Wizard's First Rule

Chapter 25

The rain held off for the time being, but the sky remained thickly overcast, as it had been for almost as long as she could remember. Sitting alone on a small bench against the wall of another building, Kahlan smiled to herself as she watched Richard construct the roof of the spirit house. Sweat ran off his bare back, over the swell of his muscles, over the scars where the gar’s claws had raked his back.

Richard was working with Savidlin and some other men, teaching them. He had told her he didn’t need her to translate, that working with one’s hands was universal, and if they had to partly figure it out themselves, they would understand it better and have more pride in what they had done.

Savidlin kept jabbering questions Richard didn’t understand. Richard just smiled and explained things in words the others couldn’t understand, using his hands in a sign language he invented as needed. Sometimes the others thought it hilarious, and all would end up laughing. They had accomplished a lot for men who didn’t understand each other.

At first, Richard hadn’t told her what he was doing—he just smiled and said she would have to wait and see. First, he took blocks of clay, about one by two feet, and made wavelike forms. Half the block’s face was a concave trough, like a gutter, the other half along rounded hump. He hollowed them out and asked the women who worked the pottery to fire them.

Next, he attached two uniform strips of wood to a flat board, one to each side, and put a lump of soft clay into the center. Using a rolling pin, he flattened the clay, the two strips of wood acting as a thickness gauge. Slicing off the excess at the top and bottom of the board, he ended up with slabs of clay of a uniform thickness and size, which he draped and smoothed over the forms the women had fired for him. He used a stick to poke a hole in the two upper corners.

The women followed him around, inspecting his work closely, so he enlisted their help. Soon he had a whole crew of smiling, chatting women making the slabs and forming them, showing him how to do it better. When the slabs were dry, they could be pulled from the forms. While these were being fired, the women, by then buzzing with curiosity, made more. When they asked how many they should make, he said to just keep making them.

Richard left them to their new work and went to the spirit house and began making a fireplace out of the mud bricks that were used for the buildings. Savidlin followed him around, trying to learn everything.

“You’re making clay roofing tiles, aren’t you?” Kahlan had asked him.

“Yes,” he had said with a smile.

“Richard, I have seen thatched roofs that do not leak.”

“So have I.”

“Then why not simply make their grass roofs over properly, so they don’t leak?”

“Do you know how to thatch roofs?”

“No.”

“Neither do I. But I know how to make tile roofs, so that’s what I have to do.”

While he was building the fireplace, and showing Savidlin how to do it, he had other men strip the grass off the roof, leaving a skeleton of poles that ran the length of the building, poles that had been used to tie down each course of grass. Now they would be used to secure the clay tiles.

The tiles spanned from one row of poles to the next, the bottom edge laid on the first pole, the top edge laid on the second, with the holes in the tiles used to lash them tight to the poles. The second course of tiles was laid so its bottom edge overlapped the top of the first, covering the holes that tied the tiles down, and owing to their wavelike form, each interlocked with the one before. Because the clay tiles were heavier than the grass, Richard had first reinforced the poles from underneath with supports running up the pitch of the roof, with cross members bracing them.

It seemed as if half the village was engaged in the construction. The Bird Man came by from time to time to watch the work, pleased with what he saw. Sometimes he sat with Kahlan, saying nothing, sometimes he talked with her, but mostly he just watched. Occasionally he slipped in a question about Richard’s character.

Most of the time while Richard was working, Kahlan was alone. The women weren’t interested in her offers of help—the men kept their distance, watching her out of the corners of their eyes—and the young girls were too shy to actually bring themselves to talk to her. Sometimes she found them standing, staring at her. When she would ask their names, they would only give their shy smiles, and run away. The little children wanted to approach, but their mothers kept them well clear. She wasn’t allowed to help with the cooking, or the making of the tiles. Her approaches were politely turned down with the excuse that she was an honored guest.

She knew better. She was a Confessor. They were afraid of her.

Kahlan was used to the attitude, the looks, the whispers. It no longer bothered her, as it had when she was younger. She remembered her mother smiling at her, telling her it was just the way people were, and it could not be changed, that she must not let it bring her to bitterness—and that she would come to be above it someday. She had thought she was beyond caring, that it didn’t matter to her, that she had accepted who she was, the way life was, that she could have none of what other people had, and that it was all right. That was before she met Richard: before he became her friend, accepted her, talked to her, treated her like a normal person. Cared about her.

But then, Richard didn’t know what she was.

Savidlin, at least, had been friendly to her. He had taken her and Richard into his small home with him, his wife, Weselan, and their young boy, Siddin, and had given them a place to sleep on the floor. Even if it was because Savidlin had insisted, Weselan had accepted Kahlan into her home with gracious hospitality, and did not show coldness when she had the chance, unseen by her husband, to do so. At night, after it was too dark to work, Siddin would sit wide-eyed on the floor with Kahlan as she told him stories of kings and castles, of far-off lands, and of fierce beasts. He would crawl into her lap and beg for more stories, and give her hugs. It brought tears to her eyes now to think of how Weselan let him do that, without pulling him away, how she had the kindness not to show her fear. When Siddin went to sleep, she and Richard would tell Savidlin and Weselan some of the stories of their journey from Westland. Savidlin was one who respected success in struggle, and listened with eyes almost as wide as his son’s had been.

The Bird Man had seemed pleased with the new roof. Shaking his head slowly, he had smiled to himself when he had seen enough to figure out how it would work. But the other six elders were less impressed. To them, a little rain dripping in once in a while seemed hardly enough to become concerned about—it had done so their whole life and they were resentful of an outsider coming in and showing them how stupid they had been. Someday, when one of the elders died, Savidlin would become one of the six. Kahlan wished he were one now, for they could use such a strong ally among the elders.

Kahlan worried about what would happen when the roof was finished, about what would happen if the elders refused to ask to have Richard named one of the Mud People. Richard had not given her his promise that he wouldn’t hurt them. Even though he was not the kind of person to do something like that, he was the Seeker. More was at stake than the lives of a few of these people. Much more. The Seeker had to take that into account. She had to take that into account.

Kahlan didn’t know if killing the last man of the quad had changed him, made him harder. Learning to kill made you weigh matters differently—made it easier to kill again. That was something she knew all too well.

Kahlan wished so much he had not come to her aid when he had—wished he had not killed that man. She didn’t have the heart to tell him it was unnecessary. She could have handled it herself. After all, one man alone was hardly a mortal danger to her. That was why Rahl always sent four men after Confessors: one to be touched by her power, the other three to kill him and the Confessor. Sometimes only one was left, but that was enough after a Confessor had spent her power. But one alone? He had almost no chance. Even if he was big, she was faster. When he swung his sword, she would have simply jumped out of the way. Before he could have brought it up again, she would have touched him, and he would have been hers. That would have been the end of him.

Kahlan knew there was no way she could ever tell Richard that there had been no need for him to kill. What made it doubly bad was that he had killed for her, had thought he was saving her.

Kahlan knew another quad was probably already on its way. They were relentless. The man Richard had killed knew he was going to die, knew he didn’t stand a chance, alone, against a Confessor, but he came anyway. They would not stop, did not know the meaning of it, never thought of anything but their objective.

And, they enjoyed what they did to Confessors.

Even though she tried not to, she couldn’t help remembering Dennee. Whenever she thought of the quads, she couldn’t help remembering what they had done to Dennee.

Before Kahlan had became a woman, her mother had been stricken with a terrible sickness, one no healer was able to turn back. She had died all too quickly of the awful wasting disease. Confessors were a close sisterhood—when trouble struck one, it struck all. Dennee’s mother took in Kahlan and comforted her. The two girls, best friends, had been thrilled that they were to be sisters, as they called themselves from then on, and it helped ease the pain of losing her mother.

Dennee was a frail girl, as frail as her mother. She did not have the strength of power that Kahlan did, and over time, Kahlan became her protector, guardian, shielding her from situations that required more force than she could bring from within. After its use, Kahlan could recover the strength of her power in an hour or two, but for Dennee, it sometimes took several days.

On one fateful day, Kahlan had been away for a short time, taking a confession from a murderer who was to be hanged, a mission that was to have been Dennee’s. Kahlan had gone in her sister’s place because she wanted to spare Dennee the torment of the task. Dennee hated taking confessions, hated seeing the look in their eyes. Sometimes she would cry for days after. She never asked Kahlan to go in her stead, she wouldn’t, but the look of relief on her face when Kahlan told her she would do it was words enough. Kahlan, too, disliked taking confessions, but she was stronger, wiser, more reflective. She understood, and accepted, that being a Confessor was her power—it was who she was, and so it didn’t hurt her the way it did Dennee. Kahlan had always been able to place her head before her heart. And she would have done any dirty job in Dennee’s place.

On the trail home, Kahlan heard soft whimpers from the brush at the side of the road, moans of mortal pain. To her horror, she discovered Dennee, thrown there, discarded.

“I was . . . coming to meet you . . . I wanted to walk back with you,” Dennee had said as Kahlan cradled the girl’s head in her lap. “A quad caught me. I’m sorry. I got one of them, Kahlan. I touched him. I got one of them. You would have been proud of me.”

In shock, Kahlan held Dennee’s head, comforted her, telling her it would be all right.

“Please, Kahlan . . . pull my dress down for me?” Her voice sounded as if it were coming from a faraway place. Wet and weak. “My arms don’t work.”

Past panic, Kahlan saw why. Dennee’s arms had been brutally broken. They lay useless at her sides, bent in places where they shouldn’t be bent. Blood trickled from one ear. Kahlan pulled what was left of the blood-soaked dress over her sister, covering her as best she could. Her head spun with the horror of what the men had done. The choking feeling in her throat wouldn’t let words come out. She strained to hold back her screams, fearful of frightening her sister any more. She knew she had to be strong for her this one last time.

Dennee whispered Kahlan’s name, beckoning her closer. “Darken Rahl did this to me . . . he wasn’t here, but he did this to me.”

“I know,” Kahlan said with all the tenderness she could gather. “Lie still, it will be all right. I will take you home.” She knew it was a lie, knew Dennee would not be all right.

“Please, Kahlan,” she whispered, “kill him. Stop this madness. I wish I were strong enough. Kill him for me.”

Anger boiled up in her. It was the first time Kahlan had ever wanted to use her power to hurt someone, to kill someone. She had gone to the brink of feeling something she had never felt before or since. A terrible wrath, a force from deep within—a frightening birthright. With shaking fingers, she stroked Dennee’s bloody hair.

“I will,” she promised.

Dennee relaxed back in her arms. Kahlan took off the bone necklace and placed it around her sister’s neck.

“I want you to have this. It will help protect you.”

“Thank you, Kahlan.” She smiled, tears rolling from her wide eyes, down the pale skin of her cheeks. “But nothing can protect me now. Save yourself. Don’t let them get you. They enjoy it. They hurt me so much . . . and they enjoyed it. They laughed at me.”

Kahlan closed her eyes against the sickening sight of her sister’s pain, rocked her in her arms, and kissed her forehead.

“Remember me, Kahlan. Remember the fun we had.”

“Bad memories?”

Kahlan’s head snapped up, jolted out of her thoughts. The Bird Man stood beside her, having come up silently, unnoticed. She nodded, looking away from his gaze.

“Please forgive me for showing weakness,” she said, clearing her throat as her fingers wiped the tears from her face.

He regarded her with soft brown eyes and sat lightly beside her on the short bench.

“It is not a weakness, child, to be a victim.”

She wiped her nose on the back of her hand and swallowed back the wail that was trying to fight its way out of her throat.

She felt so alone. She so missed Dennee. The Bird Man put his arm tenderly around her shoulder and gave her a short, fatherly hug.

“I was thinking of my sister, Dennee. She was murdered by order of Darken Rahl. I found her . . . She died in my arms . . . They hurt her so bad. Rahl is not content to kill. He must see to it that people suffer before they die.”

He nodded his understanding. “Though we be different peoples, we hurt the same.” With his thumb, he brushed a tear from her cheek, then reached into his pocket. “Hold out your hand.”

She did as he asked, and he poured some small seeds in it. Surveying the sky, he blew the whistle that made no sound, the one that hung from his neck, and shortly a small, bright yellow bird lit with a flutter upon his finger. He placed his hand next to hers so it could climb over and eat the seeds. Kahlan could feel its tiny little feet gripping her finger while it pecked away at the seeds. The bird was so bright and pretty it made her smile. The Bird Man’s leathery face smiled with her. When it finished eating, the bird fluffed itself up and sat contentedly, without fear.

“I thought you might like to gaze upon a small vision of beauty among the ugliness.”

“Thank you,” she smiled.

“Do you wish to keep him?”

Kahlan watched the bird a moment longer, its bright yellow feathers, the way it cocked its head, and then cast it into the air.

“I have no right,” she said, watching the bird flit away. “It should be free.”

A small smile brightened the Bird Man’s face as he gave a single nod. Leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees, he looked over at the spirit house. The work was almost done, maybe one more day. Long, silver-gray hair slipped off his shoulders and down around his face, hiding his expression from her. Kahlan sat awhile and watched Richard working on the roof. She ached to have him hold her right now, and hurt all the more because she knew she couldn’t allow it.

“You wish to kill him, this man, Darken Rahl?” he asked without turning to her.

“Very much.”

“And is your power enough?”

“No,” she admitted.

“And does the Seeker’s blade have enough power to kill him?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

The clouds were getting darker as the day was drawing to an end. Light rain was beginning to fall once more, and the gloom among the buildings was deepening.

“As you said yourself, it is dangerous to be with a Confessor who is in great want of something. I think this is also true of the Seeker. Maybe even more so.”

She paused a moment, then spoke softly. “I do not wish to put words to what Darken Rahl did with his own hands to Richard’s father—it would make you fear the Seeker all the more. But know that Richard would also have let the bird fly free.”

The Bird Man seemed to laugh without sound. “You and I are too smart for these tricks with words. Let us speak without them.” He sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “I have tried to tell the other elders what a wonderful thing the Seeker is doing for our people, how good it is that he is teaching us these things. They are not so sure, as they are set in their ways and can be stubborn, sometimes almost beyond my tolerance. I fear what you and the Seeker will do to my people if the elders say no.”

“Richard has given you his word that he will not harm your people.”

“Words are not as strong as a father’s blood. Or as strong as a sister’s.”

Kahlan leaned back against the wall, pulling her cloak around her, shutting out the wet breeze. “I am a Confessor because I was born so. I did not seek the power. I would have chosen otherwise, would have chosen to be like other people. But I must live with what I was given, and make the best of it. Despite what you may think of the Confessors, despite what most people think, we are here to serve the people, to serve the truth. I love all the people of the Midlands, and would give my life to protect them, to keep them free. That is all I wish to do. And yet I am alone.”

“Richard keeps his eyes on you, he watches over you, cares for you.”

She looked over out of the corner of her eye. “Richard is from Westland. He does not know what I am. If he knew . . .”

The Bird Man lifted his eyebrow at hearing this. “For one who serves the truth . . .”

“Please do not remind me. It is trouble of my own making, with consequences I must bear, and fear greatly. And that only proves my words. The Mud People live in a land distant from the other peoples. That has given them the luxury of being out of reach of trouble in the past. This trouble has long arms—it will reach you. The elders can argue against helping all they want, but they will not be able to argue against the fangs of truth. All of your people will pay the price if these few put pride before wisdom.”

The Bird Man listened carefully, respectfully. Kahlan turned to him.

“I cannot honestly say at this moment what I will do if the elders say no. It is not my wish to harm your people, but to save them from the pain I have seen. I have seen what Darken Rahl does to people. I know what he will do. If I knew I could somehow stop Rahl by killing Savidlin’s precious little boy, I would do it without hesitation, with my bare hands if need be, because as much as the doing of it would wound my heart, I know I would be saving all the other precious little children. It is a terrifying burden I carry, the burden of the warrior. You are one who has killed other men to save others, and I know you take no joy in it. Darken Rahl takes joy in it, believe me. Please, help me save your people without hurting any of them.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I want so much not to hurt anyone.”

Tenderly he drew her to him and let her sob against his shoulder. “The people of the Midlands are fortunate to have you as their warrior.”

“If we can find the thing we seek, and keep it from Darken Rahl until the first day of winter, he will die. No one else will have to be hurt. But we must have help to find it.”

“The first day of winter. Child, that is not much time. This season withers away, the next will be here soon.”

“I do not make the rules of life, honored elder. If you know the secret to stopping time, please tell me, that I might make it so.”

He sat quietly, without an answer. “I have watched you among our people before. You have always respected our wishes, never acted to bring us harm. It is the same with the Seeker. I am on your side, child, I will do my best to win over the others. I only hope my words to them will be enough. I wish my people to come to no harm.”

“It is not the Seeker or me you must fear if they say no,” she said as she lay against his shoulder, staring off at nothing in particular. “It is the one from D’Hara. He will come like a storm and destroy you. You have no chance against him. He will butcher you.”

That night in the warmth of Savidlin’s home, sitting on the floor, Kahlan told Siddin the story of the fisherman who turned into a fish and lived in the lake, cleverly stealing bait from hooks without ever being caught. It was an old story her mother had told her when she was as little as he. The wonder in his face made her remember her own excitement when she had first heard it.

Later, while Weselan cooked sweet roots, the pleasant aroma mingling with the smoke, Savidlin showed Richard how to carve proper arrow points for different animals, harden them in the coals of the cooking fire, and apply poison to their tips. Kahlan lay on a skin on the floor with Siddin curled up in a ball, snuggled asleep against her stomach as she stroked his dark hair. She had to swallow back the lump in her throat as she thought about how she had told the Bird Man she would even be willing to kill this little boy.

She wished she could take back those words. She hated that it was true, but wished she had not put words to it. Richard hadn’t seen her talking to the Bird Man, and she did not tell him of their conversation. She saw no point in worrying him—what would happen would happen. She only hoped the elders would listen to reason.

The next day was windy and exceptionally warm, with occasional periods of driving rain. By early afternoon a crowd had gathered at the spirit house as the roof was completed and a fire started in the new fireplace. Cries of excitement and wonder rose from the people when the first wisps of smoke emerged from the chimney. They peeked in the doorway to see the fire burning without filling the room with smoke. The idea of living without smoke in their eyes seemed as thrilling as living without water dripping on their heads. A wind-driven rain like this was the worst. It went right through the grass roofs.

Everyone watched with glee as water ran off the tiles of the roof and none went inside. Richard was in a good mood as he climbed down. The roof was finished, it didn’t leak, the fireplace drew well, and everyone was joyous because of what he had done for them. The men who had helped were proud of what they had accomplished, what they had learned. They acted as guides, excitedly showing off the finer points of the construction.

Ignoring the onlookers, stopping only to strap on his sword, Richard headed for the center of the village, where the elders waited under one of the open pole buildings. Kahlan fell in to his left, Savidlin to the right, intending to stand up for him. The crowd watched him go, then swept behind, spilling around the buildings, laughing and shouting. Richard’s jaw was set tight.

“Do you think you need to take the sword?” she asked.

He looked to her as he continued his long strides. He smiled crookedly. Rainwater ran from his wet, matted hair. “I am the Seeker.”

She gave him a disapproving look. “Richard, don’t play games with me. You know what I mean.”

His smile widened. “I’m hoping it will serve as a reminder of why they should do the right thing.”

Kahlan had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach, that things were spinning beyond her control, that Richard was going to do something terrible if the elders turned him down. He had been working hard, from when he woke until he fell into bed, the whole time with the single thought that he would win them over. He had won over most people, but they were not the people who counted. She was afraid he hadn’t given rational thought to what he would do if the word was no.

Toffalar stood tall and proud at the center of the leaking pole structure. The rain dripping around him splashed in little puddles on the floor. Surin, Caldus, Arbrin, Breginderin, and Hajanlet stood to his sides. They each wore their coyote hides, something Kahlan had learned they did only when official events were taking place. It seemed as if the whole village was out. They spread around the open area, sitting under roofs of the open buildings, filling windows, all watching as work stopped and they waited to hear the elders speak of their future.

Kahlan caught sight of the Bird Man standing among some armed men to the side of a pole that held up the roof over the elders’ heads. When their eyes met, her heart sank. She grabbed the sleeve of Richard’s shirt, leaning toward him.

“Don’t forget, no matter what these men say, we must get out of here if we are to have a chance of stopping Rahl. We are two, they are many, sword or no sword.”

He ignored her. “Honored elders,” he started in a loud, clear voice. She translated as he spoke. “It is my privilege to report to you that the spirit house has a new roof that does not leak. It has also been my privilege to teach your people how to build these roofs so they may improve the other buildings of your village. I did this out of respect for your people, and I expect nothing in return. I only hope you are pleased.”

The six stood grim-faced as Kahlan translated. There was a long silence when she finished.

At last Toffalar spoke in a determined voice. “We are not pleased.”

Richard’s expression turned dark when she told him Toffalar’s words. “Why?”

“A little rain does not melt the strength of the Mud People. Your roof may not leak, but only because it is clever. Clever as the ways of outsiders. They are not our ways. It would only be the beginning of outsiders telling us what to do. We know what you want. You want to be named one of us so we will call a gathering for you. Just another clever trick of an outsider to get from us what will serve you. You wish to draw us into your fight. We say no!” He turned to Savidlin. “The roof of the spirit house will be put back to the way it was. The way our honored ancestors wanted it.”

Savidlin was livid, but he did not move. The elder, a slight smile on his pinched lips, turned back to Richard.

“Now that your tricks have failed,” he said with disdain “would you think to harm our people, Richard With The Temper?” It was a taunt, aimed to discredit Richard.

Richard looked as dangerous as she had ever seen him. His glare turned briefly to the Bird Man, then back to the six under the shelter. She held her breath. The crowd was dead quiet. He turned slowly to them.

“I will not harm your people,” he said in an even voice. There was a collective sigh of relief when Kahlan spoke his words. When it was quiet again, he went on. “But I will mourn for what is going to happen to them.” Without turning back to the elders, his arm slowly lifted as he pointed to them. “For you six, I will not mourn. I do not mourn the death of fools.” His words came out like poison. The crowd gasped.

Toffalar’s face twisted into bitter rage. Whispers and fear spread through the onlookers. Kahlan glanced over to the Bird Man. He seemed to have aged years. She could see in his heavy brown eyes how sorry he was. For a moment their eyes locked and they shared the grief of what they both knew was going to sweep over all their lives—then his gaze sank to the ground.

In a sudden flash of movement, Richard spun toward the elders, pulling free the Sword of Truth. It was so fast almost everyone, including the elders, flinched back a step in shock and then froze in place, the six faces reflecting the fear that kept them paralyzed. The crowd began creeping back—the Bird Man had not moved. Kahlan feared Richard’s anger, and understood it, too. She decided not to interfere, but to do what was necessary to protect the Seeker, whatever he did next. Not even a whisper was uttered—the only sound in the dead silence was the distinctive ringing of steel. With his teeth gritted, Richard pointed the glinting sword at the elders, its tip inches from their faces.

“Have the courage to do one last thing for your people.” Richard’s tone sent a chill through her. Kahlan translated out of reflex, too transfixed to do anything else. Then, unbelievably, he turned the sword around, holding it by the point, holding the hilt out to the elders. “Take my sword,” he commanded. “Use it to kill the women and children. It will be more merciful than what Darken Rahl will do to them. Have the courage to spare them the torture they will suffer. Give them the charity of a quick death.” His countenance withered their expressions.

Kahlan could hear women starting to cry softly as they clutched their children. The elders, in the grip of a terror they hadn’t expected, did not move. At last their eyes fled from Richard’s glare. When it was clear to all they did not have the courage to take the sword, Richard painstakingly slid it back into its scabbard, as if slowly extinguishing their last chance at salvation—an unequivocal gesture that the elders had forfeited forever the aid of the Seeker. The finality of it was frightening.

Then at last he broke his hot glare at them and turned to her, his face changing. When she saw the look in his eyes, she swallowed hard. It was a look of heartache for a people he had come to love, but could not help. All eyes stayed on him as he closed the distance between them and took her gently by the arm.

“Let’s collect our things and get moving,” he said softly. “We’ve wasted a lot of time. I only hope it wasn’t too much.” His gray eyes were wet. “I’m sorry, Kahlan . . . that I chose wrong.”

“You did not choose wrong, Richard—they did.” Her anger at the elders had a finality to it, too, a door closing on any hope for these people. She cut off her concern for them—they were the walking dead. They had been offered a chance, and had chosen their own fate.

When they passed Savidlin, the two men locked arms for a moment without looking at each other. No one else made a move to leave—they stayed and watched the two outsiders walk quickly among them. As they passed, a few reached out and touched Richard, he returning the wordless sympathy with a squeeze of his hand on their arms, unable to bear meeting their eyes.

They gathered up their things from Savidlin’s house, stuffing their cloaks into the packs. Neither spoke. Kahlan felt empty, drained. When their eyes met at last, they suddenly came together in a wordless embrace, a shared grief for their new friends, for what they both knew would happen to them. They had gambled with the only thing they had—time. And lost.

When they separated, Kahlan put the last of her things in the pack and closed the flap. Richard pulled his cloak back out. She watched as he pushed his hand inside and rummaged around, an urgency to his search. He went to the doorway for light, and looked inside as he moved items roughly about. The arm holding the pack lowered and his face came up to hers, alarm in his expression.

“The night stone is gone.”

The way he said it frightened her. “Maybe you left it out somewhere . . .”

“No. I never took it out of my pack. Never.”

Kahlan didn’t understand why he seemed so panicked about it. “Richard, we don’t need it now, we are through the pass. I’m sure Adie will forgive its loss. We have more important things to worry about.”

He took a step closer to her. “You don’t understand. We have to find it.”

“Why?” she frowned.

“Because I think that thing can wake the dead.” Her mouth fell open. “Kahlan, I’ve been thinking about it. Do you remember how nervous Adie was when she gave it to me, how she kept looking around until it was put away? And when did the shadow things in the pass start coming for us? After I took it out. Remember?”

Her eyes were wide. “But, even if someone else used it, she said it would only work for you.”

“She was talking about it giving off light. She said nothing about waking the dead. I can’t believe Adie wouldn’t warn us.”

Kahlan looked away, thinking. Her eyes closed as a wave of realization swept over her. “Yes, she did, Richard. She warned you with a sorceress’s riddle. I’m sorry, I never gave it a thought. That is the way of a sorceress. She will not always come right out with what she knows, with a warning. She will sometimes put it in the form of a riddle.”

Richard turned to the door, glaring out. “I can’t believe it. The world is being sucked into oblivion, and that old woman gives us riddles.” He pounded his fist against the doorframe. “She should have told us!”

“Richard, maybe she had a reason, maybe it was the only way.”

He stared out the door, thinking. “If you have need enough. That’s what she said. Like water. It is valuable only under the right conditions, that to a drowning man it is of little worth and great trouble. That was how she was trying to warn us. Great trouble.” He turned back to the room, picking up the pack again, taking another look inside. “It was here last night, I saw it. What could have happened to it?” Together they looked up, their eyes meeting. “Siddin,” they both said at once.