Temple of the Winds

Chapter 50

Richard ran his fingers through his hair as he rested his forehead in his palms. He looked up when he heard someone enter the room. It was Kahlan.

His heart lifted at her smile, her bright green eyes, the lush fall of her thick hair, at how beautiful she was. He marveled at her beauty, and that she loved him.

The safety he felt in that love was something he had never imagined he would feel. He had always imagined being in love with someone, but he had never imagined the feeling of security and peace it would bring to his soul. If Shota ever did anything to harm that security . . .

Kahlan carried a steaming bowl of soup. “I thought you might like something to eat. You’ve been at this for a hand of days now: I think you need to get more sleep, too.”

He glanced at the big white bowl in her hands. “Thanks.”

Her brow wrinkled. “Richard, what’s wrong? Your face is white as ashes.”

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I feel a little sick.”

She turned white as ashes, too. “Sick. Richard, it isn’t—”

“No, it’s not that. It’s this book on the Temple of the Winds inquisition and trial. I almost wish I’d never found it.”

Kahlan leaned over as she set down the bowl. “Here. Eat some of this.”

“What is it?” Richard asked, as he watched the lush curve of her cleavage rise and fall above the square neckline of her white Confessor’s dress.

“Lentil porridge. Eat some. What have you found out?”

Richard sucked in through his mouth to cool the spoonful of porridge. “I haven’t translated much yet, it’s taking forever, but from just the little bit I’ve been able to figure out, these people, these wizards . . . they . . . they executed all the wizards who sent away the Temple of the Winds. The temple team, they called them. Almost a hundred men.” He pulled a finger across his throat.

Kahlan sat on the edge of the table opposite him. “What did they do to warrant death?”

Richard stirred the porridge. “Well, for one thing, they left a way into the Temple of the Winds, as they were directed to do, but they made it so hard to get back into the temple that when these people wanted to get back in to retrieve some magic, in order to fight the war, they couldn’t.”

“Kolo said that there were the red moons, that the temple sent the warning. You mean, the wizards of old were never able to answer the warning?”

“That wasn’t the way it worked. They did get back in.” He waved his spoon for emphasis. “In fact, that was the reason for the red moon. It was the second attempt to get in, to answer the red moons caused by the first person sent, that they failed at.”

Kahlan leaned toward him while Richard ate a spoonful of porridge. “But this first person got in?”

“Oh yes, he got in. In that was the problem.”

Kahlan shook her head. “I’m not following this.”

Richard set down his spoon and leaned back in his chair. He met her gaze. “The temple team, who sent away the Temple of the Winds, were also the ones who placed the magic in it. You know about some of the terrible magical creations that were made in the war? Things made out of people? Like the mriswith? Like the dream walkers?

“Well, the people of the New World were fighting the people of the Old World, who wanted to eliminate magic, much as Jagang does today. These wizards who took the things of power to the safety of the temple were somewhat in sympathy with those in the Old World who wanted to eliminate magic. They thought that using people to create these terrible weapons was as evil as some of the very things they fought against.”

Fascinated, Kahlan leaned toward him. “You mean they turned to the side of the enemy? They were really working for those in the Old World, to eliminate magic?”

“No, they weren’t working to defeat the New World, or to stop all magic, but they felt that they viewed the whole matter on a wider scope than just the war, unlike the wizards in charge, here, at the Keep. They sought the middle ground. They decided that, to an extent, the war, and all their troubles, were related to the misuse of magic.

“They decided that something had to be done.”

Kahlan hooked some hair behind her ear. “Done? Like what?”

“You know the way the Keep used to be full of wizards? The way wizards used to have both sides of the magic? The way the wizards of old wielded much more power than even Zedd does now as First Wizard? The way those born with the gift are more and more rare all the time?

“I think these wizards used the Temple of the Winds to withdraw some of magic’s power from this world—they locked it away in the underworld, where it couldn’t be used to cause harm, as they saw it, in this world.”

Kahlan put a hand to her chest. “Dear spirits. What gave them the right to decide this? They are not the Creator who gave all things, including magic.”

Richard smiled. “The head of the inquisition said much the same thing. He demanded to know exactly what they had done.”

“And have you found the answer?”

“I haven’t translated much, yet, and I don’t understand the way the magic worked, but I think that what the temple team did was to lock away the Subtractive portion of the wizards’ magic. It’s the Subtractive part that was used to turn people into these weapons; with it, they took away parts of who these people were, the parts these wizards didn’t want, and then with Additive Magic, the wizards added in the things they did want, so they could use these people as weapons.”

“What about you? You were born with both sides. If the power was locked away, how does that explain your gift? I, too, have an element of Subtractive Magic to my Confessor’s power. Darken Rahl used Subtractive Magic, as do some of the Sisters. There are creatures yet today who have some of this element to their magic.”

Richard wiped a weary hand across his face. “I don’t know. I’m not even positive about what I’ve told you. There’s still most of this book to translate. I’ve only just begun.

“Even when I translate it all, I’m not sure it will provide the answers we want. This was an inquisition and trial: they weren’t trying to teach me history. It was common knowledge at the time. They didn’t need to explain it.

“What I’m beginning to think the temple team did was to halt Subtractive Magic’s ability to be passed on to the offspring of wizards. Your magic isn’t passed on from a wizard, so perhaps that’s why it wasn’t affected. Darken Rahl learned to use Subtractive Magic: he wasn’t born with it. Therein, perhaps, lies the difference. Maybe they miscalculated how taking Subtractive Magic out of those born with the wizard’s gift would affect the balance, and so didn’t anticipate the way it would cause fewer and fewer to be born with the gift.

“Maybe they did know. Maybe that’s what they wanted. Maybe that’s why they were executed.”

“What about the red moons?”

“Well, when those in charge found all this out, they sent someone to undo what these wizards had done. They needed one with tremendous power, and conviction, hoping he would have enough strength to succeed. They sent the most zealous proponent of magic among them, a fanatic—the head prosecutor, a powerful wizard named Lothain—to the Temple of the Winds to undo the damage.”

Kahlan drew her lower lip between her teeth. “What happened?”

“He got in, through Betrayer’s Hall, just like you told me. It worked just as you said; Lothain entered, but in so doing, he betrayed them. I’m not sure what it was that he did: many of the words, I think, have to do with specific magic that I don’t understand. But from what I gather, he reinforced what the wizards who sent the temple away had done, and made it even worse.

“He betrayed those in the New World. Because he had to alter the way the Temple of the Winds held this magic, it set off the warnings of the red moons.

“When the Temple sent the red moons, and the call for aid, a wizard was sent. Because the temple was sending for help, the wizards were glad for the call, since it meant that they wouldn’t have to enter through Betrayer’s Hall. They thought they would be able to get in and at last remedy the problem. He never came back. They sent another, more powerful and experienced wizard. He never returned, either.

“Finally, in view of the seriousness of the situation, the First Wizard himself went to the Temple of the Winds.” Richard lifted the amulet at his chest. “Baraccus.”

“Baraccus,” Kahlan breathed in wonder. “Did he get into the temple?”

“They were never sure.” Richard pushed his thumb back and forth along the edge of the table. “Baraccus came back in a dazed stupor. They followed after him, but he didn’t react or respond to anything they said or did.

“He went into the First Wizard’s enclave—his retreat—and left this there.” Richard held up the amulet at his chest, showing it to her. “He came out, removed the rest of his outfit—these things I wear—and then walked to the edge of the rampart and jumped off the side of the mountain to his death.”

Kahlan sat back up straight while Richard cleared his throat and gathered his voice before going on.

“After that, the wizards abandoned any further attempt to get into the Temple of the Winds, to answer the call of the red moons, as impossible. They were never able to get in to undo the damage the temple team and then Lothain had done.”

Kahlan watched him with a sober look as he stared off at nothing. “How did they know all this?”

Richard’s fist tightened around the amulet at his chest. “They used a Confessor. Magda Searus. The first Mother Confessor herself.”

“She lived in that lime? She was there, in this war? I never knew that.”

Richard rubbed his fingertips across the furrows on his brow. “Lothain wouldn’t tell them what he had done. The wizards conducting the trial were the ones who ordered the creation of the Confessors. Magda Searus was the first. They knew that they wouldn’t be able to torture the truth out of Lothain—they tried—so they took this woman, Magda Searus, created the magic of the Confessors, and instilled the power in her.

“She touched Lothain with her power and got the truth out of him. He confessed the extent of what the temple team had done, and what he had done.”

Richard looked away from her green eyes. “The wizard who did this to Magda Searus, created the Confessors’ power, was named Merritt. The tribunal was so pleased with the results of Merritt’s conjuring that they commanded an order of Confessors to be created, and wizards assigned to safeguard them.

“Merritt became protector to Magda Searus, her wizard, in return for the life, the duty, to which he had condemned her, to which he had condemned all the descendants of Confessors to follow.”

The room fell silent. Kahlan was wearing her Confessor’s face: the blank expression that showed nothing of her feelings. He didn’t need to see an expression on her face to know her feelings. Richard pulled the porridge back and ate some more. It had cooled considerably.

“Richard,” Kahlan finally whispered, “if these wizards, with all that power, with all that knowledge . . . if even they couldn’t get into the Temple of the Winds after it sent its warning with the red moons, then . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Richard put words to the rest of it. “Then how can I hope to?”

Richard ate lentil porridge as the uncomfortable silence dragged on.

“Richard,” Kahlan said in a quiet voice, “if we don’t get into the temple, then what the spirit showed me will come to pass. Death will sweep the land. Untold numbers of people will die.”

Richard nearly leaped to his feet and screamed at her that he knew that. Nearly screamed, asking what she expected him to do. Instead, he swallowed back the screams along with the porridge.

“I know,” he whispered.

He went back to eating his porridge in silence. When he had finished, and was sure he had composed himself, he went on.

“One of the temple team, a wizard named Ricker, made a statement before they executed him.” Richard pulled the piece of paper with the translation out of the disorderly stack and read it to her. “ ‘I can no longer countenance what we do with our gift. We are not the Creator, nor are we the Keeper. Even a vexatious prostitute has the right to live her life.’ ”

“What was he talking about?” Kahlan asked.

“I think that when the wizards used people—destroyed them—to create the things they needed to right the war, I think they used people who were troublesome for one reason or another—people they didn’t mind destroying. I’ve heard it said that a wizard must use people. I doubt they knew the ghastly origin of the maxim.”

He saw dismay haunting her eves.

“Richard, do you think then, from what you’ve read, that it’s hopeless? Do you think we can do nothing, then?”

Richard didn’t know what to say. He reached over and clasped her hand. “The temple team, before they were executed, said in their own defense that they hadn’t sealed the temple away for good, as they might have easily done, but instead left a way in to answer the call. They said that if the need was truly great enough, it could still be entered.

“I will get in. Kahlan. I swear it.”

A small measure of relief came briefly to her beautiful eyes, but the haunted look settled back into them. Richard knew what she was thinking. It was the same as he’d wondered himself as he read of the madness that was the war, and of what people had done to each other.

“Kahlan, we don’t use magic to destroy people for our own purposes. We use it to fight against a cause that murders helpless children. We fight for freedom from terror and killing.”

A small smile returned as she squeezed his hand. They both looked up when they heard a knock on the open door. It was Drefan.

“Can I come in? I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No, it’s all right.” Richard said. “Come in.”

“I just wanted you to know that I ordered the carts, like you wanted. It’s gotten to that point.”

Richard rubbed his fingertips across his forehead. “How many?”

“A little over three hundred last night, if the reports are all in. As you suspected might be the case, the people can’t handle that many dead anymore, and the numbers grow each day.”

Richard nodded. “We can’t let the dead wait. It could spread the plague even faster to have them rotting in the open air. They have to be buried as soon as they die. Tell the men I want the dead-carts sent out just as soon as they have it organized. I give them until sunset.”

“I already told them. As you say, we can’t allow bodies infected with the plague to go untended: it could make the plague worse.”

“It can get worse?” Richard mocked.

Drefan didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry,” Richard said. “That wasn’t called for. Have you found anything that is of any use?”

Drefan tugged down the sleeves of his white shirt. “Richard, there is no cure for the plague. At least, I know of none. The only hope is to stay healthy. Speaking of which, it isn’t healthy to sit in here all day and most of the night. You aren’t getting enough sleep, again. I can see it in your eyes. I’ve warned you about that before. And you need to walk around, get some air.”

Richard was sick of trying to translate the book, and sick of the things he found out when he succeeded. He flipped it closed and pushed back his chair.

“This is doing no good, anyway. Let’s go for that walk you suggested.” Richard yawned as he stretched. “And what have you been doing to keep busy,” he asked Kahlan, “while I’ve been shut up in this stuffy room?”

Kahlan cast a furtive glance at Drefan. “I—I’ve been helping Drefan and Nadine.”

“Helping them? Helping them do what?”

Drefan smoothed the ruffles on the front of his shirt. “Kahlan has been helping with the staff. Some of them are . . . ill.”

Richard looked from Kahlan’s eyes to Drefan’s. “The plague is in the palace?”

“I’m afraid so. Sixteen of them have come down sick. A few are common illnesses, the rest—”

Richard heaved a weary sigh. “I see.”

Raina was standing guard outside his room. She straightened when Richard came through the door.

“Raina, we’re going for a walk. I suppose you’d better come along, or I’ll never hear the end of it from Cara.”

Raina smiled as she brushed back a wisp of dark hair. She knew he was right, and was obviously glad he was cooperating.

“Lord Rahl,” Raina said, “I didn’t want to disturb you while you were working, but the captain of the city guard came by with a report.”

“I know. I heard. Three hundred people died last night.”

Raina’s leather creaked as she shifted her weight. “That, too, but they wanted me to tell you that they found another woman last night. She was cut up like the other four.”

Richard closed his eyes as he wiped a hand across his mouth. He noticed that he hadn’t remembered to shave that day. “Dear spirits. Don’t we have enough people dying without some madman going around killing more of them?”

“Was this one a prostitute, like the others?” Drefan asked.

“The captain said he wasn’t positive, but he was pretty sure she was.”

Drefan shook his head with disgust. “You’d think he’d be worried about the plague, if not getting caught. The plague is running wild among the prostitutes, more so than among the populace at large.”

Richard caught sight of Berdine coming up the hall. “As much as I’d like to do something about it, we have bigger worries.” He turned to Raina. “When we get back, tell the captain that I want his men to spread the word among those women that there’s a killer among them, and that for their own safety we hope they will cease their profession, at least for the time being.

“I’m sure the soldiers will know where to find all the prostitutes,” he added under his breath. “Have them get the word out at once. If these women don’t stop selling their bodies, they’re likely to find themselves in the company of the wrong customer. Their last customer.”

Richard waited until Berdine reached them. “Aren’t you supposed to be up in the Keep taking your turn guarding the sliph?” Richard asked her.

Berdine shrugged. “I went up there, to relieve Cara, but she said she wanted to stay for another watch.”

Richard raked back his hair. “Why would she want to do that?”

Berdine shrugged again. “She didn’t say.”

Kahlan took his arm. “I think it’s the rats.”

“What?”

“I think she’s trying to prove something to herself.” Kahlan hesitated. “Cara doesn’t like rats.”

“I don’t blame her,” Raina muttered.

“Filthy creatures,” Drefan put in. “I don’t blame her, either.”

“If any of you tease her about it,” Kahlan warned, “you will answer to me—when Cara’s done with you. It’s not funny.”

No one looked in the mood to challenge Kahlan, nor were any of them in a mood to see anything as funny.

“Where are you going?” Berdine asked.

“We’re going for a walk.” Richard said. “You’ve probably been sitting as much as I have. If you’d like, come along.”

Nadine came around the corner and caught sight of them just as they started out. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Richard said. “How are you doing, Nadine?”

Nadine smiled. “Fine, thank you. I’ve been busy smoking sick rooms, as Drefan asked.”

“We were just going out for a walk,” Kahlan said. “You’ve been working hard, Nadine. Why don’t you come along with us?”

Richard frowned at Kahlan. She didn’t look back at him.

Nadine studied Kahlan’s eyes for a moment. “Sure. I’d like that.”

The six of them made their way through the marble halls, past imposing tapestries and elegant furniture, and across sumptuous carpets on their way toward the main palace gates. Soldiers on patrol bowed or clapped fists over heart as the six of them passed. The staff Richard saw going about their business seemed to be in a state of shock. He saw people weeping as they hurried about their tasks.

Before they made the door, they encountered Tristan Bashkar. Richard was in no mood to speak with the Jarian ambassador. Tristan sauntered to a halt before them. There would be no avoiding him this time.

Tristan bowed his head. “Mother Confessor, Lord Rahl. I’m glad I ran into you.”

“What do you want, Tristan?” Kahlan asked in a level tone.

He watched her cleavage as she spoke. His gaze moved to Richard. “I want to know—”

Richard cut him off. “Did you come to offer Jara’s surrender?”

Tristan pulled his coat back and rested his fist on his hip. “The time I was allotted is not yet expired. I’m concerned about this plague. You’re Lord Rahl. You’re supposed to be running everything, now. I want to know what you’re going to do about the plague.”

Richard restrained himself. “What we can.”

Tristan glanced to Kahlan’s chest again. “Well, I’m sure that you can understand that I need assurance.” His gaze returned to Richard. A sly smile spread on his face. “After all, how can I, in good conscience, surrender my land to a man overseeing what may prove to be the greatest cataclysm in the history of the Midlands? No offense intended. The skies speak the truth to me. I’m sure you can understand my position.”

Richard leaned toward the pompous ambassador. “You are rapidly running out of time, ambassador. You had better be prepared to surrender Jara soon, or I will see to it—my way. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to get some fresh air. It suddenly stinks in here.”

Tristan Bashkar’s expression darkened.

When his eyes turned toward Kahlan again, Richard yanked the knife from Tristan’s belt scabbard before he could so much as blink. Everyone froze. Richard pressed the point to the man’s chest.

“And if I ever again catch your lecherous eyes anywhere on Kahlan but her face, I’ll cut out your heart.”

Richard turned and loosed the knife, burying it in a round oak ball atop a nearby newel. The twang echoed through the marble halls. Without waiting for a response, he took Kahlan by the arm and marched away, his golden cloak billowing out behind. Kahlan’s face was red. The two Mord-Sith followed, grinning broadly. Drefan smiled, too, as he followed after. Nadine showed no reaction.