Faith of the Fallen

Chapter 70

Richard pulled a shuddering breath as he opened his eyes. Somehow, he was lying in a position that didn’t hurt. He feared to move, lest the crushing pain return.

How could that be? He’d been run through with a sword.

The darkness around him was still and quiet. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of battle raging on. The ground beneath him shuddered with some great impact.

There were people around him. Bodies lay on the wet floor. He realized he was on a board, keeping him up out of the water. He was covered in a warm cloak. He could see the dark hunched shapes of people huddled around in the little room.

Under his fingers lay the hilt of the Sword of Truth. Because the storm of magic was calmed, he knew the sword was in its scabbard.

He looked up, and through the openings between beams, through broken stone and splintered wood, and could see the rosy blush of dawn.

“Kahlan?” he whispered.

Three figures in the room sprang up, as if stone had suddenly come to life.

The closest leaned in. “I’m here.” She took up his hand.

With his other hand, he reluctantly probed for his wound. He couldn’t find it. He felt no pain, only a lingering ache.

Another figure leaned in. “Lord Rahl? Are you awake?”

“What happened?”

“Oh, Richard, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I stabbed you. It was all my fault. I should have taken an instant to be sure before I did it. I’m so sorry.”

Richard frowned. “Kahlan, I let you win.”

Silence greeted him.

“Richard,” Kahlan finally said, “you don’t have to try to ease my guilt. I know it’s my fault. I ran you through with the sword.”

“No,” Richard insisted, “I let you win.”

Cara patted his shoulder. “Of course you did, Lord Rahl. Of course you did.”

“No, really.”

When the third figure turned to him, Richard’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword.

“How do you feel?” Nicci asked in that silken voice he knew so well.

“Did you remove the link to Kahlan?”

Nicci raised her hand and made a scissors motion with two fingers.

“Gone for good.”

Richard let out a breath. “Then I feel fine.” He tried to sit up, but Nicci’s hand restrained him.

“Richard, I can never ask your forgiveness because I can never return what I stole from you, but I want you to know that I now understand how wrong I’ve been. My whole life, I have been blind. I’m not making an excuse. It’s just that I want you to know that you have restored my vision. In giving me the answer I sought, you gave me my life. You gave me a reason to want to live.”

“And what did you see, Nicci?”

“Life. You sculpted it so big that even someone who had so blindly served evil, as I had done, could see it. You must no longer prove yourself to me. Now, it is for me, and those here you have inspired, to prove ourselves to you.”

“You and they have already begun, or I would not be alive.”

“So . . . you are a Sister of the Light again?” Kahlan asked.

Nicci shook her head. “No. I am Nicci. My ability as a sorceress is mine; it is who I am. My ability does not enslave me to others because they want it. It’s my life. It does not belong to anyone—except maybe to you two.

“You both have shown me the value of life, the rationale of freedom. If I am to serve beside anyone, now, it will be beside others who hold dear the same values.”

Richard placed his hand over Nicci’s. “Thank you for saving my life. For a while there, I thought I’d made a mistake when I let Kahlan run me through.”

“Richard,” Kahlan objected, “you don’t have to try to assuage my guilt by saying that.”

Nicci was gazing into his eyes, even as she addressed Kahlan. “He’s not. He’s telling you the truth. I saw him do it. He was forcing me to make a choice to save him, so that I would have to break the spell holding you. I’m sorry you had to endure such a thing, Richard; I’d already made the choice—the moment I saw your statue.”

Richard tried to sit up again. Nicci restrained him again.

“It is going to take time for you to recover fully. You are still suffering the lingering effects of the injury. Just because you are alive, that doesn’t mean it won’t take some time before you are completely recovered. You have gone through a formidable ordeal. You lost a lot of blood. You will need to rebuild your strength. You could yet die if you don’t go easy.”

“All right,” Richard conceded. He sat up carefully with Kahlan’s help.

“I’ll keep your words in mind, but I still have to get up there.” He turned to Kahlan. “By the way, what are you doing all the way down here? How did you know where I was? What’s happening to the north, in the New World?”

“We’ll talk about all that later,” she said. “I had to be with you. I decided that it was my life, and I wanted to be with you. You were right about the war in the New World. It took me a long time to come to understand that. I finally did. I came to be with you because that was all that was left for me.”

He looked to Cara. “And you?”

“I always wanted to see the world.”

Richard smirked as he rose with the help of Kahlan and Cara, both. He felt lightheaded, but was joyful to trade that for the way he had been before. Kahlan handed him his sword. He slipped the baldric over his head, laying the leather across his shoulder and the scabbard at his hip. Knowing the weapon a little more intimately, now, he had a new respect for it.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to return it to you,” Kahlan said. She smiled sheepishly. “Like this, I mean.”

Farther down the hall Kamil was anxiously waiting in the darkness pierced by only a couple of candles. There were a number of people with him.

Richard didn’t know any of the people, except Kamil. He put a hand to the grinning young man’s shoulder.

“Kamil. Good to see you.”

“Richard, I saw it. I saw the statue.” His smile faded. “I’m sorry it was destroyed.”

“It was only a piece of stone. It was the ideas it represented that were its true beauty.”

People in the dim hallway nodded. Richard saw, then, the woman with the wounded leg. He smiled at her. She returned a kiss, on the end of her fingers, to his forehead.

“Bless you for your bravery in carving that statue,” she said. “We are all joyful to know you survived the night, Richard.”

He thanked them all for their concern.

The ground shook—again.

“What is that?” Richard asked.

“The walls,” one of the men said. “The people are pulling down the walls with those carvings of death on them.”

Even as some people were pulling down the walls, others were still engaged in pitched battle. Richard could see in the faint light of dawn the fighting on the distant hillsides. It appeared that many people were not happy about the ideas Richard’s statue had represented. There were those who feared freedom, and preferred the numb existence of not having to think for themselves.

The palace grounds, though, were in secure hands. The fires of liberty were spreading outward, igniting a conflagration of change.

In the plaza, the semicircle of walls and all the columns but one still stood. It felt somehow different here. This was the place where people had seen the statue and had chosen life. They weren’t destroying this part of the palace.

Richard dragged his boot through the marble dust. In the center of the plaza, the layer of white dust was all that remained. Every precious fragment had been saved as a reminder.

From out on the grounds where several men were gathered, Victor spotted Richard, Kamil, and Nicci, whom he knew. He called out as he and Ishaq came running.

“Richard!” Victor raced up the steps. “Richard!”

Richard had Cara under one arm and Kamil under the other, supporting him. He didn’t have the strength to shout, so he simply waited until the two men were close, both panting from their run.

“Richard, we’re winning!” Victor said as he pointed at the hills. “All those officials, gone, and we—”

The blacksmith went silent as his eyes fell on Kahlan. Ishaq, too, stared at her, then swept his red hat off his head.

Victor’s mouth labored a moment before words finally worked their way out. His hand, usually so expressive, simply pointed at her as if she could not be real flesh.

“You . . .” he said to Kahlan. “You are Richard’s love.”

Kahlan smiled. “How do you know that?”

“I saw the statue.”

In the dawn light, Richard could see her face go red.

“It didn’t look exactly like me,” she protested, graciously.

“Not the way it looked, but the . . . character. You have that quality.”

Kahlan smiled, pleased by his words.

“Victor, Ishaq, this is Kahlan. My wife.”

Both men blinked dumbly and looked as one to Nicci.

“As you know,” Nicci said, “I am not a very good person. I am a sorceress. I used my power to force Richard to come here with me. Richard has shown me, along with many other people, the nobility of life.”

“Then you’re the one who saved his life?” Victor asked.

“Kamil told us you were hurt, Richard,” Ishaq said, “and that a sorceress was healing you.”

“Nicci healed me,” Richard confirmed.

Victor gestured expansively—at last. “Well, I guess that has to count for something, saving Richard Cypher.”

“Richard Rahl,” Richard said.

Victor’s rolling laugh rumbled up from deep inside. “Right. This day, we are all Richard Rahl.”

Nicci leaned in. “It really is Richard Rahl, Mr. Cascella.”

“Richard Rahl,” Kahlan said, adding her nod.

“Lord Rahl,” Cara said in ill humor. “Show the proper respect to the Seeker of Truth, the master of the D’Haran Empire, war wizard, and the husband to the Mother Confessor herself.” Cara lifted her hand in graceful, regal introduction. “Lord Rahl.”

Richard shrugged. He lifted the gleaming, silver-wound hilt of his sword, showing them the word TRUTH in gold, and then let it drop back into its scabbard.

“What a beauty!” Kamil shouted.

Victor and Ishaq both blinked again, and then dropped to a knee. They bowed their heads deeply.

Richard rolled his eyes. “Will you two stop it.” He shot Cara a scowl.

Victor peered up cautiously. “But we never knew. I’m sorry. You’re not angry I made fun of you?”

“Victor, it’s me, Richard. How many times have we eaten your lardo together?”

“Lardo?” Kahlan asked. “You know how to make lardo, Victor?”

Victor rose up, a grin growing across his face as he peered at her.

“You know of lardo?”

“Of course. The men who used to come to work on the white marble at the Confessors’ Palace used to eat lardo they made themselves — in big marble tubs. I used to sit and eat it with them when I was little. They used to say I would grow up to wear the white dress of the Mother Confessor one day because I ate their lardo and would grow strong from it.”

Victor thumped his chest with a big thumb. “I make lardo in marble tubs, too.”

“Do you let it age for a year?” Kahlan asked. “You have to let proper lardo age for a year.”

“Of course, a year! I make only proper lardo.”

Kahlan gave him her most beautiful, green-eyed smile. “I would love to taste it sometime.”

Victor draped his massive arm around Kahlan’s shoulders. “Come, Richard’s wife, I will give you a taste of my lardo.”

Cara, a dark look on her face, put a hand to the blacksmith’s chest to stop him. She lifted his arm from Kahlan’s shoulders.

“No one but Lord Rahl touches the Mother Confessor.”

Victor gave Cara a quizzical look. “Have you ever had lardo?”

“No.”

Victor slapped Cara on the back as he laughed. “Come, then, and I will give you lardo, too. Then you will see—anyone who eats lardo with me is my friend for life.”

Kahlan took Kamil’s place under one of Richard’s arms, Victor under the other, and they made their way across newly free ground up to the blacksmith’s shop, to have some lardo.