Temple of the Winds

Chapter 60

Verna gently shoved Warren. “Wake up. Someone is coming.”

Warren knuckled his eyes. “I’m awake.”

Verna glanced back at the other windows, to make sure that the dead guards were still propped up to make it appear they were on watch. A light from a lamp on the table was just enough to show those outside the guards at the windows, but it would provide enough light to see her and Warren, too, so they stayed away from the windows.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Better. I think I’m all right, now.”

He had been unconscious earlier. The headaches caused by the gift were coming closer and closer together. Verna didn’t know what to do for him. She didn’t know how long it would be before his gift killed him. The only thing she could think to do was to stick to her plan. Warren had said that prophecy had told him that his only chance was to be with her.

Out the window, in the darkness, she could see two shadowed figures approaching up the road. In the distance, on the hills, campfires by the thousands made the countryside look like a lake’s reflection of the starry sky.

Verna shuddered to think of the hundreds of thousands of brutes in those tents. The sooner they left this place, the better. She was thankful they weren’t going up into Jagang’s stronghold again. They wouldn’t be able to pull off that kind of magic twice. The spells Warren had used would not trick the guards again.

Thankfully, once was enough. This time, her friends, Janet and Amelia, were coming out to meet her and Warren. If that was, in fact, Janet and Amelia she saw approaching.

It had to be. This was the fourth night after the full moon. This was where they were to meet. Janet had said that Amelia would be back from the tents by now.

Verna feared to think of what kind of shape Amelia would be in. She would probably need to be healed. Verna hoped that it wouldn’t take long: it was close to dawn.

She and Warren had taken turns at short naps. They had a lot of traveling to do, to get back to General Reibisch and his army, and they needed to be rested for the journey. Verna wanted to be as far away from this place as she could get in case an alert rose from the stronghold.

Verna hoped that Janet had already told Amelia about the bond to Richard so that she wouldn’t have to waste time with that, too. As soon as Amelia was sworn to Richard, the bond would protect her, too, from the dream walker. Then they could escape.

Verna dearly wanted to rescue the rest of the Sisters, but she knew that presumption was a road to ruin. On her twenty-year journey away from the cloistered life of the Palace of the Prophets, Verna had learned that out in the world, a Sister had to do her work with care if there was to be any hope of success. Rescuing the rest of the Sisters would be worse than tricky, and it would do them no good if Verna got herself caught while trying to rescue them all at once. Best be aware of your limitations and take it one step at a time. She would get the rest of the Sisters safely away from the dream walker, in due time.

Right now, it was most important to get her two friends out, get information from them that would help her to rescue the rest, and get Warren some help. Without Warren, their cause would be jeopardized; Warren was a prophet, just beginning to come into his talent—if that talent didn’t kill him before they could get him the help he needed.

One step at a time, she reminded herself. Use care, use your head, and you have the best chance of success.

A knock came at the door. Verna cracked it open and peeked out as Warren called out like a guard for them to announce themselves.

“Two of His Excellency’s slaves, Sister Janet and Sister Amelia.”

Verna pulled open the door, reached out, snatching the cloak of one, yanked her in, and then the other. Verna flattened them both against the wall so they couldn’t be seen from the windows.

“Thank the Creator,” Verna said with a sigh. “I thought you two would never get here.”

Both women stood with wide eyes, trembling like frightened rabbits. Sister Amelia’s face was bruised, cut, and swollen.

Warren moved close to Verna. She took his hand as she looked from one white face to the other. Her heart ached for Amelia’s obvious pain. But there was something more in her eyes: terror.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“You lied to us,” Janet said in a pained whisper.

“What are you talking about?”

“The bond. The bond to protect us from His Excellency. I told Amelia about it. She swore the oath to Richard, as you told it to me.”

Verna frowned and leaned closer. “What in Creation are you saying? I told you, it will keep Jagang from entering your mind.”

Janet slowly shook her head. “No, Verna, it won’t. Not from my mind, not from Amelia’s . . . not from Warren’s . . . not from yours.”

Verna laid a comforting hand on Janet’s arm, trying to calm the frightened woman. “Yes, it will, Janet. You must only believe, and you will be protected.”

Janet slowly shook her head again. “Before I swore the oath to Richard, Jagang was in my mind. He knew my thoughts. He knew what you told me. He knew it all.”

Verna covered her mouth in horror. She hadn’t considered that possibility. “But you swore the oath. That protects you, now.”

Again, Janet slowly shook her head. “It did, for the first day, but four days ago, on the night of the full moon, His Excellency returned to my mind. I didn’t know it. I told Amelia about the oath. She swore, us had I. We thought we were safe. We thought that when you came back, we would escape with you.”

“You will,” Verna assured her. “We all will escape right now.”

“None of us is going to escape, Verna. Jagang has you. He has Warren. He told us that he slipped into the cracks of your minds while you slept, the first night after the full moon.” Tears filled Janet’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Verna. You should never have come here to rescue me. It is to cost you both your freedom.”

Verna smiled through her rising panic. “Janet, that just isn’t possible. The bond protects us.”

“It would.” Janet said in a suddenly gruff, suddenly sinister voice, “were Richard Rahl still alive. But Richard Rahl departed the world of the living four nights ago, on the night of the full moon.”

Janet laughed a hearty belly laugh, even as tears ran down her face.

Verna couldn’t draw a breath. “Richard . . . is . . . dead?”

Warren slapped his hands to the sides of his head as he let out a cry of anguish. “No! No!”

Verna clutched at him as he sank toward the floor. “Warren! What is it?”

“His Excellency . . . His Excellency has tasks for me.”

“Tasks? Warren, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“His Excellency has a new prophet!” Warren cried out. “Please, stop the pain! I will serve! I will serve as I am commanded!”

Verna crouched over him. “Warren!”

It felt as if a white-hot steel rod slammed through her skull. Verna cried out as she clamped her hands to her head. Nothing in her entire life of one hundred fifty-six years had prepared her for the fount of pain erupting in her mind. The room went black. She felt the floor smack her face. Her arms and legs twitched with the agony.

Baleful laughter danced through the hot torture, like flames through a ruin. Verna prayed to the Creator that she would black out. Her prayer went unanswered.

Above her, she heard a voice. Janet’s voice.

“I’m so sorry, Verna. You should never have come here to try to rescue us. You will serve His Excellency, now, as his slaves.”

The blond one, Cara, followed him into the reception room. She stayed three paces behind, as he had ordered. She always wore her red leather, now, as he had ordered. He liked the way the red leather made them look like they were sheathed in blood. One of them was always there, with him, a bloodred reminder of the slick, sticky debauchery to come.

Her blue eyes turned away when he glanced back over his shoulder. He knew that she stayed only to be near Kahlan. That was fine by him. That she stayed was all that mattered. She was harmless, now, but it looked better if the Lord Rahl had an escort of guards like her—a proper accoutrement of his rank.

And he was the Lord Rahl, now, as the whispers from the ethers had promised him. Only he had the intellect to perceive the voices, the wisdom to hear them, the acumen to heed them. It had brought him triumph. Attention to detail had brought him his rewards. His extraordinary insight had brought him to the place of power he had always deserved. His gift was his genius, and it would serve him better than mere magic.

He was a man above others, and for good reason. He was superior to others—a man of rare understanding, instinct, and rare ethics, unadulterated by the twisted excuses women put to their vulgar pleasures. His own virtue intoxicated him.

Kahlan glanced up when she saw him striding into the room. Her face showed a blankness, an expression she wore almost constantly. She only thought it showed nothing. To him, it revealed a panoply of emotion. Immersed in the details of her bewitching face, he could discern the rich flux of emotions she tried to hide.

He saw the way she looked at him. He had caught her glances at his body in the past. He knew: she wanted him. She hungered for him. She wanted pleasure from him.

That she tried to deny it only excited him all the more. That she covered her hunger for him with harsh words only proved it to him. That she pretended revulsion only showed him the extraordinary depths of her need.

When she finally gave in to her lust, it would be all the more glorious for the wait, for the abstinence, for the yearning, for the delayed fulfillment. Then, at long last, he would give her what she wanted. Then he would hear her screams.

The general with Kahlan bowed. “Good morning—Lord Rahl.”

“What’s this?” he asked.

He didn’t like it when the soldiers brought things to Kahlan without seeing to informing the Lord Rahl first.

“It’s just the morning reports, Drefan,” Kahlan said in that flat tone of hers.

“Then why wasn’t I informed? Reports should come to the Lord Rahl first.”

General Kerson stole a glance at Kahlan. He bowed again. “As you wish, Lord Rahl. I just thought—”

“I do the thinking. You do the soldiering.”

The general cleared his throat. “Of course, Lord Rahl.”

“So, what do the morning reports have to say?”

The general glanced to Kahlan again. Drefan saw the slight nod. As if the general needed permission from the Lord Rahl’s wife to report. Drefan let it pass, as he always did. He enjoyed her games, the way she thought he missed things. It amused him.

“Well, Lord Rahl, the plague is nearly over.”

“Describe ‘nearly over,’ if you would, please. As a healer, vagueness hardly does me any good.”

“In the last week, the deaths from the plague have dropped to only three confirmed cases last night. Nearly everyone who was sick when Lord”—he caught himself—“when Richard left has recovered. Whatever Richard did—”

“My brother died, that’s what he did. I am the healer. I am the one responsible for the plague ending.”

Kahlan lost the calm look. Her expression twisted to tightly controlled rage. He wondered how her face would twist were it pain, were it terror. He would know, in the end.

“Richard went to the Temple of the Winds. He sacrificed himself to save everyone. Richard! Not you, Drefan, Richard!”

Drefan dismissed her tirade with a casual flip of his hand. “Nonsense. What did Richard know of healing? I am the healer. It is Lord Rahl who has saved his people from the plague.” Drefan raised a finger to the general. “And you had better see to it that that everyone knows it.”

Kahlan gave her slight nod to the general again.

“Yes, Lord Rahl,” the general said. “I will personally see to it that everyone knows that it was Lord Rahl himself who stopped the plague.”

Kahlan’s face showed the slightest hint of a smile at the general’s ambiguous response. Drefan let it go. He had more important business than her disrespect for her husband.

“And what else have you to report, general?”

“Well, Lord Rahl, it seems that some of our units are . . . missing.”

“Missing? How can troops be missing? I want them found. We must have the army together to defend against the Imperial Order. I won’t have the D’Haran empire fall to the Imperial Order because my officers fail to maintain discipline!”

“Yes, Lord Rahl. I have already sent scouts to find the troops who have . . . wandered off from their stations.”

“It’s the bond, Drefan,” Kahlan said. “The D’Harans aren’t bonded to you. The army is breaking up, wandering off aimlessly because they have lost the bond, lost their leader. They don’t know what to do. They are without a Lord Rahl—”

He struck her. The sharp sound reverberated through the room.

“Stand up!”

He waited until she regained her feet. “I’ll not have insolence from my wife! Do you understand?”

Kahlan pressed her fingers to her nose, trying to halt the flow of blood. The crimson tide flooded over her fingers and lips and down her chin. The sight of it nearly drove a gasp from him. The sight of the Mother Confessor with blood on her made his hands shake. He longed for the slicing, for the sight of blood everywhere on her, for her screams, for her terror.

But he could wait until she begged for it. As had Nadine. He had enjoyed Nadine’s perverted hunger. He had relished her surprise, her terror, her agony, before he cast her over the side of the mountain, still alive, so she could think about her vile nature all the way down. It had sated him—for now.

He could wait until the Mother Confessor’s true corruption finally surfaced once again, as it had the first night. Richard must have been horrified to discover how much she really wanted his brother, that the woman he had loved was as impure as any whore. Poor, innocent, stupid Richard. He never even looked back over his shoulder as he walked away.

Drefan could wait. She would need time to recover from the shock of causing Richard’s death. Drefan could wait. It wouldn’t take her long, as badly as she wanted him.

He swept Kahlan up in his arms. “Forgive me, my wife. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Forgive me, please. I was only worried for our safety from the Order—distraught that these worthless soldiers won’t follow orders and in so doing endanger us all.”

Kahlan wrenched herself out of his arms. “I understand.”—She lied so poorly. From the corner of his eye, he could see the coiled form in red leather. If she moved to strike, he would slice her down. If she didn’t, he still had use for her.

Kahlan twitched a finger in caution to Cara. Cara reluctantly relaxed. Kahlan thought she was so clever, thought he didn’t see the way she gave orders to people. For now, it didn’t matter.

“General Kerson,” Drefan said, “I want those derelict troops found. We must have discipline in the army, or we are lost to the Order. When they are found, I want the officers executed.”

“What? You want me to execute my own men because they have lost the bond—”

“I want you to execute them for treason. When the rest of the men learn that we won’t tolerate such negligence to duty, they will think twice about joining with our enemy.”

“Our enemy, Lord Rahl?”

“Of course. If they don’t do their duty as D’Harans, to serve and protect the D’Haran empire, to say nothing of their Lord Rahl, then they are aiding the enemy. That makes them traitors! It endangers the life of my wife! Of everyone!”

He glided his fingers over the raised gold letters on the hilt of the Sword of Truth—his sword. He wielded it by right.

“Now, do you have anything else to report?”

The general and Kahlan surreptitiously shared a look. “No, Lord Rahl.”

“Good. That will be all, then. Dismissed.”

He turned to Kahlan and held out his arm. “Come, my dear. We will have breakfast together.”