Temple of the Winds

Chapter 31

At the edge of the expansive palace grounds, a patrol of D’Haran soldiers spotted them and snapped to attention. Just beyond the soldiers, in the streets of the city, Kahlan could see people everywhere going about their business pause to bow to the Mother Confessor and the Lord Rahl.

Although the activities of commerce, on the surface, seemed like any other day, Kahlan thought she could detect subtle differences: men loading barrels into a wagon scrutinized people who passed close by; shopkeepers appraised customers carefully; people walking on the street skirted those stopped in conversation. The knots of people gossiping seemed more numerous. Laughter was conspicuously absent from the streets.

After they had solemnly saluted with fists to the leather armor and chain mail over their hearts, the patrol of soldiers not far off broke into good-natured grins.

“Huzzah, Lord Rahl!” they cheered as one. “Huzzah, Lord Rahl!”

“Thank you, Lord Rahl,” one of the soldiers shouted toward them. “You cured us! Restored our health! We’re well because of you. Long live the great wizard, Lord Rahl!”

Richard froze in midstride, not looking at the soldiers, but staring at the ground before him. His cloak, snared in a gust of wind, embraced him, shrouding him in its golden sparkles.

The others joined in. “Long live Lord Rahl! Long live Lord Rahl!” Hands balled in fists, Richard started out once more without looking their way. Kahlan, her arm around his, slid her hand down and urged his fist open to twine her fingers in his. She gave his hand a squeeze of silent understanding and support.

From the corner of her eye, Kahlan could see Cara, back behind Drefan and Nadine, gesturing angrily at the patrol to silence them and move them along.

In the distance before them, on a gentle rise, the expanse of the Confessors’ Palace rose up in all its splendor of stone columns, vast walls, and elegant spires, standing out a pristine white against the darkening sky. Not only was the sun going down but murky clouds scudded by, messengers, delivering a vow of a storm. A few errant snowflakes flitted past on the wind, scouting for the horde to come. Spring had not yet prevailed.

Kahlan gripped Richard’s hand as if clutching at life itself. In her mind’s eye, she saw nothing but sickness and death. They had seen near to a dozen sick children, stricken with plague. Richard’s pallid face looked hardly better that the six dead faces she had seen.

Her insides ached. Holding back her tears, her cries, her screams, had cramped her stomach muscles. She had told herself that she couldn’t lose control and cry in front of mothers who were terrified that their sick children might be sicker than they had imagined, or as sick as they knew, but refused to believe.

Many of those mothers were hardly older than Kahlan. They were just young women, faced with a crushing plight, who fell to piteous prayer for the good spirits to spare their precious children. Kahlan couldn’t say that she wouldn’t have been reduced to the same state in their place.

Some of the parents, like the Andersons, had older members of their families to rely on for advice and support, but some of the mothers were young and alone, with only husbands hardly more than boys themselves, and no one to turn to.

Kahlan put her free hand over the painful spasm in her abdomen. She knew how devastated Richard felt. He had more than enough to carry on his shoulders. She had to be strong for him.

Majestic maple trees stood to each side, the bare thicket of branches laced together over their heads. It wouldn’t be long before they budded. They passed out from the tunnel of trees, onto the winding promenade that led up to the palace.

Behind them, Drefan and Nadine carried on a whispered discussion of herbs and cures to be tried. Nadine would propose something, and Drefan would give his opinion as to whether it would be useless or might be worth trying. He would gently lecture her on the paths of infirmity, and the causes of breaks in the body’s defenses that allowed an affliction to gain hold.

Kahlan got the vague impression that he almost seemed to view those who fell sick with contempt, as if because they took so little care with their auras and flows of energy that he talked about all the time, it was only to be expected that they would succumb to a pestilence unworthy of those like himself who minded their bodies better. She guessed that one with his knowledge of healing people must get frustrated with those who brought disease upon themselves, like the prostitutes and the men who went to them. She was relieved, at least, that he wasn’t one of those.

Kahlan wasn’t sure if she felt Drefan was justified in some of the things he was saying, or if it was simple arrogance. She herself had felt frustration at people who flouted dangers to their health. When she was younger, there was a diplomat who became ill every time he ate rich sauces with certain spices. They always left him with difficulty breathing. He loved the sauces. Then one time, at a formal dinner, he gorged himself on the sauces he loved, and fell dead at the table.

Kahlan could never understand why the man would bring such sickness on himself, and had trouble feeling sorry for him. In fact, she always viewed him with contempt when he came to a formal dinner. She wondered if Drefan didn’t feel much the same way about some people, except that he knew much more of what made people sick. She had seen Drefan do remarkable things with Cara’s aura, and she knew, too, that sickness could sometimes be influenced by the mind.

Kahlan had on a number of occasions stopped in a small place called Langden where lived a very superstitious and backward people. It was decided by their powerful local healer that the headaches that so bothered the people of Langden must be caused by evil spirits possessing them. He ordered white hot irons put to the bottoms of the feet of those with headaches to drive out the evil spirits. It was a remarkable cure. No one in Langden was ever possessed again. The headaches vanished.

If only the plague could vanish so easily.

If only Nadine could vanish so easily. They couldn’t send her away, now, when there would be so much need among the people. Like it or not, Nadine was going to be around until this was over. Shota seemed to be tightening her clutches around Richard.

Kahlan didn’t know what Richard had said to Nadine, but she could imagine. Nadine had suddenly been stricken with overt politeness. Kahlan knew Nadine’s apology hadn’t been sincere. Richard had probably told her that if she didn’t apologize, he would boil her alive. With the way Cara’s gaze so often passed over Nadine, Kahlan suspected that Nadine had more to worry about than Richard.

Kahlan and Richard led the rest of their group between the towering white columns set to each side of the entrance, through the open doors carved with geometric designs, and into the palace. The cavernous grand hall inside was lit by windows of pale blue glass set between polished white marble columns topped with gold capitals, and by dozens of lamps spaced along the walls.

A leather-clad figure in the distance wandered toward them across the black-and-white marble squares. Someone else approached from the right side, from the guest rooms. Richard slowed to a stop and turned.

“Ulic, would you please go find General Kerson. He might be at the D’Haran headquarters. Does anyone know where General Baldwin is?”

“He’s probably at Kelton’s palace, on Kings Row,” Kahlan said. “He’s been staying there since he arrived and helped us defeat the Blood of the Fold.”

Richard nodded wearily. Kahlan didn’t think she had ever seen him looking worse. His spiritless eyes stared out from an ashen face. He swayed on his feet as he squinted, looking for Egan not ten feet away.

“Egan, there you are. Go get General Baldwin, please. I don’t know where he is, but you can ask around.”

Egan cast a quick, uneasy glance toward Kahlan. “Would you like us to bring anyone else, Lord Rahl?”

“Anyone else? Yes. Tell them to bring their officers. I’ll be in my office. Bring them there.”

Ulic and Egan both clapped fists to hearts before turning to their duties. As they departed, they conveyed a message through quick hand signals to the two Mord-Sith. In response, Cara and Raina maneuvered closer to Richard, screening him as Tristan Bashkar came to a wary halt.

Berdine meandered up on the other side, her rapt attention on the open journal in her hands. She seemed completely absorbed in what she was studying, and oblivious to anything around her. Kahlan put out a hand to stop her before she bumped into Richard. She rocked to a halt like a rowboat that had drifted in and grounded on the shore.

Tristan bowed. “Mother Confessor. Lord Rahl.”

“Who are you?” Richard asked.

“Tristan Bashkar, of Jara, Lord Rahl. I’m afraid we haven’t been formally introduced.”

Life sparked into Richard’s gray eyes. “And have you decided to surrender, minister Bashkar?”

Tristan had been about to bow again at an expected formal introduction. He hadn’t expected Richard’s questions to come first. He cleared his throat and straightened. His easy smile welled onto his face.

“Lord Rahl, I do appreciate your indulgence. The Mother Confessor has graciously granted me two weeks to observe the signs from the stars.”

Power came to Richard’s voice. “You risk your people seeing swords, instead of stars, minister.”

Tristan unbuttoned his coat. From the corner of her eye, Kahlan saw Cara’s Agiel twitch up into her hand. Tristan didn’t notice. His gaze stayed on Richard while he drew his coat back, holding it open casually by resting his fist on his hip. It exposed the knife at his belt. Raina flicked her Agiel up into her hand.

“Lord Rahl, as I explained to the Mother Confessor, our people looked forward with great joy to joining with the D’Haran empire.”

“D’Haran empire?”

“Tristan,” Kahlan said, “we’re rather busy at the moment. We have discussed this already, and you have been given two weeks. Now, if you will excuse us?”

Tristan brushed back a lock of his hair, his bright brown eyes taking her in. “I’ll get to the point, then. I’ve heard rumors that plague is loose in Aydindril.”

Richard’s raptor glower was suddenly in full form. “It’s not just a rumor. It’s true.”

“How much danger is there?”

Richard’s hand found the hilt of his sword. “If you join with the Order, minister, you will wish it was the plague on you, instead of me.”

Kahlan had rarely seen two men so instantly and intently dislike each other. She knew Richard was exhausted, and in no mood, after having just seen so many seriously ill or dead children, to be challenged by a noble such as Tristan inquiring after his own hide. Jara had also been on the council that had condemned Kahlan to death. Although it wasn’t Tristan who had voted to behead her, it had been a councilor from his land. Richard had killed that Jarian councilor.

Kahlan didn’t know why Tristan took such an instant dislike to Richard, except for the fact that this was the man who had demanded Jara’s surrender. She guessed that was reason enough; if she were in his place, she might feel the same.

Kahlan was expecting the two men to draw steel any second. Drefan stepped between them.

“I’m Drefan Rahl, High Priest of the Raug’Moss community of healers. I’ve had some experience with the plague. I suggest that you confine yourself to your room and avoid contact with strangers. Especially prostitutes. Beyond that, you should get enough sleep and proper, healthful food.

“Those things will help to keep your body strong against the distemper. Also, I will be speaking to the staff, here at the palace, on strengthening oneself against illness. You’re welcome to come and hear my guidance, as is anyone else of a mind.”

Tristan had listened earnestly to Drefan. He bowed, thanking him for his advice. “Well, I appreciate the truth, Lord Rahl. A lesser man might have tried to deceive me about such a serious problem. I can see why you’re so busy. I’ll take my leave so that you may see to your people.”

Berdine nudged up beside Richard as he glared after Tristan’s departing back. As intently as she had been studying the journal, muttering to herself, testing the pronunciation of High D’Haran words, Kahlan doubted she had heard anything that had been said.

“Lord Rahl, I need to talk to you,” Berdine mumbled.

Richard put a hand on her shoulder in a signal for her to wait.

“Drefan, Nadine, do either of you have anything for a headache? A really bad headache?”

“I have some herbs that will help, Richard,” Nadine offered.

“I have something better.” Drefan leaned closer to Richard. “It’s called sleep. Perhaps you recall having experienced it in the past?”

“Drefan, I know that I’ve been awake for a while, but—”

“Many days and nights.” Drefan held up a finger. “If you try to mask the outcome of lack of sleep with so-called remedies, you do yourself no service. The headache will return, worse than before. You will ruin your strength. You will be no good to yourself, or anyone else.”

“Drefan is right,” Kahlan said.

Without looking up, Berdine turned the page she was reading in the journal. “I agree. I feel much better since I got some sleep.” Berdine seemed to have finally noticed that there were other people around. “Now that I’m alert, I can think better.”

Richard warded their insistence with a lifted hand. “I know. Soon, I promise. Now, what was it you wanted to tell me, Berdine?”

“What?” She was reading again. “Oh. I found out where the Temple of the Winds is.”

Richard’s brow went up. “What?”

“After I got some sleep, I could think more clearly. I realized that we were limiting our search by looking for a limited number of key words, so I tried to think of what the old wizards would do in their situation. I reasoned that—”

“Where is it!” Richard bellowed.

Berdine finally looked up and blinked. “The Temple of the Winds is located atop the Mountain of the Four Winds.”

Berdine noticed Raina for the first time. The two women smiled in greeting, their eyes sharing a private warmth.

Kahlan shrugged to Richard’s questioning look. “Berdine, that’s not much help unless you can tell us where it is.”

Berdine frowned a moment, and then waved in apology. “Oh. Sorry. That’s the translation”—she frowned again—“I think.”

Richard swiped a hand across his face. “What does Kolo call it?”

Berdine flipped the page back and turned the book, tapping a finger at a place in the writing.

Richard squinted. “Berglendursch ost Kymermosst,” he read from the journal. “Mountain of the Four Winds.”

“Actually,” Berdine said, “Berglendursch means more than just mountain. Berglen is ‘mountain,’ and dursch can sometimes mean ‘rock,’ though it can also mean other things, like ‘strong-willed,’ but in this case I think it means something more along the lines of rock mountain, or great mountain made of rock. You know, rocky mountain of the four winds . . . something like that.”

Kahlan shifted her weight on her tired feet. “Mount Kymermosst?”

Berdine scratched her nose. “Yes. That sounds like it could be the same place.”

“That has to be the same place,” Richard said, looking hopeful for the first time in hours. “Do you know where it is?”

“Yes. I’ve been on Mount Kymermosst,” Kahlan said. “There’s no doubt about its being windy up there—and rocky. There are some old ruins atop the mountain, but nothing like a temple.”

“Maybe the ruins are the temple,” Berdine offered. “We don’t know how big it is. A temple can be small.”

“No, I don’t think so, in this case.”

“Why?” Richard asked. “What’s up there? How far is it?”

“It’s not far to the northeast. Maybe a day’s ride, depending. Two at the most. It’s a pretty inhospitable place. As treacherous as the old trail going up and over the mountain is, going over Mount Kymermosst prevents you from having to go through some very difficult country and saves days of travel.

“At the top is the site of some old ruins. Just some kind of outbuildings, from the look of them. I’ve seen a lot of grand places: I recognize, architecturally, that what’s up there isn’t the main structure. They’re something like the outbuildings here, at the Confessors’ Palace. There’s a road through the buildings, a bit like the grand promenade here going through the outbuildings.”

Richard hooked a thumb behind his wide leather belt. “Well, where does it go, this grand road?”

Kahlan stared into his gray eyes. “Right to the edge of a cliff. The buildings are at the edge of a cliff. That sheer stone wall drops off for maybe three or four thousand feet.”

“Is there any kind of stairway carved in the cliff? Something leading down to the temple itself?”

“Richard, you don’t understand. The buildings are hard on the edge of the cliff. It’s obvious that the buildings, walls, and the road itself went on, because they’re sheared off abruptly right at the edge. There used to be more of the mountain there. It’s gone now. It’s all fallen away. A rockslide, or something. What was beyond the ruins, the main structure and the mountain, is gone.”

“That’s what Kolo said. The team returned, and the Temple of the Winds was gone.” Richard looked devastated. “They must have used magic to tear away the side of the mountain, to bury the Temple of the Winds so no one could ever go there again.”

“Well,” Berdine sighed, “I’ll keep looking in the journal to see if he says anything about the Temple of the Winds falling in a rockslide, or avalanche.”

Richard nodded. “Maybe there’s more about it in the journal.”

“Lord Rahl, will you have time to help me before you go off to be married?” A chill silence filled the grand hall.

“Berdine—” Richard’s mouth worked, but no more words were forthcoming.

“I heard the soldiers are well,” Berdine said, looking briefly at Kahlan and then back at Richard. “You told me that you and the Mother Confessor would be leaving to be wedded just as soon as the soldiers were well. The soldiers are well.” She grinned. “I know that I’m your favorite, but you haven’t changed your mind, have you? Gotten cold feet?”

She waited expectantly, seeming not to notice that no one was smiling at her joke. Richard looked numb. He couldn’t say it.

Kahlan knew that he feared speaking the words, feared he would break her heart.

“Berdine,” Kahlan said into the heavy hush, “Richard and I won’t be going away to be married. The wedding is called off. For now, anyway.”

Even though she had whispered the words, they seemed to echo off the marble walls as if she had shouted them.

Nadine’s intently blank face spoke more than if she had grinned. It was somehow worse that she didn’t, because it made it all the more obvious that she was schooling her expression, yet no one could have cause to reproach her.

“Called off?” Berdine blinked in astonishment. “Why?”

Richard stared down at Berdine, not daring to look at Kahlan.

“Berdine, Jagang started a plague in Aydindril. That’s what the prophecy down in the pit was about. Our duty is to the people here, not to our own . . . How would it look if . . . ?”

He fell silent.

The journal in her hands lowered. “I’m sorry.”