Temple of the Winds

Chapter 17

A breathless, beaming Berdine lurched to a halt as Kahlan watched Nadine storm off down the hall. “Mother Confessor, Lord Rahl wants me to stay up all night and do work for him. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Kahlan’s brow twitched. “If you say so, Berdine.”

Grinning, Berdine ran on down the hall in the direction Nadine had gone. Richard was talking to a knot of soldiers just up the hall in the other direction. Beyond the soldiers, a ways further up the hall, Cara and Egan stood watching.

When Richard saw Kahlan, he left the guards and came to meet her. When he was close enough, she twisted a fistful of his shirt and pulled him close.

“Answer me one thing, Richard Rahl.” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“What’s that?” Richard asked in innocent bewilderment.

“Why did you ever dance with that whore!”

“Kahlan, I’ve never heard you use such language.” Richard glanced down the hall in the direction Nadine had gone. “How did you get her to tell you?”

“I tricked her into it.”

Richard smiled a sly smile. “You told her that I told you the story, didn’t you.”

His smile widened when she nodded.

“I’ve been a bad influence on you,” he said.

“Richard, I’m sorry I asked her to stay. I didn’t know. If I ever get my hands on Shota, I’m going to strangle her. Forgive me for asking Nadine to stay.”

“Nothing to forgive. My emotions just got in the way of seeing that. You were right to ask her to stay.”

“Richard, are you sure?”

“Shota and the prophecy both mentioned ‘the wind.’ Nadine plays some part in this; she has to stay, for now. I’d better have her guarded, so she doesn’t leave.”

“We don’t need guards. Nadine won’t leave.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Vultures don’t give up. They circle as long as they think there are bones to pick.” Kahlan looked back down the empty hall. “She actually had the nerve to tell me that I would do what she had done, if I had to.”

“I feel a bit sorry for Nadine. She has a lot of good in her, too, but I doubt she will ever truly experience love.”

Kahlan felt the heat of him at her back. “How could Michael do that to you? How could you ever have forgiven him?”

“He was my brother,” Richard whispered, “I would have forgiven anything he did against me. Someday I will stand before the good spirits; I didn’t want to give them a reason to say I was no better.

“It was what he did to others that I couldn’t forgive.”

She put a comforting hand to his arm. “I guess I see why you want me to go with you to meet Drefan. The spirits tested you with Michael. I think you will find Drefan a better brother. He may be a bit arrogant, but he’s a healer. Besides, it would be hard to find two that wicked.”

“Nadine is a healer, too.”

“Not compared to Drefan. His talent borders on magic.”

“Do you think he wields magic?”

“I don’t think so, but I have no way of telling.”

“I will know. If he does have magic, I will know.”

Guards at their post near the Mother Confessor’s room saluted after Richard gave them instructions. Kahlan walked close at his side as they moved on down the hall. Cara stood up straighter when Richard paused before her. Even Egan perked up expectantly. Kahlan thought Cara looked tired and miserable.

“Cara,” Richard finally said, “I’m going to see this healer who helped you. I hear he’s another bastard son of Darken Rahl, like me. Why don’t you come along. I wouldn’t mind having a . . . friend, with me.”

Cara’s brow wrinkled together in near tears. “If you wish, Lord Rahl.”

“I wish. You, too, Egan. Egan, I told the soldiers that you all are permitted to pass. Go get Raina and Ulic and bring them along, too.”

“Right behind you, Lord Rahl,” Egan said with a rare smile.

“Where did you ask Drefan to wait?” Kahlan asked.

“I told the guards to take him to a guest room in the southeast wing.”

“The opposite end of the palace? Why all the way over there?”

Richard gave her an unreadable look. “Because I wanted him to remain here, under guard, and that’s as far from your rooms as I could get him.”

Cara was still wearing her red leather; she hadn’t had time to change. The soldiers guarding the southeast wing of the Confessors’ Palace saluted with fists to hearts and moved aside for Richard, Kahlan, Ulic, Egan, and Raina in her brown leather, but they backed away an extra step for Cara. No D’Haran wanted the attention of a Mord-Sith in red leather.

After the brisk march across the palace, they all came to a halt before a simple door flanked by leather and muscles and steel. Richard absently lifted his sword and let it drop back, checking that it was clear in its scabbard.

“I think he’s more afraid than you,” Kahlan whispered up to him. “He’s a healer. He said he came to help you.”

“He showed up to help on the same day as Nadine and Marlin. I don’t believe in coincidence.”

Kahlan recognized the look in his eyes; he was bleeding a lethal flux of magic from his sword without even touching it. Every inch of him, every ripple of hard muscle, every fluid movement, bespoke the calm coiling death.

Without knocking, Richard threw open the door and stepped into the small, windowless room. Sparsely furnished with a bed, small table, and two simple wooden chairs, it was one of the more utilitarian guest rooms. To the side, the eyes of knots in a plain, pine wardrobe watched then. A small brick hearth provided a modicum of heat to the chill, scented air.

Holding Richard’s left arm from a half step behind, knowing better than to get in the way of his sword, Kahlan stayed close. Ulic and Egan stepped to each side, their blond hair nearly brushing the low ceiling. Cara and Raina swept around them, screening Richard and Kahlan.

Drefan knelt before the table against the far wall. Dozens of candles were set randomly about the table. At the sound of all the commotion, he rose smoothly to his feet and turned.

His blue-eyed gaze took in Richard, as if no one else had entered the room with him. Each absorbed in silent thoughts she could only imagine, they appraised one another.

And then Drefan went to his knees, putting his forehead to the floor. “Master Rahl guide us. Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours.”

Kahlan saw Richard’s two huge body guards and both Mord-Sith almost drop reflexively to their knees to join in the devotion to the Master of D’Hara. She had seen countless D’Harans in Aydindril give the devotion. She had stood at Richard’s side when the Sisters of the Light had knelt and sworn fidelity to him. Richard had told her that at the People’s Palace in D’Hara, when Darken Rahl had been there, everyone went to devotion squares twice a day, for two hours each time, and said those same words over and over while touching foreheads to the tiled floors.

Drefan stood once more, assuming a relaxed, self-assured stance. He was dressed nobly in a ruffled white shirt open to mid-chest, high boots turned down just below his knees, and tight, dark trousers that displayed enough of the swell of his manhood that Kahlan could feel her cheeks flush. She forced her eyes to move. She could see at least four leather pouches attached to his wide leather belt, their flaps held closed with carved bone pins. Draped loosely over his shoulders was the simple flaxen cloak she had seen him in before.

The same height and build as Richard, and with the handsome cast of Darken Rahl’s features, he cut a striking figure. His tumbledown blond hair made his tanned face look all the better. Kahlan couldn’t help staring at the flesh-and-blood twist of Richard and Darken Rahl.

Richard gestured toward all the candles. “What’s this?”

Drefan’s blue-eyed gaze stayed locked on Richard. “I was praying, Lord Rahl. Making my peace with the good spirits, should I be joining them this day.”

There was no timidity in his voice; it was a simple, self-confident statement of fact.

Richard’s chest grew with a deep breath. He let it out. “Cara, you stay. Raina, Ulic, Egan, please wait outside.” He glanced to them as they were leaving. “Me first.”

They returned grim nods. It was code: if Richard didn’t come out of the room first, then Drefan died on his way out—a precaution Kahlan used herself.

“I am Drefan, Lord Rahl. At your service, should you find me worthy.” He bowed his head to Kahlan. “Mother Confessor.”

“What did you mean about joining the good spirits?” Richard asked.

Drefan slid his hands into the opposite sleeves of the cloak. “There is a bit of a story to it, Lord Rahl.”

“Take your hands out of your sleeves, and then tell me the story.”

Drefan pulled his hands out. “Sorry.” He lifted his cloak back with a little finger to reveal the long, thin-bladed knife sheathed at his belt. He pulled the knife free with one finger and a thumb, flipped it in the air, and caught it by the point. “Forgive me. I meant to set it aside before your visit.”

Without turning, he tossed the knife over his shoulder. The knife stuck solidly in the wall. He bent, pulled a heavier knife from his boot, and tossed that over his shoulder with his other hand as he straightened, sticking it, too, in the wall an inch from the first. He reached behind his back, under the cloak, and came out with a wickedly curved blade. Without looking, he stuck it, too, in the wall behind, between the two blades already there.

“Any other weapons?” Richard asked in a businesslike manner.

Drefan spread his arms. “My hands, Lord Rahl, and my knowledge.” He continued to hold his hands out. “Though even my hands wouldn’t be quick enough to defeat your magic, Lord Rahl. Please search my person to assure yourself that I am otherwise unarmed.”

Richard didn’t act on the offer. “So, what’s the story?”

“I am the bastard son of Darken Rahl.”

“As am I,” Richard said.

“Not exactly. You are the gifted heir of Darken Rahl. A distinct difference, Lord Rahl.”

“Gifted? Darken Rahl raped my mother. I have often had reason to consider my magic a curse.”

Drefan nodded deferentially. “As you would have it, Lord Rahl. But Darken Rahl didn’t view offspring the way you seem to. To him, there was his heir, and there were weeds. You are his heir; I am but one of his weeds.

“Formalities associated with conception were irrelevant to the Master of D’Hara. Women were . . . simply there to bring him pleasure and to grow his seed. Ones who conceived inferior fruit—those without the gift—were barren soil, in his eyes. Even your mother, having produced his prized fruit, would have been no more important to him than the dirt in his most coveted orchard.”

Kahlan squeezed Richard’s hand. “Cara told me much the same. She said that Darken Rahl . . . that he eliminated those he found without the gift.”

Richard stiffened. “He killed my siblings?”

“Yes, Lord Rahl,” Cara said. “Not in a methodical fashion, but rather on whim, or ill mood.”

“I don’t know anything about his other children. I didn’t even know he was my father until last autumn. How is it that you’re alive?” he asked Drefan.

“My mother wasn’t . . .” Drefan paused, searching for an inoffensive way to put it. “She wasn’t treated as unfortunately as your cherished mother, Lord Rahl.

“My mother was a woman of ambition and cupidity. She saw our father as a means to gain status. As I have heard it told, she was fair of face and figure, and was one of a few who was called to his bed repeatedly. Most were not. Apparently, she succeeded in cultivating his . . . appetite for her charms. To put it bluntly, she was a talented whore.

“She hoped to be the one who bore him a gifted heir, so as to raise her status in his eyes to something more.

“She failed.” Drefan’s cheeks mantled. “She had me.”

“That may be a failure in her eyes,” Richard said in a quiet tone, “but not in the eyes of the good spirits. You are no less than I, in their eyes.”

The corners of Drefan’s mouth curled in a small smile. “Thank you, Lord Rahl. Very magnanimous of you to cede to the good spirits that which was always theirs. Not all men do. ‘In your wisdom we are humbled,’ ” he quoted from the devotion.

Drefan was managing to be courteously respectful without being servile. He seemed honestly deferential, but without losing his air of nobility. Unlike the way he had been in the pit, he was scrupulously polite, but he nonetheless exuded the bearing of a Rahl: no amount of bowing could alter his aplomb. Like Richard, he carried himself with inherent authority. “So, what happened then?”

Drefan took a deep breath. “She took me, as an infant, to a wizard to have me tested for the gift, hoping to present Darken Rahl with the gifted heir that would bring her riches, station, and the fawning adoration of Darken Rahl. Did I also mention that she was a fool?”

Richard didn’t answer, and Drefan went on.

“The wizard broke the bad news to her: I was born without the gift. Instead of bearing a pass to a life of ease, she had given birth to a liability. Darken Rahl was known to pull the intestines out of such women—an inch at a time.”

“Obviously,” Richard said, “you managed not to draw his attention. Why not?”

“My dear mother was responsible for that. She knew that she might be able to raise me, and never be noticed by him, never be killed, but she also knew it would be a hard life of hiding and worry over every knock at the door.

“Instead, she took me, when I was but an infant, to a remote community of healers, hoping that they would raise me in anonymity so that my father would have no reason to come to know of me, and kill me.”

“That must have been hard for her to do,” Kahlan said.

His piercing blue eyes turned on her. “For her grief, she prescribed herself a potent cure, which was in turn provided by the healers: henbane.”

“Henbane,” Richard said in a flat tone. “Henbane is poison.”

“Yes. It acts quickly, but has the unfortunate quality of being exquisitely painful at its task.”

“These healers provided her with poison?” Richard asked incredulously.

Drefan’s raptor gaze, shadowed with admonition, returned to Richard. “The calling of a healer is to provide the remedy that is warranted. Sometimes, the remedy is death.”

“That doesn’t fit my definition of healer,” Richard said, returning the raptor gaze in kind.

“A person who is dying, with no hope of recovery, and in great suffering, can be no better served than by the benevolent act of assisting them in ending their suffering.”

“Your mother wasn’t dying with no hope of recovery.”

“Had Darken Rahl found her, her suffering would have been profound, to say the least. I don’t know how much you knew about our father, but he was known for his inventiveness at giving pain, and making it last. She lived in shuddering fear of that fate. She was driven nearly insane with dread. She fell to tears at every shadow. The healers could do nothing to prevent that fate, to protect her from Darken Rahl. Had Darken Rahl wanted to find her, he would have. Had she remained with the healers, and been found, he would have slaughtered them all for hiding her. She gave up her life to give me the chance at one.”

Kahlan started when a log in the fire popped. Drefan didn’t start, nor did Richard.

“I’m sorry,” Richard whispered. “My grandfather took his daughter, my mother, to Westland to hide her from Darken Rahl. I guess that he, too, understood the danger she was in. The danger I was in.”

Drefan shrugged. “Then we are much the same, you and I: exiles from our father. You, however, would not have been killed.”

Richard nodded to himself. “He tried to kill me.”

Drefan’s brow twitched with curiosity. “Really? He wanted a gifted heir, and then he tried to kill him?”

“He didn’t know, as I didn’t, that it was he who fathered me.” Richard turned the subject back to the matter at hand. “So, what’s this about you making peace with the good spirits in case you are to join them today?”

“The healers who raised me never kept from me the knowledge of who I was. I have known since I can remember that I was the bastard son of our master, of Father Rahl. I always knew that he could come at any moment and kill me. I prayed each night, thanking the good spirits for another day of life free from my father and what he would do to me.”

“Weren’t the healers afraid that he would come and kill them, too, for hiding you?

“Perhaps. They always discounted it. They said that they were not in fear for themselves, that they could always say I was a babe abandoned to them and they didn’t know my paternity.”

“Must have been a hard life.”

Drefan turned his back on them and seemed to stare into the candles for a time before he went on.

“It was life. The only life I knew. But I do know that I was woefully tired of living each day in fear that he might come.”

“He’s dead,” Richard said. “You no longer have to fear him.”

“That is why I’m here. When I felt the bond break, and it was later confirmed that he was dead, I decided that I would end my private terror. I’ve been guarded since the moment I arrived. I knew I wasn’t free to leave this room. I know the reputation of the guards you surround yourself with. That was all part of the chance I took to come here.

“I didn’t know if the new Lord Rahl would want me eliminated, too, but I decided to end the constant death sentence hanging over my head. I’ve come to offer my services to the Master of D’Hara if he will have me; or, if it is his will, that my life be forfeit for my crime of birth.

“Either way, it will be over. I want it over.”

Drefan, his eyes watering, turned to face Richard.

“There you have it, Lord Rahl. Either forgive me, or kill me. I don’t know that I much care which anymore, but I beg you to end it—one way or the other.” His chest rose and fell with labored breaths.

Richard appraised his half brother in the dragging silence. Kahlan could only imagine what Richard must be thinking, at the emotions of those deliberations, at the painful shadows of the past, and the light of hope for what might be. At last, he held his hand out.

“I’m Richard, Drefan. Welcome to the new D’Hara, a D’Hara that fights for freedom from terror. We fight that none have to live in fear, as you have done.”

The two men clasped wrists. Their big, powerful hands were the same size.

“Thank you,” Drefan whispered. “Richard.”