Wizard's First Rule

Chapter 20

Green light glowed all about as they cautiously shuffled their feet through the rubble of the hillside, climbing over or under tree trunks, kicking limbs aside when necessary. The iridescent green sheet of the boundary walls pressed against them from both sides as they groped their way ahead. Blackness lay thick all about except for the uncanny illumination that made them feel as if they were in a cave.

Richard and Kahlan had come to the same decision at the same time. No choice had been left to the two of them—they couldn’t go back, and they couldn’t stay at the split rock, not with the grippers and shadow things coming for them, and so they were forced ahead, into the Narrows.

Richard had put the night stone away—it was useless for following the trail, as there was no trail to follow, and it made it difficult to tell where the boundary light changed to the green wall. He hadn’t put it back into its leather pouch, in case it was needed again in a hurry, but had simply dropped it into his pocket.

“Let the walls of the boundary show us the way,” he had said, his quiet voice echoing back from the blackness. “Go slow. If one wall turns dark, don’t take another step, go a little more to the other side. That way we can stay between them, and get through the pass.”

Kahlan had not hesitated, the grippers and shadows being a sure death—she had taken Richard’s hand as they had stepped back into the green glow. Shoulder to shoulder, they had entered the invisible passage. Richard’s heart pounded—he tried not to think about what it was they were doing—walking blindly between the walls of the boundary.

He knew what the boundary looked like from when he had been close to it with Chase, and again when the dark thing had tried to pull Kahlan in. He knew that if they stepped into the dark wall, there would be no return, but that if they could stay in the green glow before the wall, then they at least had a chance.

Kahlan stopped. She pushed him to the right. She was close to the wall. Then it appeared on his right. They centered themselves and continued forward, finding that if they went slowly, carefully, they could stay between the walls, walking a thin line of life, with death to each side. Years of being a guide were of no help to him. Richard finally stopped trying to find a trace of the trail, and let himself feel the force of the walls pressing from each side, let the pressure be his guide. It was slow going, with no sign of the trail in sight, no view of the hillside around them, only the tight world of the luminous green light, like a bubble of life floating helplessly through an endless sea of darkness and death.

Mud sucked at his boots, fear at his mind. Any obstacle they encountered had to be crossed, they couldn’t go around—the boundary walls dictated where they went. Sometimes it was over fallen trees, sometimes over boulders, sometimes through washouts where they had to use exposed roots to pull themselves up the other side. They helped each other silently, giving only a squeeze of the hand for encouragement. Never was there more than a step or two to either side of their way that didn’t bring up the dark walls. Each time the trail turned, the dark wall appeared, sometimes several times, until they could decipher which way it turned. Each time the wall loomed up, they pulled back as quickly as possible, and each time it scared him with a cold jolt.

Richard realized his shoulders ached. The tension of what they were doing was making his muscles tighten, his breathing shallow. He relaxed, took a deep breath, let his arms hang loose, shook his wrists to ease the stress away, and then took Kahlan’s hand again. He smiled down at her face lit by the haunting green light. She smiled back, but he could see the controlled terror in her eyes. At least, he thought, the bones were keeping the shadow things and the beasts away from them, and nothing appeared beyond the walls when they accidentally encountered them.

Richard could almost feel his will to live draining from his soul with each careful step. Time took on an abstract dimension, holding no solid meaning. He could have been in the Narrows for hours, or days—he had trouble telling anymore. He found himself wishing only for peace, for it to be over, to be safe again. His fear was beginning to dull from the sheer level of tension he had maintained as they probed their way ahead.

Movement caught his attention: He looked behind. Shadow things, a flush of green light around each, floated in a line between the walls, close at their backs, following the two of them down the path, skimming above the ground, each lifting in turn to pass over a tree trunk that lay across the way. Richard and Kahlan stopped, frozen, watching. The shadows didn’t stop.

“Lead the way,” he whispered, “and keep hold of my hand. I’ll watch them.”

He could see that her shirt was soaked with sweat, same as his, even though it wasn’t a warm night. Without so much as a nod, she started off. He walked backward, his back to hers, his eyes to the shadows, his mind in a panic. Kahlan went as fast as she could, having to stop and change direction several times, pulling him after by the hand.

She stopped again, at last groping her way to the right, when the unseen path made a sharp turn down the hill. Walking backward downhill was difficult—he stepped carefully to avoid falling. The shadows followed in a single file, turning with the path. Richard resisted his urge to tell Kahlan to go faster, as he didn’t want her to make a mistake, but the shadows were getting closer.

It would only be a matter of minutes before they closed the distance, before they were on him.

Muscles tense, his hand gripped the hilt of his sword. He debated in his mind whether or not to draw it, not knowing if it could help them, or if it would bring them to harm. Even if the sword worked against the shadows, a fight in the confines of the Narrows would be a big risk, at best. But if there was no choice, if they came too close, he would have to use the sword.

The shadows seemed as if they had taken on faces. Richard tried to remember if they had faces before, but couldn’t. His fingers gripped the hilt of the sword tighter as he walked backward, Kahlan’s soft hand warm in his. The faces appeared sad, gentle, in the green glow. They regarded him with kind, pleading countenances. The raised lettering of the word “Truth” on the sword seemed to burn painfully into his fingers as he clutched it tighter. Anger seeped from the sword, searching his mind, searching for his own anger, but, finding only fear and confusion, the anger wilted. The forms no longer gained on him, but paced along, keeping him company in the lonely darkness. Somehow, they made him feel less afraid, less tense.

Their whispers calmed him. Richard’s hand relaxed on the sword as he strained to make out the words. The slow, easy smiles reassured him, gentled his caution, his alarm, making him want to hear more, to understand the murmurs. Green light around the faint forms shimmered comfortingly. His heart pounded with the need for rest, for peace, for their company.

Like the shadows, his mind drifted, smoothly, quietly, gently. Richard thought of his father, longed for him. He remembered joyful, easy times with him, times of love, sharing, caring, times of safety when nothing threatened him, nothing frightened him, nothing worried him. He longed for those times again. He realized that that was what the whispers were saying, that it could be like that again. They wanted to help him reach that place again, that was all.

Small warnings burgeoned deep in his mind, but then withered and were gone. His hand slipped from the sword.

He had been so wrong, so blind, and hadn’t been able to see it before. They weren’t there to harm him, but to help him reach the peace he wanted. It wasn’t what they wanted, but what he wanted, that’s what they offered him. They wished only to help release him from loneliness. A wistful smile spread on his lips. How could he have not seen it before? How could he have been so blind? Whispers like sweet music washed over him in gentle waves, soothing his fears, giving him soft light in the dark places of his mind. He stopped walking so that he wouldn’t step out of the bathing warmth of the enchanting murmurs, the breath of the music.

A cold hand tugged annoyingly at his, trying to pull him on, so he released it. It went without objection, to bother him no more.

The shadows drifted closer. Richard waited for them, watched their gentle faces, listened to their soft whispers. When they sighed his name it made him shudder with pleasure. He welcomed them as they came around in a comforting circle, floating closer, their hands reaching to him as they did so. Hands lifted to his face, almost touching him, seeking to caress him. He looked from one face to another, meeting the eyes of his saviors, each holding his gaze in turn, each whispering a promise of wonderment.

A hand almost brushed his face, and he thought he felt searing pain, but wasn’t sure. The keeper of the hand promised that he would feel pain no more, after he joined with them. He wanted to speak, to ask them so many questions, but it seemed so suddenly unimportant, so trivial. He had only to give himself over to their care, and everything would be all right. He turned to each, offering himself to each, waiting to be taken.

As he turned, he looked for Kahlan, thinking to take her with him, to share the peace with her. Memories of her flamed into his mind, distracting his attention even though the whispers told him to ignore them. He scanned the hillside, peering off into the dark rubble. Faint light tinged the sky, morning materializing. Black voids of the trees ahead stood against the pale pink sky—he was almost to the end of the slide. He didn’t see Kahlan anywhere. The shadows whispered insistently to him, calling his name. Memories of Kahlan blazed brightly into his mind. Sudden choking fear flamed up inside him, burning the whispers in his mind to ash.

“Kahlan!” he screamed.

There was no answer.

Dark hands, dead hands, reached for him. The faces of the shadows wavered like vapors rising from boiling poison. Gnarled voices called his name. He took a step back, away from them, confused.

“Kahlan!” he screamed again.

Hands reached for him, bringing searing pain even though they did not touch him. Again he took a step back, away from them, but this time the dark wall was there, at his back. The hands extended up, to push at him. He looked around for Kahlan, bewildered. This time the pain brought him fully awake. Terror raced through him as he realized where he was and what was happening.

And then his anger exploded.

Heat of rage from the magic surged through him as the sword, came free, sweeping in an arc at the shadows. The ones caught by the blade flared into nothingness, the smoke of their form spinning, as if caught in a vortex of wind, before coming apart with a howl. More came at him. The sword flashed through them, and still more came, as if there were no end to their numbers. As he cut them down on one side, the ones on the other side would reach for him, the pain of their near touch burning into him before he turned with the sword. Richard wondered for an instant what it would feel like if they were able to finally touch him, if he would feel the pain or simply be dead in that moment. He stepped away from the wall, slashing with the sword as he did so. He took another step forward, cutting furiously as he moved, the blade whistling as he swung it.

Richard stood, feet dug in, destroying the shadows as fast as they came. His arms ached, his back hurt, his head pounded. Sweat poured from his face. He was exhausted. With nowhere to run, he was forced to stand his ground, but he knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. Screams and howls filled the night air as the shadows seemed to fall eagerly on his sword. A knot of them rushed forward, forcing him back again before he could slash through them. Again the dark wall came up at his back. Black forms on the other side of it reached for him while giving out agonizing cries. Too many shadows were coming at once to allow him to step away from the wall—it was all he could do to hold where he was. Pain from the reaching hands was wearing him down. He knew that if they came at him fast enough and in enough numbers, he would be pushed through the wall, into the underworld. He fought on numbly, endlessly.

Anger was giving way to panic. The muscles of his arms burned with the effort of swinging the sword. It seemed the shadows’ intent was simply to wear him down with their numbers. He realized that he had been right not to use the sword before, that it would bring them to harm. But there had been no choice. He had to use it to save them.

But there was no “them,” he realized—Kahlan was nowhere to be found. It was only him. Swinging the sword, he wondered if it had been like this for her, if the shadows had seduced her with their whispers, and touched her, forced her into the wall. She had no sword to protect her—that was what he had said he would do. Fury erupted in him anew. The thought of Kahlan being taken by the shadows, by the underworld, brought the rage roaring forth again, the magic of the Sword of Truth rising to the summons. Richard cut through the shadows with renewed vengeance. Hatred, flaming into white-hot need, took him ahead through the forms, swinging the sword faster than they could come forward to meet it. So he went to them. Howls of their end joined in a mass cry of anguish. Richard’s wrath at what they had done to Kahlan drove him forward in a frenzy of violence.

Without his realizing it at first, the shadows had stopped moving and instead hovered as Richard continued down the path between the walls, slashing at them. For a time, they made no attempt to avoid his blade, but simply floated in place. Then they began to glide, like trailers of smoke in a near still air. They drifted into the walls of the boundary, losing their green glow as they went through to become the dark things on the other side. At last, Richard came to a panting halt, his arms throbbing with weariness.

That was what they were, not shadow people, but the things from the other side of the boundary wall, the things that had been escaping and taking people, just as they had tried to take him.

Just as they had taken Kahlan.

A pain from deep inside welled up, and tears came to his eyes.

“Kahlan,” he whispered into the cool morning air.

His heart ached with wrenching agony. She was gone, and it had been his fault—he had let down his guard, he had let her down, had not protected her. How could it have happened so fast? So easily? Adie had warned him, warned him that they would call to him. Why hadn’t he been more cautious? Why hadn’t he paid more attention to her warning? Over and over in his mind he imagined her fear, her confusion at why he wasn’t there with her, her pleading for him to help her. Her pain. Her death. Desperately, his mind raced as he cried, trying to make time go backward, to do it again differently, to ignore the voices, to keep hold of her hand, to save her. Tears ran down his face as he let the tip of the sword lower and drag on the ground, too tired to put it away as he walked forward in a daze. Rubble of the slide was at an end. The green light faded and was gone as he stepped into the woods and onto the trail.

Someone whispered his name, a man’s voice. He stopped and looked back.

Richard’s father stood in the light of the boundary.

“Son,” his father whispered, “let me help you.”

Richard stared woodenly at him. Morning lit the overcast, washing everything in a wet gray light. The only color was the glowing green around his father, who held his hands open.

“You can’t help me,” Richard whispered back hoarsely.

“Yes, I can. She is with us. She is safe now.”

Richard took a few steps toward his father. “Safe?”

“Yes, she is safe. Come, I will take you to her.”

Richard took a few more steps, dragging the tip of the sword on the ground behind. Tears ran down his cheeks. His chest heaved. “You could really take me to her?”

“Yes, son,” his father said softly. “Come. She waits for you. I will take you to her.”

Richard walked numbly toward his father. “And I can be with her? Forever?”

“Forever,” came the answer in the reassuring, familiar voice.

Richard trudged back into the green light, to his father, who smiled warmly at him.

When he reached him, Richard brought the Sword of Truth up, and ran it through his father’s heart. Wide-eyed, his father looked up at him as he was impaled.

“How many times, dear father,” Richard asked through tears and gritted teeth, “must I slay your shade?”

His father only shimmered and then dissolved into the dim morning air.

Bitter satisfaction replaced the anger—then it, too, was gone as he turned once again to the path. Tears ran in streaks through the dirt and sweat on his face. He wiped them on his shirtsleeve as he swallowed back the lump in his throat. Woods enveloped him indifferently as he rejoined the trail.

Laboriously, Richard slid his sword home, into its scabbard. When he did so, he noticed the light from the night stone shining through his pocket, it still being just dark enough to cause it to glow weakly. He stopped and took the smooth stone out once more and replaced it in its leather pouch, quenching the dim yellow light.

His face set in grim determination, Richard slogged ahead, his fingers reaching up to touch the tooth under his shirt. Loneliness, deeper than he had never known, sagged his shoulders. All his friends were lost to him. He knew now that his life was not his own. It belonged to his duty, to his task. He was the Seeker. Nothing more. Nothing less. Not his own man, but a pawn to be used by others. A tool, same as his sword, to help others, that they might have the life he had only glimpsed for a twinkling.

He was no different from the dark things in the boundary. A bringer of death.

And he knew quite clearly who he was going to bring it to.

The Master sat straight-backed and cross-legged on the grass in front of the sleeping boy, his hands resting palm up on his knees, a smile on his lips, as he thought about what had happened with Confessor Kahlan at the boundary. Morning sunlight streamed crossways through the windows overhead, making the colors of the garden flowers vibrant. Slowly, he brought the fingers of his right hand to his lips, licking the tips and then smoothing his eyebrows before carefully returning the hand to its resting place. Thoughts of what he would do to the Mother Confessor had caused his breathing to quicken. He slowed it now, returning his mind to the matter at hand. His fingers wriggled, and Carl’s eyes popped open.

“Good morning, my son. Good to see you again,” he said in his most friendly voice. The smile, though for another reason, was still on his lips.

Carl blinked and squinted at the brightness of the light. “Good morning,” he said in a groan. Then, his eyes looking about, thought to add, “Father Rahl.”

“You slept well,” Rahl assured the boy.

“You were here? Here all night?”

“All night. As I promised you I would be. I would not lie to you, Carl.”

Carl smiled. “Thanks.” He lowered his eyes shyly. “I guess I was kind of silly to be scared.”

“I don’t think it’s silly at all. I am glad I could be here to reassure you.”

“My father says I’m being foolish when I get afraid of the dark.”

“There are things in the dark that can get you,” Rahl said solemnly. “You are wise to know it, and to be on guard for them. Your father would do himself a favor to listen, and learn from you.”

Carl brightened. “Really?” Rahl nodded. “Well, that’s what I always thought too.”

“If you truly love someone, you will listen to them.”

“My father always says for me to keep my tongue still.”

Rahl shook his head disapprovingly. “It surprises me to hear this. I had thought they loved you very much.”

“Well, they do. Most of the time anyway.”

“I’m sure you are right. You would know better than I.”

The Master’s long blond hair glistened in the morning light—his white robe shone brightly. He waited. There was a long moment of awkward silence . . .

“But I do get pretty tired of them always telling me what to do.”

Rahl’s eyebrows went up. “You seem to me to be of the age where you can think and decide things for yourself. A fine boy like you, almost a man, and they tell you what to do,” he added, half to himself, shaking his head again. As if he couldn’t believe what Carl was telling him, he asked, “You mean they treat you like a baby?”

Carl nodded his earnest confirmation, then thought to correct the impression. “Most of the time, though, they’re good to me.”

Rahl nodded, somewhat suspiciously. “That is good to hear. It is a relief to me.”

Carl looked up at the sunlight. “But I can tell you one thing, my parents are going to be madder than hornets that I’ve been gone so long.”

“They get mad because of when you come home?”

“Sure. One time, I was playing with a friend, and I got home late, and my mother was real mad. My father took his belt to me. He said it was for worrying them so.”

“A belt? Your father hit you with his belt?” Darken Rahl hung his head, then came to his feet, turning his back to the boy. “I’m sorry, Carl, I had no idea it was like this with them.”

“Well, it’s only because they love me,” Carl hastened to add. “That’s what they said, they love me and I caused them to worry.” Rahl still kept his back to the boy. Carl frowned. “Don’t you think that shows they care about me?”

Rahl licked his fingers and smoothed them over his eyebrows and lips before he turned back to the boy and sat once more in front of his anxious face.

“Carl”—his voice was so soft that the boy had to strain to hear—“do you have a dog?”

“Sure,” he nodded, “Tinker. She’s a fine dog. I had her since she was a pup.”

“Tinker,” Rahl rolled the name out pleasantly. “And has Tinker ever been lost, or run away?”

Carl scrunched up his eyebrows, thinking. “Well, sure, a couple times before she was grown. But she came back the next day.”

“Were you worried, when your dog was gone? When she was missing?”

“Well, sure.”

“Why?”

“Because I love her.”

“I see. And so then when Tinker came back the next day, what did you do?”

“I picked her up in my arms and I hugged her and hugged her.”

“You didn’t beat Tinker with your belt?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because I love her!”

“But you were worried?”

“Yes.”

“So you hugged Tinker when she came back because you loved her and you were worried about her.”

“Yes.”

Rahl leaned back a little, his blue eyes intense. “I see. And if you had beaten Tinker with your belt when she came back to you, what do you think she would have done?”

“I bet she might not have come back the next time. She wouldn’t want to come back so I could beat her. She’d have gone somewhere else where people loved her.”

“I see,” Rahl said meaningfully.

Tears streamed down Carl’s cheeks. He looked away from Rahl’s eyes as he cried. At last, Rahl reached out, stroking back the boy’s hair.

“I’m sorry, Carl. I did not mean to upset you. But I want you to know that when this is all over, and you go home again, that if you ever need a home, you will always be welcome here. You are a fine boy, a fine young man, and I would be proud to have you stay here, with me. Both you and Tinker. And I want you to know I trust you to think for yourself, and you may come and go as you please.”

Carl looked up with wet eyes. “Thank you, Father Rahl.”

Rahl smiled warmly. “Now, how about some food?”

Carl nodded his approval.

“What would you like? We have anything you could want.”

Carl thought a minute, and a smile came to him. “I like blueberry pie. It’s my favorite.” He cast his eyes down, the smile fading. “But I’m not allowed to have it for breakfast.”

A big grin came to Darken Rahl’s face. He stood. “Blueberry pie it is, then. I’ll go get it and be right back.”

The Master walked off through the garden to a small vine covered door at the side. The door opened for him as he approached, the big arm of Demmin Nass holding it back as Rahl passed through into the dark room. Foul-smelling gruel boiled in an iron kettle hung over a fire in a small forge. The two guards stood silently against the far wall, a sheen of sweat covering them.

“Master Rahl.” Demmin bowed his head. “I trust the boy meets with your approval.”

Rahl licked his finger tips. “He will do nicely.” He smoothed his eyebrows down. “Dish me out a bowl of that slop so it can cool.”

Demmin picked up a pewter bowl and started ladling gruel into it with the wooden spoon from the kettle.

“If everything is all right”—a wicked grin came over his pockmarked face—“then I will be off to pay our respects to Queen Milena.”

“Fine. On the way, stop and tell the dragon I want her.”

Demmin stopped ladling. “She doesn’t like me.”

“She doesn’t like anyone,” Rahl said flatly. “But don’t worry, Demmin, she will not eat you. She knows what I will do if she stretches my patience.”

Demmin started ladling again. “She will ask how soon you will need her.”

Rahl glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “That is none of her concern, and tell her I said so. She is to come when I ask, and wait until I am ready.” He turned and looked out a small slit, off through the foliage, at the side of the boy’s head. “But I want you back here in two weeks.”

“Two weeks, all right.” Demmin set the bowl of gruel down. “But does it really need to take that long with the boy?”

“It does if I want to return from the underworld.” Rahl continued to look out the slit. “It may take longer. Whatever it takes, it takes. I must have his complete trust, the freely given pledge of his unconditional loyalty.”

Demmin hooked a thumb in his belt. “We have another problem.”

Rahl glanced back over his shoulder. “Is that all you do, Demmin? Go around looking for problems?”

“It keeps my head attached to my shoulders.”

Rahl smiled. “So it does, my friend, so it does.” He sighed. “Get it off your tongue, then.”

Demmin shifted his weight to his other foot. “Last night I received reports that the tracer cloud has vanished.”

“Vanished?”

“Well, not so much vanished, as hidden.” He scratched the side of his face. “They said clouds moved in and hid it.”

Rahl laughed. Demmin frowned in confusion.

“Our friend, the old wizard. It sounds like he saw the cloud and has been up to his little tricks to vex me. It was to be expected. This one is not a problem, my friend. It is not important.”

“Master Rahl, that was how you were to find the book. Other than the last box, what could be more important?”

“I did not say the book was unimportant. I said the cloud was unimportant. The book is very important, that is why I would not trust it only to a tracer cloud. Demmin, how do you suppose I hooked the cloud to the Cypher boy?”

“My talents lie in areas other than magic, Master Rahl.”

“True enough, my friend.” Rahl licked his fingertips. “Many years ago—before my father was murdered by that evil wizard, he told me of the boxes of Orden, and the Book of Counted Shadows. He was trying to recover them himself, but he was not well enough studied. He was too much a man of action, of battle.” Rahl looked up into Demmin’s eyes. “Much the same as you, my big friend. He didn’t have the necessary knowledge. But he was wise enough to teach me the value of the head over the sword—how by using your head, you could defeat any number of men. He had the best instructors tutor me. Then he was murdered.” Rahl pounded his fist down on the table. His face turned red. After a moment, he calmed himself. “So I studied harder, for many years, so that I might succeed where my father failed, and return the house of Rahl to its rightful place as rulers of all the lands.”

“You have exceeded your father’s deepest hopes, Master Rahl.”

Rahl smiled his slight smile. He took another look through the slit as he went on. “In my studies, I found where the Book of Counted Shadows lay hidden. It was in the Midlands, on the other side of the boundary, but I was not yet able to travel the underworld, to go there and retrieve it. So I sent a guard beast, to watch over it for me, until the day when I could go myself and liberate it.”

He stood up straight, turning back to Demmin, a dark look on his face. “Before I could get the book, a man named George Cypher killed the guard beast, and stole the book. My book. He took a tooth from the beast as a trophy. A very stupid thing to do, as the beast was sent by magic, my magic”—he lifted an eyebrow—“and I can find my magic.”

Rahl licked his fingers, stroking them over his lips, staring off absently. “After I put the boxes of Orden in play, I went to get the book. That’s when I found it had been stolen. It took time, but I found the man who stole it. Unfortunately, he no longer had the book, and would not tell me where it was.” Rahl smiled up at Demmin. “I made him suffer for not helping me.” Demmin smiled back. “But I did learn that he had given the tooth to his son.”

“So that is how you know the Cypher boy has the book.”

“Yes, Richard Cypher has the Book of Counted Shadows. And he also wears the tooth. That’s how I hooked the tracer cloud to him, by hooking it to the tooth his father gave him, the tooth with my magic. I would have recovered the book before now, but I have had many matters to attend to. I only hooked the cloud to him to help me keep track of him in the meantime. It was a mere convenience. But the matter is as good as settled—I can get the book at any time of my choosing. The cloud is of little importance. I can find him by the tooth.”

Rahl picked up the bowl of gruel, handing it to Demmin. “Taste this, see if it is cool enough.” He arched an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t want to hurt the boy.”

Demmin sniffed the bowl, his nose turning up in distaste. He handed it to one of the guards, who took it without objection and put a spoon of gruel to his lips. He gave a nod.

“Cypher could lose the tooth, or simply throw it away. Then you would not be able to find him, or the book.” Demmin gave a submissive bow of his head as he spoke. “Please forgive me for saying so, Master Rahl, but it would seem to rite you leave a lot to chance.”

“Sometimes, Demmin, I leave things to fate, but never to chance. I have other ways of finding Richard Cypher.”

Demmin took a deep breath, relaxing as he thought about Rahl’s words. “I can see now why you haven’t been worried. I didn’t know all this.”

Rahl frowned up at his loyal commander. “We have scarcely stroked the fur of what you do not know, Demmin. That is why you serve me, and not me you.” His expression softened. “You have been a good friend, Demmin, since we were boys, so I will ease your mind on this subject. I have many pressing matters that require my time, matters of magic that cannot wait. Like this.” His arm went out, indicating the boy. “I know where the book is, and I know my own talents. I can get the book at a time of my convenience. For now, I look upon it as if Richard Cypher is simply keeping it safe for me.” Rahl leaned closer. “Satisfied?”

Demmin diverted his eyes to the ground: “Yes, Master Rahl.” He looked back up. “Please know that I only bring my concerns to you because I want success for you. You are rightfully the master of all the lands. We all need you to guide us. I wish only to be part of delivering you victory. I fear nothing but that I should fail you.”

Darken Rahl put his arm around Demmin’s big shoulders, looking up at the pockmarked face, the streak of black hair through the blond. “That I had more like you, my friend.” He took his arm away and picked up the bowl. “Go now and tell Queen Milena of our alliance. Don’t forget to summon the dragon.” His hint of a smile came back. “And don’t let your little diversions make you late in returning.”

Demmin bowed his head. “Thank you, Master Rahl, for the honor of serving you.” the big man left through a backdoor as Rahl went out the one into the garden. The guards stayed in the small, hot, forge room.

Picking up the feeding horn, Rahl went over to the boy. The feeding horn was a long brass tube, small at the mouthpiece, large at the other end. The big end was held up to shoulder height by two legs, so the gruel would slide down. Rahl set it down so the mouthpiece was in front of Carl.

“What’s this thing?” Carl asked, squinting up at it. “A horn?”

“Yes, that’s right. Very good, Carl. It’s a feeding horn. It’s a part of the ceremony you will be in. The other young men who have helped the people in the past have thought it a most fun way to eat. You put your mouth over the end there, and I serve you by pouring the food in the top.”

Carl was skeptical. “Really?”

“Yes.” Rahl smiled reassuringly. “And guess what, I got you a fresh blueberry pie, still warm out of the oven.”

Carl’s eyes lit up. “Great!” He eagerly put his mouth over the end of the horn.

Rahl passed his hand in a circle over the bowl three times to change the taste, then looked down at Carl. “I had to mash it up so it will go through the feeding horn, I hope that’s all right.”

“I always mash it up with my fork,” Carl said with a grin, then put his mouth back over the horn.

Rahl poured a little gruel into the end of the horn. When it reached Carl’s mouth, he ate it eagerly.

“It’s great! The best I ever had!”

“I’m so pleased,” Rahl said with a shy smile. “It’s my own recipe. I feared it wouldn’t be as good as your mother’s.”

“It’s better. Can I have more?”

“Of course, my son. With Father Rahl, there is always more.”