Temple of the Winds

Chapter 4

“Mistress Cara?” Marlin called from below.

Cara turned, hanging by one hand on the next rung down from Kahlan. She held the torch out in her other hand. “What!”

“How will I sleep, Mistress Cara? If you don’t come back tonight, and if I have to stand, then how will I sleep?”

“Sleep? That’s not my concern. I told you—you must remain on your feet, on that spot. Move, sit, or lie down, and you will be very sorry. You will be all alone with the pain. Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress Cara,” came the weak voice from the darkness below.

Once Kahlan was up in the hall, she reached down and took the torch from Cara, freeing the Mord-Sith to use both hands to climb out. Kahlan handed the torch to a relieved-looking Sergeant Collins.

“Collins, I’d like all of you to remain here. Keep the door locked and don’t go down there—for anything. Don’t let anyone else so much as take a peek.”

“Yes, Mother Confessor.” Sergeant Collins hesitated. “Is it dangerous, then?”

Kahlan understood his concern. “No. Cara has control of his power. He’s incapable of using his magic.”

She took appraisal of the troops clogging the dingy stone corridor. There had to be close to a hundred.

“I don’t know if we’ll be back tonight,” she told the sergeant. “Get the rest of your men down here. Divide them into squads. Take shifts so that there’s at least this many down here at all times. Lock all the barricade doors. Post archers at the doors and at each end of this hall.”

“I thought you said there was no need for concern, that he couldn’t use his magic.”

Kahlan smiled. “Do you want to have to explain it to Cara, here, if someone sneaks in and rescues her charge out from under your nose in her absence?”

He scratched his stubble as he glanced at Cara. “I understand, Mother Confessor. No one will be allowed within shouting distance of this door.”

“Still don’t trust me?” Cara asked, when they were out of earshot of the soldiers.

Kahlan offered a friendly smile. “My father was King Wyborn. He was Cyrilla’s father, and then mine. He was a great warrior. He taught me that it’s impossible to be too cautious with prisoners.”

Cara shrugged as they passed a sputtering torch. “Fine by me. It doesn’t hurt my feelings. But I have his magic. He’s helpless.”

“I still don’t understand how you can fear magic, and have such control over it.”

“I told you. Only if he specifically attacks me with it.”

“And how do you take control of it? How do you make it yours to command?”

Cara spun the Agiel on the end of the chain at her wrist as she walked. “I don’t know myself. We just do it. The Master Rahl himself takes part in some of the training of Mord-Sith. It is during that phase that the ability is instilled in us. It’s not magic from within us, but transferred to us, I guess.”

Kahlan shook her head. “Yet you don’t know, really, what you’re doing. And still it works.”

With her fingertips, Cara hooked the iron rail at a corner, swung around it, and followed Kahlan up the stone stairs. “You don’t have to know what you are doing in order for magic to work.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Lord Rahl told us that a child is magic: the magic of Creation. You don’t have to know what you are doing to make a child.

“One time, this girl—a very naive girl—of about fourteen summers, a daughter of one of the staff at the People’s Palace in D’Hara, told me that Darken Rahl—Father Rahl, he liked to be called—had given her a rosebud and it had bloomed in her fingers as he smiled down at her. She said that that was how she had come to be with child—through his magic.”

Cara laughed without humor. “She really thought that that was how she became pregnant. It never occurred to her that it was because she had spread her legs for him. So you see? She did magic, created a son, and without knowing how she had really done it.”

Kahlan paused on the landing, in the shadows, and seized the crook of Cara’s elbow, halting her.

“All Richard’s family is dead—Darken Rahl killed his stepfather, his mother died when he was young, and his half brother, Michael, betrayed Richard . . . allowing Denna to capture him. After Richard defeated Darken Rahl, Richard forgave Michael for what he had done to him, but ordered him executed because his treachery had knowingly caused the torture and death of countless people at the hands of Darken Rahl.

“I know how much family means to Richard. He would be thrilled to come to know a half brother. Could we send word to the palace in D’Hara and have him brought here? Richard would be—”

Cara shook her head and glanced away. “Darken Rahl tested the child and discovered that he was born without the gift. Darken Rahl was eager to have a gifted heir. He considered anything less deformed and worthless.”

“I see.” Silence filled the stairwell. “The girl . . . the mother . . . ?”

Cara heaved a sigh, realizing that Kahlan wanted to hear it all. “Darken Rahl had a temper. A sick temper. He crushed the girl’s windpipe with his bare hands after he had made her watch him . . . well, watch him kill her son. When ungifted offspring came to his attention it often made him angry, and then he did that.”

Kahlan let her hand fall away from Cara’s arm.

Cara’s eyes came up; the calm had repossessed them. “A few of the Mord-Sith suffered a similar fate. Fortunately, I never came to be with child when he chose me for his amusement.”

Kahlan sought to fill the silence. “I’m glad Richard freed you from bondage to that beast. Freed everyone.”

Cara nodded, her eyes as cold as Kahlan had ever seen them. “He is more than Lord Rahl to us. Anyone who ever hurts him will answer to the Mord-Sith—to me.”

Kahlan suddenly saw what Cara had said about Richard being allowed to “keep” Kahlan in a new light; it was the kindest thing she could think to do for him: allowing him to have the one he loved, despite her concern for the danger to his heart.

“You’ll have to wait in line,” Kahlan said.

Cara at last grinned. “Let us pray to the good spirits that we never have to fight over first rights.”

“I have a better idea: let’s keep harm from reaching him in the first place. But remember, when we get up there, that we don’t know for sure who this Nadine is. If she is a Sister of the Dark, she is a very dangerous woman. But we don’t know for sure that she is. She might be a dignitary: a woman of rank and importance. It could even be that she’s nothing more than a rich nobleman’s daughter. Maybe he banished her poor, farmboy lover, and she’s simply looking for him. I don’t want you harming an innocent person. Let’s just keep our heads.”

“I’m not a monster, Mother Confessor.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to say that you were. I just don’t want our desire to protect Richard to make us lose our heads. That includes me. Now, let’s get up to Petitioners’ Hall.”

Cara frowned. “Why would we go there? Why not go to Nadine’s room?”

Kahlan started up the second flight, two steps at a time. “There are two hundred eighty-eight guest rooms in the Confessors’ Palace, divided among six separate wings at distant points. I was distracted before, and didn’t think to tell the guards where to put her, so we have to go ask.

Cara shouldered open the door at the top of the stairs and, head swiveling, entered the hall ahead of Kahlan, as she liked to do in order to check the way for trouble.

“Seems a poor design. Why would guest rooms be separated?”

Kahlan gestured to a corridor branching to the left. “This way is shorter.” She slowed as two guards stepped aside to make way for them, and then quickened her pace along the deep blue carpet running down the hall. “The guest rooms are separated because many diplomats visited the palace on business with the council, and if the wrong diplomats are placed too close together, they could become very undiplomatic. Keeping peace among allies was sometimes a delicate balancing game. That included accommodations.”

“But there are all the palaces—for the representatives of the lands—on Kings Row.”

Kahlan grunted cynically. “Part of the game.”

When they entered Petitioners’ Hall, everyone went to their knees again. Kahlan had to give them the formal acknowledgment before she could speak with the captain. He told her where he had put Nadine, and she was about to leave when a boy, one of the group of Ja’La players waiting patiently in the hall, snatched the floppy wool hat from his head of blond hair and bolted toward them.

The captain caught sight of him trotting across the room. “He’s waiting to see Lord Rahl. Probably wants him to come watch another game.” The captain smiled to himself. “I told him it would be all right if he waited, but that I couldn’t promise that Lord Rahl could see him.” He shrugged self-consciously. “Least I could do. I was at the game, yesterday, with a crowd of soldiers. The boy and his team won me three silver marks.”

Hat crushed in both little fists, the boy genuflected on the other side of the marble railing from Kahlan. “Mother Confessor, we’d like to . . . well . . . if it’s no trouble . . . we . . .” His voice trailed off as he gulped air.

Kahlan smiled encouragement. “Don’t be afraid. What’s your name?”

“Yonick, Mother Confessor.”

“I’m sorry, Yonick, but Richard can’t come watch another game just now. We’re busy at the moment. Perhaps tomorrow. I know we both enjoyed it, and we would very much like to come watch again, but on another day.”

He shook his head. “It’s not about that. It’s my brother, Kip.” He twisted his hat. “He’s sick. I was wondering if . . . well, if Lord Rahl could come do some magic and make him better.”

Kahlan gave the boy’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Well, Richard’s not really that kind of wizard. Why don’t you go see one of the healers on Stentor Street. Tell them what he’s sick with and they’ll give him some herbs to help him feel better.”

Yonick hung his head. “We don’t have no money for herbs. That’s why I was hoping . . . Kip is real sick.”

Kahlan straightened and peered at the captain. His gaze went from Kahlan to the boy and back again. He cleared his throat.

“Well, Yonick, I saw you play, yesterday,” the captain stammered. “Quite good. Your team was quite good.” Checking Kahlan’s eyes again, he stabbed a hand into a pocket and came out with a coin. He bent over the rail and pushed the coin into Yonick’s fist. “I know which one’s your brother. He . . . that was a great play, that goal he made. Take this and get him some herbs, like the Mother Confessor said he needs.”

Yonick stared in astonishment at the silver coin in his hand. “Herbs don’t cost this much, as I hear told.”

The captain waved away the notion. “Well, I don’t have anything smaller. Buy your team a treat, for their win, with the extra. Now take it and be off. We have palace business we must attend to.”

Yonick straightened and clapped a fist to his heart in salute. “Yes, sir.”

“And practice that kick of yours,” the captain called after the boy as he ran across the hall to his fellows. “It’s a little sloppy.”

“I will,” Yonick shouted over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

Kahlan watched as he collected his friends and they rushed to the door. “Very kind of you, captain . . . ?”

“Harris.” He winced. “Thank you, Mother Confessor.”

“Cara, let’s go see this Lady Nadine.”

Kahlan hoped the captain who came to attention at the end of the hall had had an uneventful watch.

“Has Nadine tried to leave, Captain Nance?”

“No, Mother Confessor,” he said, when he straightened from his bow. “She seemed grateful that someone was taking in interest in her request. When I explained that there could be trouble about and we needed her to stay in her room, she promised to abide by my instructions.” He glanced at the door. “She said that she didn’t want to get me in ‘hot water’ and she would do as I asked.”

“Thank you, captain.” She paused before she opened the door. “If she comes out of this room without us, kill her. Don’t stop to ask her any questions, and don’t give her any warning, just have the archers take her down.” When his brow twitched, she added, “If she leaves first, it will be because she has proven she commands magic and has killed us with it.”

Captain Nance, his face gone as pale as year-old straw, clapped a fist to his heart in salute.

The outer sitting room was decorated in red. The walls were a dark crimson, adorned with white crown molding, pink marble baseboard and door casings, and a hardwood floor almost entirely covered with a huge, gold-fringed carpet embellished with an ornate leaf-and-flower motif. The gilded legs of the marble-topped table and of the red velvet, tufted chairs were carved with a matching leaf-and-flower design. Being an interior room, there were no windows. Cut-glass chimneys on the dozen reflector lamps around the room sent sparkles of light dancing across the walls.

To Kahlan’s mind it was one of the least tasteful color schemes in the palace, but there were diplomats who specified this color room when requesting accommodations at the palace. They felt it put them in the right frame of mind for negotiations. Kahlan was always wary when hearing the arguments of representatives who had requested one of the red rooms.

Nadine wasn’t in the extravagant outer room. The door to the bedroom was ajar.

“Delicious rooms.” Cara whispered. “Can I have them?”

Kahlan shushed her. She knew why the Mord-Sith would want a red room. With Cara peering over her shoulder, Kahlan cautiously pushed back the bedroom door. Cara’s breath tickled her left ear.

If it was possible, the bedroom was more jarring to the senses than the sitting room, with the red theme carried into the carpets, embroidered bedcover, immoderate collection of ornate, gold-fringed crimson pillows, and the swirled, pink marble fireplace surround. Kahlan thought that if Cara was wearing her red leather and ever wanted to hide, she could simply sit in this room and no one would ever find her.

Only half the lamps in the bedroom were lit. Several blown-glass bowls set about on tables and the desk were filled with cried rose petals, their fragrance mingling with the lamp oil to permeate the air with a heavy, sickly-sweet odor.

When the hinges squeaked, the woman resting on the bed opened her eyes, saw Kahlan, and sprang to her feet. Ready to take Nadine with her Confessor’s power if she gave the slightest indication of aggression, Kahlan unconsciously held an arm out to her side to keep Cara out of her way. In preparation, her muscles tight as coiled steel, Kahlan was holding her breath. If the woman conjured magic, Kahlan would have to be quick.

Nadine hastily knuckled the sleep from her eyes. By her indecision as to which foot to put forward in the awkward curtsy she performed, Kahlan knew that she was no noblewoman. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be a Sister of the Dark.

Nadine gawked at Cara for an instant before smoothing down her dress at her shapely hips and addressing Kahlan. “Forgive me, Queen, but I’ve been on a long journey and I was taking a bit of a rest. Guess I must have fallen asleep; I didn’t hear you knock. I’m Nadine Brighton, Queen.”

As Nadine dipped into another inelegant curtsy, Kahlan quickly surveyed the room. The washbasin and ewer hadn’t been used. The towels beside them on the washstand were clean and still folded. A simple, worn woolen travel bag sat at the foot of the bed. A clothesbrush and a tin cup were the only foreign objects on the overwrought, gilded table to the other side of a red velvet chair beside the fringed canopy bed. Despite the early spring chill and cold hearth, she hadn’t pulled down the bedcovers for her nap. Perhaps, thought Kahlan, so as not to become tangled in them if she had to move fast.

Kahlan didn’t apologize for entering without knocking. “Mother Confessor,” she said in a cautious tone, feeling the need to make clear the tacit threat of the power she wielded. “Queen is one of my less . . . common, titles. I am more widely known as the Mother Confessor.”

As Nadine blushed, the sprinkling of freckles at the top of her cheekbones and across her delicate nose almost disappeared. Her large brown eyes turned to the floor with unease. She hastily ran her fingers through her thick brown hair, although it didn’t look disheveled.

She wasn’t as tall as Kahlan, though she looked to be about the same age, or perhaps a year younger. She was a lovely-looking young woman, and cast off no warning signs of threat or danger, but Kahlan wasn’t put at ease by a fresh face and innocent demeanor.

Experience had taught Kahlan hard lessons. Marlin, the latest lesson, hadn’t appeared, at first, to be anything other than an awkward young man. This young woman’s lovely eyes, though, didn’t seem to have the same timeless quality to them that had so unnerved Kahlan. Still, her caution wasn’t allayed, either.

Nadine turned and hurriedly swept the flats of her hands over the bedcover, pressing out the wrinkles with quick strokes. “Forgive me, Mother Confessor, I didn’t mean to muss your lovely bed. I brushed my dress first, so I wouldn’t get road dust on it. I intended to lie on the floor, but the bed looked so inviting I couldn’t resist giving it a try. I hope I haven’t caused offense.”

“Of course not,” Kahlan said. “I invited you to use the room as your own.”

Before the last word was out of Kahlan’s mouth, Cara had swept around her. Even though there seemed to be no rank among the Mord-Sith, Berdine and Raina always deferred to Cara’s word. Among the D’Harans, the rank of the Mord-Sith, and Cara in particular, seemed undisputed, though Kahlan had never heard anyone put definition to it. If Cara said, “Spit,” people spat.

Nadine let out a wide-eyed squeak when she saw the leather-clad Mord-Sith coming at her.

“Cara!” Kahlan called out.

Cara ignored her. “We have your friend, Marlin, down in the pit. You’ll be joining him shortly.”

Cara jabbed a finger in the hollow at the base of Nadine’s neck, causing her to drop backward onto the chair beside the bed.

“Ow!” Nadine shouted as she glared up at Cara. “That hurt!”

As she bounded up off the chair, Cara seized the young woman’s throat in an armored fist. She swept her Agiel up and pointed it between the wide brown eyes. “I have not yet begun to hurt you.”

Kahlan snatched Cara’s braid and gave it a mighty yank. “One way or the other, you’re going to learn to follow orders!”

Cara, still gripping the young woman’s throat, turned in surprise.

“Let her go! I told you to let me handle this. Until she makes a threatening move, you will do as you are told, or you can wait outside.”

Cara released Nadine with a shove that plopped her down in the chair again. “This one’s trouble. I can feel it. You should let me kill her.”

Kahlan pressed her lips together until Cara rolled her eyes and grudgingly stepped aside. Nadine came off the chair, slower this time. Her eyes teared as she rubbed her throat and coughed.

“Why’d you do that! I’ve done nothing to you! I didn’t disturb any of your fine things. You people have the worst manners of anyone I’ve ever seen.” She shook a finger at Kahlan. “There’s no call to treat a person that way.”

“On the contrary,” Kahlan said. “An innocent enough looking young man showed up at the palace today, also asking to see Lord Rahl. He turned out to be an assassin. Thanks to Cara, here, we were able to stop him.”

Nadine’s indignation faltered. “Oh.”

“That’s not the worst of it,” Kahlan added. “He confessed to having an accomplice—an attractive young woman with long brown hair.”

Nadine’s throat-rubbing paused as she looked at Cara, then back to Kahlan. “Oh. Well, I guess I can understand the mistake . . .”

“You asked to see Lord Rahl, too. That’s made everyone just a little jumpy. All of us are quite protective of Lord Rahl.”

“I guess I can see the reason for the confusion. No offense taken.”

“Cara, here, is one of Lord Rahl’s personal guards,” Kahlan said. “I’m sure you can understand the reason for her belligerent attitude.”

Nadine took her hand away from her throat and rested it on one hip. “Of course. I guess I landed in the middle of a hornet’s nest.”

“The problem is,” Kahlan went on, “you haven’t yet convinced us you are not the second assassin. For your sake, it would be best if you did so at once.”

Nadine’s eyes darted between the two women watching her. Her relief reversed to alarm. “Me? A killer? But I’m a woman.”

“So am I,” Cara said. “One who is going to have your blood all over this room until you tell us the truth.”

Nadine spun around and snatched up the chair, brandishing its legs toward Cara and Kahlan. “Stay away! I’m warning you; Tommy Lancaster and his friend Lester once thought to have their way with me, and they now have to eat all their meals without the benefit of their front teeth.”

“Put down the chair,” Cara warned in a deadly hiss, “or you will be eating your next meal in the spirit world.”

Nadine dropped the chair as if it had caught fire. She retreated until she was up against the wall. “Leave me be! I didn’t do anything!”

Kahlan gently hooked Cara’s arm and urged her back. “Let a sister of the Agiel handle this?” she said in a whisper as she lifted an eyebrow. “I know I said ‘until she makes a threatening move,’ but a chair is hardly the kind of threat I had in mind.”

Cara’s mouth twisted in annoyance. “All right. For the moment.”

Kahlan turned to Nadine. “I need some answers. Tell the truth, and if you really have nothing to do with this assassin, you will have my sincere apology and I’ll do what I can to make up for our inhospitality. But if you lie to me, and you intend to do harm to Lord Rahl, the guards outside have orders not to allow you to leave this room alive. Do you understand?”

Nadine, her back pressed against the wall, nodded.

“You asked to see Lord Rahl.” Nadine nodded again. “Why?”

“I’m on my way to my love. He’s been gone since last autumn. We’re to be wed, and I’m on my way to him.” She brushed a strand of hair back from her eyes. “But I don’t know where he is, exactly. I was told to go see Lord Rahl and I would find my betrothed.” Nadine’s lower lids brimmed with tears. “That’s why I wanted to speak with this Lord Rahl—to ask if he could help.”

“I see,” Kahlan said. “I can understand your distress over your love being missing. What is your young man’s name?”

Nadine pulled her kerchief from her sleeve and dabbed it at her eyes. “Richard.”

“Richard. Is there more to his name?”

Nadine nodded. “Richard Cypher.”

Kahlan had to remind herself to draw a breath through her open mouth, but her mind couldn’t seem to make her tongue work.

“Who?” Cara asked.

“Richard Cypher. He’s a woods guide where I live, in Hartland, that’s in Westland, where we live. ”

“What do you mean, you’re to wed him?” Kahlan finally managed in a whisper. She felt her world threatening to crush in around her as a thousand things all at once whirled chaotically in her mind. “Did he tell you that?”

Nadine twisted her damp kerchief. “Well, he was courting me . . . it was understood . . . but then he disappeared. A woman came and told me that we’re to be married. She said that the sky had spoken to her—she was a mystic of some sort. She knew all about my Richard, how kind and strong and handsome he is and all. She knew all manner of things about me, too. She said that it’s my destiny to marry Richard and Richard’s destiny to be my husband.”

“Woman?” Kahlan could get out no more than that one word.

Nadine nodded. “Shota, she said her name was.”

Kahlan’s hands balled into fists. Her voice returned with venom. “Shota. Did this woman, Shota, have anyone with her?”

“Yes. A strange little . . . fellow. With yellow eyes. He kind of scared me, but she said he was harmless. Shota is the one who told me to come see Lord Rahl. She said Lord Rahl could help me find my Richard.”

Kahlan recognized the description of Shota’s companion, Samuel. This woman’s voice, calling Richard, “my Richard,” kept thundering around in the storm in Kahlan’s head. She worked at making her voice sound calm. “Nadine, please wait here.”

“I will,” Nadine said, gathering her composure. “Is everything all right? You believe me, don’t you? Every word is true.”

Kahlan didn’t answer, but instead pulled her stunned stare from Nadine and marched from the room. Cara closed the door as she followed on Kahlan’s heels.

Kahlan staggered to a halt in the outer room, everything swimming in a watery red blur.

“Mother Confessor,” Cara whispered, “what’s wrong? Your face is as red as my leather. Who is this Shota?”

“Shota is a witch woman.”

Cara stiffened at that news. “And do you know this Richard Cypher?”

Kahlan twice swallowed past the painful lump in the back of her throat. “Richard was raised by his stepfather. Until Richard found out that Darken Rahl was his real father, his name was Richard Cypher.”