Chainfire: Chainfire Trilogy Part 1

Chapter 38

Richard saw the ground flash past his face as his legs flipped up in the air, then all he could see was white. For an instant he couldn’t tell up from down or where he was in relation to anything else.

And then his full weight came crashing to the ground, the momentum pitching him down the slope. The snow offered little cushion. His breath was driven from his lungs. Rolling over and over he saw only brief glimpses of the ground. The world spun crazily. He couldn’t control or stop what he quickly realized was his tumbling descent down an increasingly steep slope.

It had all happened so unexpectedly and so fast that Richard hadn’t had much time to brace for the fall. At that moment, inattention seemed a poor excuse and no comfort. He bounced over a knob of hard ground and landed on his chest. With the wind knocked out of him, he tried to gasp a breath as he slid face-first down the mountain, but instead of air he got only a mouthful of icy snow.

With the force of the fall and the precipitous angle of the incline, there was nothing at hand to help stop him as he skidded with increasing speed down the steep incline. Heading downward face-first made it all the more difficult to take effective action. In a frantic attempt to stop or at least slow his fall, Richard spread his arms. He fought to dig his hands and feet into the snow and scree to slow his out of control plunge down the side of the mountain, but the snow and the scree only began to slide along with him.

He saw a shadow flash by. Over the sound of the wind he could hear wild screams of rage. Something solid slammed into the back of his ribs. He dug his fingers and boots deeper into the scree beneath the snow, trying to slow his frightening slide. With the snow billowing up around him as he slid, he couldn’t seen anything but white.

The dark shape again came flying out of the swirling snow. Again something hammered into him, only this time it was much harder and it was a direct blow to his kidneys meant to help accelerate his plunging fall.

Richard cried out with the shock of pain. As he twisted in distress onto his right side, he heard the unique ring of steel as the Sword of Truth was yanked from its scabbard.

As he slid down the slope, Richard twisted and reached for the sword as it was torn away from him. He knew that if he were to grab the razor-sharp blade itself it could easily slice his hand in two, so he tried instead to seize the hilt or at least snag the crossguard, but he was too late. The assailant dug in his heels to stop himself as Richard sailed out of sight.

Twisting awkwardly as he reached for his sword left Richard even more off balance. As he bounced over the uneven ground he was thrown into a headfirst roll.

In the middle of pitching over, just as he started spreading his arms and legs to stop the tumbling, if nothing else, his back slammed into a jut of rock under the snow. Again the wind was violently driven from him, only this time more painfully.

The force of the impact flipped him over the obstruction.

Tingling dread surged through him as he found himself in midair. With frantic effort, Richard reached out and snatched the rock outcropping he had hit. He held fast as his legs whipped out and over a drop-off.

Richard clutched the rock with frantic strength. For a moment, he clung to the rock, collecting his wits and gulping air. He had at least stopped falling. Snow and small flakes of scree still sliding down the steep slope bounced off the rock he was holding as well as his arms and head.

Carefully, he swung his legs all around, trying to catch them up onto something, trying to find some support for his weight. There was nothing. He swung helplessly, a living pendulum clutching a knob of icy rock.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw blowing snow and dark clouds scudding by underneath him. Through a brief gap, he spotted bits of scree in the midst of a long fall through the air toward trees and rock far below.

Above him, feet spread, stood a short, dark form with long arms, a pallid head, and gray skin. Bulging yellow eyes, like twin lanterns glowing out from the murky bluish light of the snowstorm, glared down at him. Bloodless lips curled back in a grin to expose sharp teeth.

It was Shota’s companion, Samuel.

He was gripping Richard’s sword in one hand and looked more than content with himself. Samuel wore a dark brown cloak that flapped like a flag of victory in the wind. He backed away a few paces, waiting to see Richard fall from the mountain.

Richard’s fingers were slipping. He tried to get his arms around the rocks to climb up, or at least get a better hold. He wasn’t successful. He knew, though, that if he did manage to get a better hold, Samuel stood ready to use the sword to insure that Richard fell.

With his feet dangling over a drop of at least a thousand feet, Richard was in a very precarious and vulnerable position. He could hardly believe that Samuel had gotten the better of him in such a way—and that he had managed to snatch Richard’s sword. He surveyed the gloomy gray trailers of fog carried along with the blowing snow but he didn’t see Cara.

“Samuel!” Richard screamed into the wind. “Give me back my sword!”

Even to himself, it seemed a pretty ridiculous demand.

“My sword,” Samuel hissed.

“And what do you think Shota would say?”

The bloodless lips widened with his smile. “Mistress not here.”

Like a wraith materializing out of the substance of the shadows themselves, a dark shape appeared behind Samuel. It was Cara, her dark cloak billowing in the wind, giving her the aspect of a vengeful spirit. Richard realized that she had probably followed his rolling trail down through the snow. What with the blustery wind in his ears and, more importantly, his gaze riveted on Richard’s predicament, Samuel didn’t notice Cara looming behind him.

In a single glance she took in the ominous sight of Samuel gripping Richard’s sword, standing above Richard as he clung to the edge of the cliff. Richard had learned in the past that Samuel’s attention and actions were pretty firmly ruled by his rampant emotions; his feet just followed. With the gleeful distraction of having the object of his rabid hatred at the point of a sword he’d once carried and to this day coveted, Samuel was too busy gloating to watch for the Mord-Sith showing up behind him.

Without a word, Cara unceremoniously rammed her Agiel into the base of Samuel’s neck at the back of his skull. With the slippery conditions, she couldn’t maintain the contact.

Samuel shrieked in pain and sudden, confused terror as he dropped the sword and toppled back into the snow. Writhing in agony, not understanding what had happened, he pawed frantically at the back of his neck where Cara had pressed her Agiel. He squealed as he flopped in the snow like a fish in sand. Richard knew that the horrifying shock of pain from an Agiel when applied in that spot fell like a lightning strike.

Richard recognized the look on Cara’s face as she started to lean over the squirming figure. She intended to used her Agiel to finish Samuel.

Richard wouldn’t really care if she killed the treacherous companion to the witch woman, but he had far more urgent problems right then.

“Cara! I’m hanging on the edge of a cliff. I can’t hold on. I’m slipping.”

She immediately snatched up the sword from beside a thrashing Samuel so that he couldn’t get at it as she ran to help Richard. Stabbing the blade in the ground beside herself, she dropped down, braced her boots against the rocks, and seized his arms. She had not been an instant too soon.

With her help, Richard was able to get a better grip on the rocks. With both of them struggling in the difficult conditions, he at last managed to hook his arm over the outcropping. Once he had a firm hold with an arm he was finally able to swing a leg up and hook it over the rocks. Cara grabbed his belt and helped haul him up. Straining with effort, he dragged himself up and over the slippery outcropping.

Richard sagged over onto his side, gasping, trying to get enough of the thin air. “Thanks,” he managed.

Cara glanced back over her shoulder, keeping an eye on Samuel. Richard quickly gathered his strength and staggered back to his feet. As soon as he had his footing at the brink of the cliff, he pulled up his sword from where Cara had stuck it in the ground.

He could hardly believe that Samuel had managed to catch him off guard that way. Ever since Richard and Cara had left their camp that morning, he’d been watching for Samuel to show up unexpectedly. He knew, though, that despite expecting such an attack, it was impossible to forestall it every moment—much as it had been impossible to stop every arrow that morning that Kahlan had disappeared.

Richard brushed some of the snow off his face. The tumbling fall, the sudden plunge, and hanging by his fingers over a cliff had left him shaken but, more than anything, angry.

Samuel, still lying crumpled in the snow, wriggling and squirming, pulled to himself, mumbling something Richard couldn’t hear over the sound of the wind.

When Samuel saw Richard stalking toward him, he scrambled awkwardly to his feet, still suffering from the lingering pain. Despite that pain, though, he saw what he wanted.

“Mine! Gimme! Gimme my sword!”

Richard lifted the point toward the disgusting little fellow.

Seeing the point of the blade approaching, Samuel lost his courage and scuttled a few steps backward up the slope. “Please,” he whined, holding his hands out to ward Richard’s wrath, “no kill me?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Mistress sends me.”

“Shota sent you to kill me, did she?” Richard mocked. He wanted Samuel to admit the truth.

Samuel vigorously shook his head. “No, not to kill you.”

“So then that was all your idea.”

Samuel didn’t answer.

“Why, then?” Richard pressed. “Why did Shota send you?”

Samuel eyed Cara as she moved to the side, halfway hemming him in. Samuel hissed at her, showing his teeth. Cara, unimpressed, showed him her Agiel. His eyes grew big with fear.

“Samuel!” Richard yelled.

Samuel’s yellow eyes turned back to Richard and they again turned hateful.

“Why did Shota send you?”

“Mistress . . .” he whimpered as his anger flagged. He stared off longingly in the direction of Agaden Reach. “She sends companion.”

“Why!”

Samuel flinched when Richard yelled and took an aggressive stride forward.

Samuel, trying to keep watch on both of them, pointed a long finger al Cara. “Mistress say for you to bring pretty lady.”

This was a surprise—for two reasons. “Pretty lady” was what Samuel had always called Kahlan.

Secondly, Richard would never have expected that Shota would want Cara to come down into Agaden Reach with him. He found that somehow troubling.

“Why does she want the pretty lady to come with me?”

“Don’t know.” Samuel’s bloodless lips pulled back in a grin. “Maybe to kill her.”

Cara waggled her Agiel for him to see. “If she tries, maybe she will get a lot more than you got. Maybe I’ll kill her, instead.”

Samuel squealed in horror, his bulging eyes going wide. “No! No kill mistress!”

“We didn’t come to harm Shota,” Richard told him. “But we will defend ourselves.”

Samuel pressed his knuckles to the ground as he leaned toward Richard. “We will see,” he growled with contempt, “what mistress does with you, Seeker.”

Before Richard could answer, Samuel suddenly darted off into the swirling snow. It was surprising how fast he could move.

Cara started after him, but Richard caught her arm to stop her.

“I’m in no mood to go running after him,” he said. “Besides, it’s unlikely we’ll catch him. He knows the trail and we aren’t familiar with it. We can’t follow his tracks as fast as he can make them. Besides, he will be heading back to Shota and that’s where we’re going anyway. No use to waste our energy when we’ll catch up with him in the end.”

“You should have let me kill him.”

Richard started up the slope toward the trail. “I would have, but I can’t fly.”

“I suppose,” she conceded with a sigh. “Are you all right?”

Richard nodded as he slid the sword home into its scabbard, putting away, too, the flush of hot anger. “Thanks to you.”

Cara flashed him a self-satisfied smile. “I keep telling you, you couldn’t get along without me.” She glanced around in the gray-blue murk. “What if he tries that again?”

“Samuel is basically a coward and an opportunist. He only attacks when he thinks you’re helpless. He is without any redeeming qualities as far as I can tell.”

“Why would a witch woman keep him around?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s just a sycophant and she enjoys the groveling. Maybe she lets him stay around to run errands for her. Maybe Samuel is the only one who would willingly be her companion. Most people are terrified of Shota and from what I hear no one will come near this place. Although, from what Kahlan told me, witch women can’t help bewitching people—it’s just the way they are. Even if they didn’t, Shota is certainly seductive in her own right so I imagine that if she really wanted a worth while companion, she could have her pick.

“Now that we’ve driven him off, I really doubt that Samuel would have the courage to attack again. He’s delivered Shota’s message. Now that we’ve scared him, and hurt him, he will probably want to run back to Shota’s protection. Besides, he probably thinks she may kill us and he’d be just as happy to have her do it.”

Cara stared off into the swirling snow for a moment before following Richard up the steep slope. “Why do you think Shota would send a messenger to make sure that I come with you down into Agaden Reach?”

Richard found the trail and started down it. He saw Samuel’s footprints but they were already filling in with the blowing snow.

“I don’t know. That part has me puzzled.”

“And why does Samuel think that your sword belongs to him?”

Richard slowly let out a deep breath. “Samuel carried the sword before me. He was the last Seeker before me—although not a legitimately named Seeker. I don’t know how he acquired the Sword of Truth. Zedd came into Agaden Reach and took it back. Samuel believes that the sword still belongs to him.”

Cara looked incredulous. “He was the last Seeker?”

Richard cast her a meaningful look. “He didn’t have the magic, the temperament, or the character required by the sword to be the true Seeker of Truth. Because he wasn’t able to be the master of the sword’s power, that power changed him into what you see today.”