Wizard's First Rule

Chapter 19

Torches set in ornate gold brackets lit the walls of the crypt with flickering light, reflected off the polished pink granite of the huge, vaulted room, lending their smell of pitch to the fragrance of roses in the dead, still air. White roses, replaced every morning without fail for the last three decades, filled each of the fifty-seven gold vases set in the wall beneath each of the fifty-seven torches that represented each year in the life of the deceased. The floor was white marble, so that any white rose petal that fell would not be a distraction before it could be whisked away. A large staff saw to it that no torch was allowed to go spent for longer than a few moments, and that rose petals were not allowed to rest long upon the floor. The staff was attentive and devoted to their tasks. Failure to be so resulted in an immediate beheading. Guards watched the tomb day and night to be sure the torches burned, the flowers were fresh, and no rose petal sat too long on the floor. And of course to carry out executions.

Staff positions were filled from the surrounding D’Haran countryside. Being a member of the crypt staff was an honor, by law. The honor brought with it the promise of a quick death if an execution was in order. A slow death in D’Hara was greatly feared, and common. New recruits, for fear they would speak ill of the dead king while in the crypt, had their tongues cut out.

The Master, on the evenings when he was at home in the People’s Palace, would visit the tomb. No staff or tomb guards were allowed to be present during these visits. The staff had spent a busy afternoon replacing the torches with freshly burning ones and testing each of the hundreds of white roses by gently shaking them to make sure none of the petals were loose, since any torch going out during the royal visit, or any rose petal falling to the floor, would result in an execution.

A short pillar in the center of the immense room supported the coffin itself, giving it the effect of floating in the air. The golden shrouded coffin glowed in the torchlight. Carved symbols covered its sides, and continued in a ring around the room, cut into the granite beneath the torches and gold vases: instructions in an ancient language from a father to a son on the process of going to the underworld, and returning. Instructions in an ancient language understood by only a handful other than the son—none but the son lived in D’Hara. All the others in D’Hara who understood had long ago been put to death. Someday, the rest would be.

The crypt staff and guards had been sent away. The Master was visiting his father’s tomb. Two of his personal guards stood watch over him, one to each side of the massive, elaborately carved and polished door. Their sleeveless leather-and-mail uniforms helped display their bulky forms, the sharp contours of their heavy muscles, and the bands they wore around their arms just above their elbows, bands with raised projections sharpened to deadly edges, used in close combat to tear apart an adversary.

Darken Rahl ran his delicate fingers over the carved symbols on his father’s tomb. An immaculate white robe, its only decoration gold embroidery in a narrow band around the neck and down the front, covered his lean frame to within an inch of the floor. He wore no jewelry, other than a curved knife in a gold scabbard embossed with symbols warning the spirits to give way. The belt that held it was woven of gold wire. Fine, straight, blond hair hung almost to his shoulders. His eyes were a painfully handsome shade of blue. His features set off his eyes perfectly.

Many women had been taken to his bed. Because of his striking looks, and his power, some went eagerly. The others went despite his looks, but because of his power. Whether or not they were eager did not concern him. Were they unwise enough to be repulsed when they saw the scars, they entertained him in ways they could not have foreseen.

Darken Rahl, as had his father before him, considered women merely vessels for the man’s seed, the dirt it grew in, unworthy of higher recognition. Darken Rahl, as his father before him, would have no wife. His own mother had been nothing more than the first to sprout his father’s wondrous seed, and then she had been discarded, as was only fitting. If he had siblings, he didn’t know, nor did it matter—he was firstborn, all glory fell to him. He was the one born with the gift, and the one to whom his father passed the knowledge. If he had half brothers or sisters, they were merely weeds, to be expunged if discovered.

Darken Rahl spoke the words silently in his mind as his fingers traced the symbols. Although it was of the utmost importance that the directives were followed exactly, he had no fear of making an error—the instructions were burned into his memory. But he enjoyed reliving the thrill of the passage, of hanging between life and death. He savored going into the underworld, commanding the dead. He was impatient for the next journey.

Footsteps echoed at someone’s approach. Darken Rahl showed no concern, or interest, but his guards did—they drew their swords. No one was allowed to come into the crypt with the Master. When they saw who it was, they stood down, replacing their weapons. No one but Demmin Nass, that is.

Demmin Nass, the right hand of Rahl, the lightning of the Master’s dark thoughts, was a man as big as those he commanded. As he strode in, ignoring the guards, his sharply chiseled muscles stood out in stark relief in the torchlight. His chest was covered with skin as smooth as that of the young boys he had a weakness for. In stark contrast, his face was riddled with pockmarks. His blond hair was cropped close enough to cause it to stand up in a collection of spikes. A streak of black hair started in the middle of his right eyebrow and continued back over his head, to the right of center. It made him recognizable from a distance, a fact appreciated by those who had cause to know of him.

Darken Rahl stood absorbed in the reading of the symbols, and did not look when his guards drew their weapons, or when they replaced them. Although his guards were formidable, they were unnecessary, mere accoutrements of his position. He had powers enough to put down any threat. Demmin Nass stood at ease, waiting for the Master to finish. When at last Darken Rahl turned, his blond hair and stark white robe swished around with him. Demmin gave a respectful bow of his head.

“Lord Rahl.” His voice was deep, coarse. He kept his head bowed.

“Demmin, my old friend, how good to see you again.” Rahl’s quiet tone had a clear, almost liquid quality to it.

Demmin straightened, his face set in a frown of displeasure. “Lord Rahl, Queen Milena has delivered her list of demands.”

Darken Rahl stared through the commander, as if he weren’t there, slowly wetting the tips of the first three fingers of his right hand with his tongue and then carefully stroking his lips and eyebrows with them.

“Have you brought me a boy?” Rahl asked expectantly.

“Yes, Lord Rahl. He awaits you in the Garden of Life.”

“Good.” A small smile spread across Darken Rahl’s handsome face. “Good. And he is not too old? He is still a boy?”

“Yes, Lord Rahl, he is but a boy.” Demmin looked away from Rahl’s blue eyes.

Darken Rahl’s smile widened. “You are sure, Demmin? Did you take off his pants yourself, and check?”

Demmin shifted his weight. “Yes, Lord Rahl.”

Rahl’s eyes searched the other’s face. “You didn’t touch him, did you?” His smile vanished. “He must be unsoiled.”

“No, Lord Rahl!” Demmin insisted, looking back to the Master, his eyes wide. “I would not touch your spirit guide! You have forbidden it!”

Darken Rahl again wet his fingers and smoothed his eyebrows as he took a step closer. “I know you wanted to, Demmin. Was it hard for you? Looking but not touching?” His smile came back, teasing, then melted again. “Your weakness has caused me trouble before.”

“I took care of that!” Demmin protested in his deep voice—but not too forcefully. “I had that trader, Brophy, arrested for the murder of that boy.”

“Yes,” Rahl snapped back, “and then he submitted to a Confessor, to prove his innocence.”

Demmin’s face wrinkled in frustration. “How was I to know he would do that? Who could expect a man would willingly do that?”

Rahl held up his hand. Demmin fell silent.

“You should have been more careful. You should have taken the Confessors into account. And is that job finished yet?”

“All but one,” Demmin admitted. “The quad that went after Kahlan, the Mother Confessor, failed. I had to send another.”

Darken Rahl frowned. “Confessor Kahlan is the one who took the confession of this trader, Brophy, and found him innocent, is she not?”

Demmin nodded slowly, his face contorted in anger. “She must have found help, or the quad would not have failed.”

Rahl remained silent, watching the other. At last Demmin broke the silence.

“It is but a small matter, Lord Rahl, not worthy of your time or thought.”

Darken Rahl lifted an eyebrow. “I will decide what matters are worthy of my attention.” His voice was soft, almost kind.

“Of course, Lord Rahl. Please forgive me.” Demmin didn’t need to hear an angry tone to know he was treading on dangerous ground.

Rahl licked his fingers again and rubbed them on his lips. He looked sharply back up into the other’s eyes. “Demmin, if you touched the boy, I will know.”

A bead of sweat rolled into Demmin’s eye. He tried to blink it away. “Lord Rahl,” he said in a coarse whisper, “I would gladly give my life for you. I would not touch your spirit guide. I swear.”

Darken Rahl considered Demmin Nass for a moment, then nodded. “As I said, I would know anyway. And you know what I would do to you if you ever lied to me. I can’t tolerate anyone lying to me. It’s wrong.”

“Lord Rahl,” Demmin said, anxious to change the subject, “what of Queen Milena’s demands?”

Rahl shrugged. “Tell her I agree to all her demands in return for the box.”

Demmin stared incredulously. “But Lord Rahl, you have not seen them listed.”

Rahl shrugged innocently. “Now, they are truly a matter not worthy of my time or thought.”

Demmin shifted his weight again, making the leather he wore creak. “Lord Rahl, I do not understand why you play this game with the queen. It is humiliating to be issued a list of demands. With no trouble, we could crush her like the fat toad she is. Just give me the word, allow me to issue my own demands, on your behalf. She will be made to regret not bowing down to you as she should have.”

Rahl smiled a small private smile as he studied the pockmarked face of his loyal commander. “She has a wizard, Demmin,” he whispered, his blue eyes intense.

“I know.” Demmin’s fists tightened. “Giller. You have only to ask, Lord Rahl, and I will bring you his head.”

“Demmin, why do you think Queen Milena would enlist a wizard in her service?” Demmin only shrugged, so Rahl answered his own question. “To protect the box, that is why. It is her protection too, she believes. If we kill her or the wizard, we may find he has hidden the box with magic, and then we would have to spend time finding it. So why move too quickly? For now, the easiest path is to go along with her. If she gives me any trouble, I will deal with her, and the wizard.” He walked slowly around his father’s coffin, trailing his fingers along the carved symbols as he kept his blue eyes on Demmin. “And anyway, once I have the last box, her demands will be meaningless.” He came back to the big man, stopping in front of him. “But there is another reason, my friend.”

Demmin cocked his head to the side. “Another reason?”

Darken Rahl nodded, leaned closer, and lowered his voice. “Demmin, do you kill your little boyfriends before . . . or after?”

Demmin leaned back a little, away from the other, hooking a thumb in his belt. He cleared his throat. At last he answered. “After.”

“And why after? Why not before?” Rahl asked, his face in a coy, questioning frown.

Demmin avoided the Master’s eyes, looked down at the floor, and shifted his weight to his other foot. Darken Rahl continued to keep his face close, watching, waiting. In a voice too low for the guards to hear, Demmin spoke.

“I like it when they squirm.”

A slow smile spread over Rahl’s face. “That is the other reason, my friend. I too enjoy it when they squirm, so to speak. I want to enjoy watching her squirm, before I kill her.” He licked the ends of his fingers again, and stroked them on his lips.

A knowing grin grew across the pockmarked face. “I will tell Queen Milena that Father Rahl has graciously agreed to her terms.”

Darken Rahl put his hand on Demmin’s muscled shoulder. “Very good, my friend. Now, show me what manner of boy you have brought me.”

Both wearing smiles, they strode toward the door. Before they reached it, Darken Rahl stopped suddenly. He spun on his heels, his robes flinging around him.

“What was that sound?” he demanded.

Except for the hiss of the torches, the crypt was as silent as the dead king. Demmin and the guards looked slowly around the chamber.

“There!” Rahl thrust out his arm.

The other three looked where he pointed. A single white rose petal sat on the floor. Darken Rahl’s face reddened, his eyes fierce. Shaking, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, his eyes filled with tears of wrath. He was too furious to speak. Regaining his composure, he held out his hand toward where the white petal lay on the cold marble floor. As if touched by a breeze, it rose into the air and floated across the room, settling in Rahl’s outstretched hand. He licked the petal, turned to one of the guards, and stuck it to the man’s forehead.

The heavily muscled guard looked back impassively. He knew what the Master wanted, and gave a single grim nod before turning and going through the door in one fluid motion, pulling his sword as he went.

Darken Rahl straightened his body, smoothed his hair and then his robes with the flats of his hands. He took a deep breath, letting his anger out with it. Frowning, his blue eyes searched up at Demmin, who stood calmly beside him.

“I ask nothing else of them. Only that they care for my father’s tomb. Their needs are seen to, they are fed and clothed and taken care of. It is a simple request.” His face took on a hurt look. “Why do they mock me with their carelessness?” He looked over to his father’s coffin, then back to the other’s face. “Do you think I am too harsh with them, Demmin?”

The commander’s hard eyes scowled back. “Not harsh enough. If you were not so compassionate, if you didn’t allow them a quick punishment, maybe the others would learn to treat your heartfelt requests with more commitment. I would not be as lenient.”

Darken Rahl stared off at nothing in particular, and nodded absently. After a time he took another deep breath and strode through the door, with Demmin at his side, and the remaining guard following at a respectful distance. They went down long corridors of polished granite lit by torches, up spiral stairs of white stone, down more corridors with windows that let the light out into the darkness. The stone smelled damp, stale. Several levels up, the air regained its freshness. Small tables of lustrous wood stationed at intervals along the halls held vases with bouquets of fresh flowers that lent a light fragrance to the rooms.

As they came to a pair of doors with a scene of hillsides and forests carved in relief, the second guard rejoined them, the task assigned him completed. Demmin pulled on the iron rings, and the heavy doors opened smoothly, silently. Beyond was a room of dark, brown oak panels. It gleamed in the light of the candles and lamps set about on heavy tables. Books lined two walls, and an immense fireplace warmed the two-story room. Rahl stopped for a short time to consult an old leather-bound book sitting on a pedestal—then he and his commander walked on through a labyrinth of rooms, most covered in the same warm wood panels. A few were plastered and painted with scenes of the D’Hara countryside, forests and fields, game and children. The guards followed at a distance, watching everywhere, alert but silent: the Master’s shadows.

Logs crackled and popped as flames wavered in a brick hearth, providing the only light in one of the smaller rooms they passed into. On the walls hung trophies of the hunt, heads of every sort of beast. Antlers jutted out, lit by the light of the flames. Darken Rahl stopped suddenly in midstride, his robes made pink in the firelight.

“Again,” he whispered.

Demmin had stopped when Rahl did, and now watched him with questioning eyes.

“Again she comes to the boundary. To the underworld.” He licked his fingertips, smoothing them carefully over his lips and eyebrows as his eyes fixed in a stare.

“Who?” Demmin asked.

“The Mother Confessor. Kahlan. She has the help of a wizard, you know.”

“Giller is with the queen,” Demmin insisted, “not with the Mother Confessor.”

A thin smile spread on Darken Rahl’s lips. “Not Giller,” he whispered, “the Old One. The one I seek. The one who killed my father. She has found him.”

Demmin stood straight in surprise. Rahl turned and walked over to the window at the end of the room. Made up of small panes and round at the top, it stood twice his height. Firelight glinted off the curved knife at his belt. Clasping his hands behind him, he stood gazing down on the darkened countryside, on the night, on the things others couldn’t see. He turned back to Demmin, his blond hair brushing his shoulders.

“That is why she went to Westland, you know. Not to run from the quad, as you thought, but to find the great wizard.” His blue eyes sparkled. “She has done me a great favor, my friend—she has flushed out the wizard. It is fortunate she slipped past the ones in the underworld. Fate is truly on our side. You see, Demmin, why I tell you not to worry so? It is my destiny to succeed—all things have a way of working toward my ends.”

Demmin’s brow knitted into a frown. “Just because one quad failed, that does not mean she has found the wizard. Quads have failed before.”

Rahl slowly licked his fingertips. He stepped closer to the big man. “The Old One has named a Seeker,” he whispered.

Demmin unclasped his hands in surprise. “Are you sure?”

Rahl nodded. “The old wizard vowed never to help them again. No one has seen him in many years. No one has been able to offer his name, even to save their own lives. Now the Confessor crosses into Westland, the quad vanishes, and a Seeker is named.” He smiled to himself. “She must have touched him, to make him help. Imagine his surprise when he saw her.” Rahl’s smile faded. He clenched his fists. “I almost had them. Almost had all three, but I was distracted by other matters, and they slipped away. For the time being.” He considered this silently for a moment, then announced, “The second quad will fail too, you know. They will not be expecting to encounter a wizard.”

“Then I will send a third quad, and I will tell them of the wizard,” Demmin promised.

“No.” Rahl licked his fingertips, thinking. “Not yet. For now, let’s wait and see what happens. Maybe she is meant to help me again.” He considered this a moment. “Is she attractive? The Mother Confessor?”

Demmin scowled. “I have never seen her, but some of my men have. They fought over who would be named to the quads, who would have her.”

“Don’t send another quad for now.” Darken Rahl smiled. “It is time I had an heir.” He nodded absently. “I will have her for myself,” he declared.

“If she tries to go through the boundary, she will be lost,” Demmin cautioned.

Rahl shrugged. “Maybe she will be smarter than that. She has already shown herself to be clever. Either way, I will have her.” He glanced over at Demmin. “Either way, she will squirm for me.”

“The two of them are dangerous, the wizard and the Mother Confessor. They could cause us trouble. Confessors subvert the word of Rahl—they are an annoyance. I think we should do as you first planned. We should kill her.”

Rahl gave a wave of his hand. “You worry too much, Demmin. As you said, Confessors are an annoyance, nothing more. I will kill her myself, if she proves troublesome, but after she bears me a son. A Confessor son. The wizard cannot harm me, as he did my father. I will see him squirm and then I will kill him. Slowly.”

“And the Seeker?” Demmin’s face was lined with apprehension.

Rahl shrugged. “Even less than an annoyance.”

“Lord Rahl, I need not remind you, winter approaches.”

The Master lifted an eyebrow, the firelight flickering in his eyes. “The Queen has the last box. I will have it soon enough. There is no need for concern.”

Demmin leaned his grim face closer. “And the book?”

Rahl took a deep breath. “After I have traveled to the underworld, I will search out the Cypher boy again. Worry yourself of it no more, my friend. Fate is on our side.”

He turned and walked off. Demmin followed, the guards slipping through the shadows behind.

The Garden of Life was a cavernous room in the center of the People’s Palace. Leaded windows high overhead let in light for the lush plants. This night they let in the moonlight. Around the outside of the room were flowers set in beds, with walkways winding through. Beyond the flowers were small trees, short stone walls with vines covering them, and well-tended plants completing the landscaping. Except for the windows overhead, it mimicked an outdoor garden. A place of beauty. A place of peace.

In the center of the expansive room was an area of lawn that swept around almost into a circle, the grass ring broken by a wedge of white stone, upon which sat a slab of granite, smooth but for grooves carved near the edge of the top, leading to a small well in one corner. It was held up by two short fluted pedestals. Beyond the slab stood a polished stone block set next to a fire pit. The block held an ancient iron bowl covered with beasts which served as legs to support the round bottom. The iron lid in the same half-sphere shape had but one beast upon it, a Shinga, an underworld creature, reared up on its two hind legs, serving as a handle. In the center of the lawn lay a round area of white sorcerer’s sand, ringed with torches that burned with fluid flames. Geometric symbols crisscrossed in the white sand.

In the center of the sand was the boy, buried in an upright position to his neck.

Darken Rahl approached slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. Demmin waited off by the trees, before the grass. The Master stopped at the border of the grass and white sand, looking down at the boy. Darken Rahl smiled.

“What is your name, my son?”

The boy’s lower lip quivered as he looked up at Rahl. His eyes shifted to the big man back by the trees. It was a fearful look. Rahl turned and looked to the commander.

“Leave us, and please take my guards with you. I wish not to be disturbed.”

Demmin bowed his head and left, the guards following. Darken Rahl turned back, regarding the boy, then lowered himself to sit on the grass. He rearranged his robes once on the ground, and smiled again at the boy.

“Better?”

The boy nodded. His lip still quivered.

“Are you afraid of that big man?” The boy nodded. “Did he hurt you? Did he touch you where he shouldn’t?”

The boy shook his head. His eyes, reflecting a mix of fear and anger, stayed locked on Rahl. An ant crawled from the white sand onto his neck.

“What is your name?” Rahl asked again. The boy did not answer. The Master watched his brown eyes closely. “Do you know who I am?”

“Darken Rahl,” the boy answered in a weak voice.

Rahl smiled indulgently. “Father Rahl,” he corrected.

The boy stared at him. “I want to go home.” The ant inspected its way across his chin.

“Of course you do,” Rahl said with a tone of sympathy and concern. “Please believe me, I’m not going to harm you. You are simply here to help me with an important ceremony. You are an honored guest, meant to represent the innocence and strength of youth. You were selected because people told me what a fine boy you are, what a very good boy you are. Everyone has spoken highly of you. They tell me you are smart, and strong. Do they speak the truth?”

The boy hesitated, his shy eyes looking away. “Well, I guess they do.” He looked back to Rahl. “But I miss my mother, and I want to go home.” The ant went in a circle around his cheek.

Darken Rahl stared off wistfully and nodded. “I understand. I miss my mother also. She was such a wonderful woman, and I loved her so. She took good care of me. When I would do a chore that pleased her, she would make me a special supper, whatever I wanted.”

The boys eyes got bigger. “My mother does that too.”

“My father, mother, and I had wonderful times together. We all loved each other very much and had fun together. My mother had a merry laugh. When my father would tell a boastful story, she would poke fun at him and the three of us would laugh, sometimes until we got tears in our eyes.”

The boy’s eyes brightened, he smiled a little. “Why do you miss her? Is she gone away?”

“No,” Rahl sighed, “she and my father died a few years ago. They were both old. They both had a good life together, but I still miss them. So I understand how you miss your parents.”

The boy nodded a little. His lip had stopped quivering. The ant walked up the bridge of his nose. He scrunched up his face trying to get it off.

“Let’s just try to have as good a time as we can for now, and you will be back with them before you know it.”

The boy nodded again. “My name is Carl.”

Rahl smiled. “Honored to meet you, Carl.” He reached out and carefully picked the ant off the boy’s face.

“Thanks,” Carl said with relief.

“That’s what I’m here for, Carl, to be your friend and help you in any way I can.”

“If you’re my friend, then dig me up and let me go home?” His eyes glistened wetly.

“Soon enough, my son, soon enough. I wish I could right now, but the people expect me to protect them from evil people who would kill them, so I must do what I can to help. You are going to be a part of that help. You are going to be an important part of the ceremony that will save your mother and father from the evil ones who would kill them.

“You do want to protect your mother from harm, don’t you?”

The torches flickered and hissed as Carl thought.

“Well, yes. But I want to go home.” His lip began quivering again.

Darken Rahl reached out and stroked the boy’s hair reassuringly, combing it back with his fingers, then smoothing it down. “I know, but try to be brave. I won’t let anyone harm you, I promise. I will guard you and keep you safe.” He gave Carl a warm smile. “Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?”

Carl shook his head.

“All right, then. It is late, I will leave you to rest.” He stood, straightening his robes, brushing off grass.

“Father Rahl?”

Rahl stopped, and looked back down. “Yes, Carl?”

A tear rolled down Carl’s cheek. “I’m afraid to be here alone. Could you stay with me?”

The Master regarded the boy with a comforting expression. “Why, of course, my son.” Father Rahl lowered himself back down to the grass. “For as long as you want, even all night if you want me.”