Temple of the Winds

Chapter 14

The only sound in the otherwise dead silence was the click, click, click of Richard’s thumbnail on one of the points of the recurved cross guard on his sword. The elbow of his other arm rested on the polished tabletop while he cradled his head between a thumb under his chin and his first finger along his temple. With a calm face, he did his best to control his anger. He was furious. This time, they had crossed the line, and they knew it. In his mind he had gone over a whole list of possible punishments, but had rejected them all, not because they were too harsh, but because he knew they wouldn’t work. In the end, he settled on the truth. There was nothing harsher than the truth, and nothing else as likely to get through to them. Before him, in a row, stood Berdine, Raina, Ulic, and Egan. They stood stiffly, their eyes focused at some point over his head and behind him as he sat at the table in the small room he used for meeting with people, reading, and various other work.

To the side of the table hung small landscape paintings of idyllic country scenes, but from the window behind, from which streamed the low angled rays of morning sunlight, the massive, baleful stone face of the Wizard’s Keep glared down on him. He had been back in Aydindril for only an hour—long enough to discover what had happened after he had left the evening before. All four of his guards had been back since before dawn, he had ordered them to return to Aydindril after Raina and Egan had sauntered into camp the night before. They had thought he wouldn’t make them return in the dead of night. They had been wrong. As brazen as they ordinarily were, the look in his eyes had insured that none of the four dared disobey that order. Richard had also returned much earlier than he had planned. He had pointed out the quench oak to the soldiers, told them what to collect, and then, instead of overseeing the task, had started back alone for Aydindril before the sun was up. After what he had seen in the night, he’d been too troubled to get any sleep, and had wanted to be back in Aydindril as soon as possible. Drumming his finger on the tabletop, Richard watched his guards sweating. Berdine and Raina wore their brown leather outfits, their long, braided hair disheveled from their hard ride. The two great, blond-headed men, Ulic and Egan, wore uniforms of dark leather straps, plates, and belts. The thick leather plates were molded to fit like a second skin over the conspicuous contours of their muscles. Incised in the leather at the center of their chests was an ornate letter “R,” for the House of Rahl, and beneath that, two crossed swords. Around their arms, just above their elbows, they wore golden bands brandishing razor-sharp projections—weapons for close combat. No D’Haran but the Lord Rahl’s persona bodyguards wore such weapons. They were more than simply weapons, they were the rarest, the highest badges of honor, earned he knew not how.

Richard had inherited the rule of a people he didn’t know, with customs that were mostly a mystery to him, and expectations he only partly fathomed.

Since they had returned, these four, too, had discovered what had happened with Marlin the night before. They knew why they had been summoned, but he hadn’t said anything to them, yet. He was trying to get a grip on his rage, first.

“Lord Rahl?”

“Yes, Raina?”

“Are you angry with us? For disobeying your orders and coming out to you with the Mother Confessor’s message?”

The message had been a pretense, and they knew it as well as he. Click, click, click, went his thumbnail. “That will be all. You may go. All of you.”

Their postures relaxed, but none made a move to leave. “Leave?” Raina asked. “Aren’t you going to punish us?” A smirk spread on her face. “Maybe clean out the stables for a week, or something?”

Richard pushed back from the table as he ground his teeth. He was not in the mood for their impish humor. He rose behind the table. “No, Raina, no punishment. You may go.”

The two Mord-Sith smiled. Berdine loaned toward Raina, speaking in a whisper, but loud enough for him to hear. “He realizes that we know best how to protect him.” They all started for the door.

“Before you go,” Richard said, as he strolled around the table, “I just want you to know one thing.”

“What’s that?” Berdine asked.

Richard walked past them, pausing long enough to look each in the eye. “That I’m disappointed in you.”

Raina made a face. “You’re disappointed in us? You’re not going to yell or punish us, you’re simply disappointed?”

“That’s right. You’ve disappointed me. I thought I could trust you. I can’t.” Richard turned away. “Dismissed.”

Berdine cleared her throat. “Lord Rahl, Ulic and I went with you by your command.”

“Oh? So if it had been you I’d left here to protect Kahlan, instead of Raina, you would have done as I asked and stayed?” She didn’t answer. “I’ve counted on all of you, and you’ve made me feel a fool for trusting you.” He flexed his fists instead of yelling. “I would have seen to Kahlan’s protection if I’d known I couldn’t trust you.”

Richard leaned an arm against the window frame and stared out at the cold spring morning. The four behind him shifted their feet uneasily.

“Lord Rahl,” Berdine said at last, “we would lay down our lives for you.”

Richard rounded on them. “And let Kahlan die!” He carefully quieted his tone. “You can lay down your lives for me all you want. Play your games all you want. Pretend you’re doing something important. Play at being my guards. Just stay out of my way, and out of the way of people helping me in this effort to stop the Imperial Order.”

He flicked his hand toward the door. “Dismissed.”

Berdine and Raina shared a look. “We will be outside, in the hall, if you need us, Lord Rahl.”

Richard gave them such a cold look that it drained the color from their faces. “I won’t be needing you. I don’t need people I can’t trust.”

Berdine swallowed. “But—”

“But what?”

She swallowed again. “What about Kolo’s journal? Don’t you want me to help you with the translation?”

“I’ll manage. Anything else?”

Each of them shook their heads.

They began filing out. Raina, at the end of the line, paused and turned back. Her dark eyes fixed on the floor.

“Lord Rahl, will you be taking us out, later, to feed the chipmunks?”

“I’m busy. They’ll manage just fine without us.”

“But . . . what about Reggie?”

“Who?”

“Reggie. He’s the one missing the end of his little tail. He . . . he . . . sat in my hand. He’ll be looking for us.”

Richard watched her for a silence-filled eternity. He teetered between wanting to hug her and wanting to yell at her. He had tried the hugging, or its equivalent, anyway, and it had nearly gotten Kahlan killed. “Maybe another day. Dismissed.”

She wiped the back of her hand across her nose. “Yes, Lord Rahl.”

Raina quietly pulled the door closed behind her. Richard raked back his hair as he flopped down in his chair again. With a finger, he slowly spun Kolo’s journal around and around as he ground his teeth. Kahlan could have died while he was off looking for trees. Kahlan could have died while the people he thought were protecting her were instead following their own agenda.

He shuddered to think what the added magic, the added rage, of the sword would do were he to draw it at that moment. He couldn’t recall being this angry, without the Sword of Truth in his hand. He couldn’t imagine the wrath of the sword’s magic on top of this.

The words of the prophecy from the stone wall in the pit ran through his mind with haunting, mocking finality.

A soft knock silenced the hundredth, whispered sound of the prophecy in his head.

This was the knock he had been waiting for. He knew who it was. “Come in, Cara.”

The tall, muscular, blond-haired Mord-Sith slunk in through the door. She pushed it closed with her back. Her head was bent, and she looked as miserable as he had ever seen her.

“May I speak with you, Lord Rahl?”

“Why are you wearing your red leather?”

She swallowed before answering. “It’s a . . . Mord-Sith thing, Lord Rahl.”

He didn’t ask for an explanation; he didn’t really care. This was the one he had been waiting for. This was the one who was at the core of his wrath. “I see. What do you want?”

Cara approached the table and stood with her shoulders slumped. She had a bandage around her head but he had been told that her head wound wasn’t serious. By the red-rimmed look of her eyes, it was obvious that she hadn’t slept the night before. “How is the Mother Confessor this morning?”

“When I left her, she was resting, but she’s going to be fine. Her wounds weren’t serious, as serious as they easily could have been. She’s lucky to be alive, considering what happened. Considering that she wasn’t supposed to have been down there with Marlin in the first place, considering that I specifically told you that I didn’t want either of you down there.”

Cara’s eyes closed. “Lord Rahl, it was my fault entirely. I’m the one who talked her into it. I wanted to question Marlin. She tried to convince me to stay away, but I went anyway. She only went to try to make me leave him be, as you had instructed.”

Had Richard not been so angry, he might have laughed. Even if Kahlan hadn’t admitted the truth to him, he knew her well enough to recognize Cara’s confession as pure fiction. But he also knew that Cara hadn’t put in much of an effort to keep Kahlan away from the assassin.

“I thought that I had control of him. I made a mistake.”

Richard leaned forward. “Didn’t I specifically tell you that I didn’t want either of you down there?”

Her shoulders trembled as she nodded without looking up. His fist hitting the table made her flinch.

“Answer me! Didn’t I specifically tell you that I didn’t want either of you down there?”

“Yes, Lord Rahl.”

“Was there any doubt in your mind what I meant?”

“No, Lord Rahl.”

Richard leaned back in his chair. “That was the mistake, Cara. Do you understand? Not that you didn’t have control of him—that was beyond your power. Going down there was a choice you made. That was the mistake you made.

“I love Kahlan more than anything in this world, or anything in any other world. Nothing else is so precious to me. I trusted you to protect her, to keep her out of harm’s view.”

The sunlight coming through the patterned shears played across her red leather in dappled patches like sunlight coming through leaves.

“Lord Rahl,” she said in a small voice, “I fully understand the dimensions of my failure, and what it means.

“Lord Rahl, may I be granted a request?”

“What is it?”

She sank to her knees, bending forward in supplication. She took up her Agiel, holding it in both trembling fists. “May I choose the manner of my execution?”

“What?”

“A Mord-Sith wears her red leather at her execution. If she has previously served with honor, she is allowed to choose the manner of execution.”

“And what would you choose?”

“My Agiel, Lord Rahl. I know how I have failed you—I have committed an unforgivable transgression—but I have served with honor in the past. Please. Allow it to be with my Agiel. It’s my only request. Either Berdine or Raina can carry it out. They know how.”

Richard walked around the table. He leaned back against its edge, looking down at Cara’s slumped, quivering form. He folded his arms. “Denied.”

Her shoulders shuddered with a sob. “May I ask what Lord Rahl will choose?”

“Cara, look at me,” he said in a soft voice. Her tear-stained face came up. “Cara, I’m angry. But no matter how angry I was, I would never, ever, have you, any of you, executed.”

“You must. I have failed you. I have disobeyed your orders to protect your love. I have made an unforgivable mistake.”

Richard smiled. “I don’t know that there are unforgivable mistakes. There may be unforgivable betrayals, but not mistakes. If we were going to start executing people for mistakes, I’m afraid I’d have been dead long ago. I make mistakes all the time. Some of them have been pretty big.”

She shook her head as she gazed into his eyes. “A Mord-Sith knows when she has earned execution. I have earned it.” In those blue eyes he saw the iron of her resolution. “Either you carry it out, or I will.”

Richard stood for a time, judging the demand of duty to which a Mord-Sith was bound. Judging the madness in those eyes. “Do you wish to die, Cara?”

“No, Lord Rahl. Since you have been our Lord Rahl, never. That is why I must. I have failed you. A Mord-Sith lives and dies by a code of duty to her master. Neither you nor I can alter what must be. My life is forfeit. You must carry out the execution, or I will.”

Richard knew that she wasn’t making a play for sympathy. Mord-Sith didn’t bluff. If he didn’t somehow change her mind, she would do as she promised.

With comprehension, and the resulting, sickening realization of his only choice, he made the mental leap off the rim of sanity and into the madness, where dwelt part of this woman’s mind and, he feared, part of his. As irretrievable as a heartbeat, the decision had been made. Muscles flexing with the call, he drew his sword. It sent the soft, matchless ring of steel through the room, through his bones.

With that seemingly simple act, the wrath of the sword’s magic was loosed. The lock on the door to death was slipped free. It took his breath like a wall of an acid wind. Storms of rage lifted on that biting wind. “Magic, then,” he told her, “will be your judge, and executioner.” Her eyes squeezed shut. “Look at me!”

The sword’s rage twisted through him, trying to carry him away with it. He fought to maintain his grip of control, as he always had to do when he held the fury unleashed.

“You will look into my eyes when I kill you!”

Her eyes opened. Her brow wrinkled together, tears streaming down her cheeks. Any good she had done, any bravery in the face of danger, any sacrifice to her duty, had been stripped away in the face of her disgrace. She had been denied the honor of a death by her Agiel. For that, and that alone, she cried.

Richard pressed the razor-sharp edge to his forearm, drawing for the blade its taste of blood. He brought the Sword of truth to his forehead, touching the cold steel, the warm blood, to his flesh. He whispered his invocation. “Blade, be true this day.” This was the person who, for her presumption, and but for luck, would have cost him Kahlan. Cost him everything.

She watched as the blade rose above him. She saw the fury, the righteous rage, in his eyes. She saw the magic dancing there.

She saw death, dancing there.

The knuckles of both fists were white as he gripped the hilt. He knew he couldn’t deny the magic its will—if he was to have a chance. He loosed his wrath at this woman for abandoning her responsibility to protect Kahlan. Her arrogance could have ended Kahlan’s life, ended his future, ended his reason for living. He had entrusted his dearest love to her care, and she had failed in her duty to honor his faith. He could have returned to find Kahlan dead because of this woman on her knees before him. For no other reason.

Their eyes shared the madness of what they were doing, of what they each had become, of knowing that there was no other way—for either of them. He committed to cleave her in two. The sword’s wrath demanded it. He would accept no less. He envisioned it. He would have it. Her blood.

With a scream of rage, with all his strength, with all his fury and anger, he swung the blade down toward her face. The sword’s tip whistled. In every detail, he could see the light glint off the polished blade as it swept through a streamer of sunlight. He could see drops of his sweat sparkle in the sunlight, as if frozen in space. He could have counted them. He could see where the blade would hit her. She could see where the blade was going to hit her. His muscles screamed with the effort as his lungs screamed with rage.

Between her eyes, an inch from her flesh, the blade stopped as solidly as if it had thunked into an impenetrable wall.

Sweat rolled down his face. His arms shook. The room echoed with the lingering sound of his cry of fury. At last, he withdrew the blade from over Cara.

She stared up with big, round, unblinking eyes.

She was panting in rapid, short breaths through her mouth. A long, low whine came from her throat.

“There will be no execution,” Richard said in a hoarse voice.

“How,” she whispered, “how . . . could it do that? How could it stop like that?”

“I’m sorry, Cara, but the sword’s magic has made the choice. It has chosen that you live. You will have to abide by its decision.”

Her eyes finally turned to look into his. “You were going to do it. You were going to execute me.”

He slid the sword slowly into its scabbard. “Yes.”

“Then why am I not dead?”

“Because the magic decided otherwise. We can’t question its judgment. We must abide by it.”

Richard had been reasonably sure that the sword’s magic wouldn’t harm Cara. The magic wouldn’t let him harm one who was an ally. He had been counting on that. But there had been doubt. Cara had brought Kahlan within danger’s grasp, though not intentionally. He wasn’t entirely sure that doubt wouldn’t cause the blade to take her. That was the way with the Sword of Truth’s magic—one wasn’t always entirely sure.

Zedd had told Richard when he had given him the sword that therein lay the danger. The sword destroyed an enemy, and spared a friend, but the sword’s magic worked as a result of the view of its holder, not the truth. Zedd had told him that doubt could possibly cause the death of a friend, or allow the escape of a foe.

But he did know that if it was to work, he had to commit his entire being to the effort, otherwise Cara wouldn’t believe the magic had spared her, and she would have credited it to him. Then she would have been obligated to do as she had promised.

His insides felt as if they were twisted into knots. His knees trembled. He had been sucked into a world of dread; he hadn’t been positive that it would work as he had planned.

Worse, he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t made a mistake by sparing her. Richard cupped Cara’s chin. “The Sword of Truth has made its choice. It chose for you to live, for you to have another chance. You must accept its decision.”

Cara nodded in his hand. “Yes, Lord Rahl.”

He reached under her arm and helped her to her feet. He could hardly stand himself, and wondered if he had been in her place if he would be able to get to his feet as steadily as she.

“I will do better in the future, Lord Rahl.”

Richard pulled her head to his shoulder and held her tight for a moment, something he had been aching to do. Her arms slipped around him in grateful surrender.

“That’s all I ask, Cara.”

As she headed for the door, Richard called her name. She turned back. “You still must be punished.”

Her eyes turned down. “Yes, Lord Rahl.”

“Tomorrow afternoon. You will have to learn to feed chipmunks.”

Her gaze came back up. “Lord Rahl?”

“Do you wish to feed chipmunks?”

“No, Lord Rahl.”

“Then that’s your punishment. Bring Berdine and Raina. They, too, are due some punishment.”

Richard closed the door after her, leaned against it, and shut his eyes. The inferno of the sword’s rage had consumed his anger. He was left empty and weak. He shook so badly he could hardly stand.

He was almost sick at the vivid memory of looking into her eyes as he brought the sword down with all his strength, expecting that he was going to kill her. He had been prepared for the spray of blood and bone. Cara’s blood and bone. A person he cared about.

He had done what he had to, to save her life, but at what cost? The prophecy reeled through his head, and the nausea took him to his knees in a flash of cold sweat and dread.