motioning for her to approach so that he could talk to her privately without the gathered throng hearing them. Only the five remaining Mord-Sith were close behind him, all in white leather except Vika, who was in red.

  Shale didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by the Mord-Sith as she came right up against the opposite side of the heavy table. Had the table not been there he suspected she would have come close enough to dance with him. Whatever else she was, this woman was not shy.

  “You have made a poor first impression, Shale,” he told her.

  She blinked in surprise at someone being so blunt with her. It was obvious she was not at all used to anyone taking that tone with her. Her gaze fell away as she blushed.

  “I apologize, Lord Rahl,” she said after a moment. “One of my bad habits.” She bowed her head. “If it pleases you, may I start over?”

  “I tend to share that same bad habit,” Richard said with a small smile. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here, and what’s so urgent that you would come up out of turn?”

  She took a breath to settle herself before beginning. “As I said, I come from the Northern Waste. It’s a barren land far from here, a harsh place to live, but there are those who live there, many like me because they were born there and it’s all they know. Others because they feel lost in the world and so they want to become lost in the Waste. It’s a harsh place to live, and a harsher place to die.”

  “And you are their leader? Their queen or something?”

  She blushed again. “I don’t have so important a title. I… watch over them. They think of me as their shepherd, I guess you could say. I have no title as such. I am simply known as Shale. For the people in the Northern Waste, that name is title enough.”

  He imagined it was. By the undulating, crackling look of her aura, he was sure it was.

  “I think you are more than simply ‘Shale’. You are a witch woman?”

  She lifted her chin, looking a little startled. “Yes and no.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “My mother was a witch woman, but my father was a wizard. That combination made me a bit of both. I am a sorceress—with the gift from my father’s side—and a witch woman from my mother. I am told that such a combination makes me… unique.”

  That explained the aura. “Each of us is unique in our own way,” Richard said.

  Her brow bunched as she peered at him. “What an odd thing to say.”

  “Not so odd. Please go on.”

  “For some reason my parentage makes me adept at healing, among other things. The people of the Northern Waste depend on me for that ability, among those other things, when in dire circumstances.”

  “So why have you come here?”

&nbs
p; “The Waste is a forgotten place, but it does have its advantages. When there were cruel rulers in the past, such as Darken Rahl, living in a forgotten place was not such a bad thing. With men like Darken Rahl in power, some would say it was a blessing. Men like Darken Rahl would have eliminated a woman like me.”

  “Or enslaved you.”

  “Could be. Men of power don’t tend to like others with brains and ability. Especially women. I heard it said during the great war that you were different. And now word of the war ending has finally reached us. Word of a peace under the D’Haran Empire is welcome news.

  “I have come to offer the loyalty of the Northern Waste to the Lord Rahl and the D’Haran Empire.”

  Richard bowed his head. “Thank you.”

  “But now that I am here,” she said, her brow drawing down again as her voice took on a dark edge, “I find the new Lord Rahl is an idiot.”

  All the Mord-Sith flicked their Agiel up into their fists.

  Shale noted it with indifference.

  Vika, in her red leather, leaned in on Richard’s left side to point her Agiel at the woman on the other side of the heavy table. “I indulged you the first time you said that. I will not allow the second time to pass.”

  Richard put his left arm out to stop Vika from launching over the table at Shale. “Let me handle this.” He gave the angry Mord-Sith a patient look. “Please?”

  Vika finally relented and moved back, but not as far as before, and she didn’t drop her Agiel.

  “I can let insults pass as they are merely words, but I would like to know the reason for it.”

  Shale put her fists on the table and leaned in toward him.

  “What did that fat pig in white robes tell you?”

  “Some crazy nonsense about wanting us to surrender our world.”

  “Didn’t I also hear him say that you are the last of the Rahl line, and that your wife is the last Confessor, and that when you two die his goddess will then have our world?”

  “Yes, that’s right. What of it?”

  Her expression hardened. “In other words, for this goddess to take over our world, your line must end, the Mother Confessor’s line must end. You must die. Your wife must die. That man said as much, either by execution or assassination.”