Wizard's First Rule

Chapter 46

It was a frustrating day. Scarlet flew low over thick woods as they both scanned the roads and trails. Richard was discouraged that they had seen no sign of his friends. He was so exhausted that he could hardy hold on to Scarlet’s spikes as she flew him over the land, searching, but he didn’t want to rest—he had to find Zedd and Kahlan. On top of being tired, he had a terrific headache from concentrating his eyesight so. He forgot his fatigue, his lack of sleep, every time they spotted people on the ground, only to have to tell Scarlet each time that it wasn’t his friends.

The dragon went low, skimming the tops of pine trees at the edge of a field. She let out a piercing scream that made Richard jump and banked into a steep turn that made him dizzy. A buck broke into a run across the field, flushed from cover by the dragon’s roar. Building speed in a quick dive, she swooped into the field. Without effort, Scarlet snatched the deer from the tall brown grass, snapping its neck in the process. Richard felt intimidated by how easy it was for her to take the prey.

Scarlet pulled higher into the air, into the golden light of the setting sun, among the puffy clouds. Richard felt as if his heart were sinking with the sun. He knew Scarlet was heading back to her egg. He wanted to tell her to search some more, while there was still light, but he knew she had to get back to her nest, her egg.

In near darkness, Scarlet landed on the ledge of rock, waiting for him to climb down over her red scales before she hurried to her egg. Richard went to one side and curled up in his cloak, shivering with the cold.

After she checked her egg, cooed to it, and warmed it with fire, she turned to see about the buck. She paused to say to Richard. “You don’t look like you could eat much. I guess I could let you have some.”

“Will you cook it for me? I don’t eat raw meat.”

She said she would, so he cut himself a chunk, stuck it on the end of his sword, and, holding it up, turned his head from the heat while she blew a thin stream of flame over it. Richard returned to the side, eating his meal, trying not to watch as the dragon tore the buck apart with fang and claw, tossing great chunks in the air and swallowing with hardly a chew.

“If we don’t find your friends, what will you do?”

Richard swallowed. “We had better find them, that’s all.”

“The first day of winter is four days from tomorrow.”

With a finger and thumb, he pulled off a small strip of meat. “I know.”

“For a dragon, it is better to die than be ruled.”

Richard looked up at her as she swished her tail. “If choosing for yourself, maybe, but what of others? You chose to be ruled, to save your egg, to give it a chance at life.”

Scarlet grunted without answering and turned once more to her egg, stroking her talons over it.

Richard knew that if he couldn’t find the last box and stop Rahl, he would have to save everyone else’s life, he would have to spare Kahlan the torture of a Mord-Sith—he would have to agree to help Darken Rahl open the right box. Then Kahlan could live the kind of life a Confessor was used to.

It was a desperately depressing thought—that he could help Darken Rahl gain unchallenged power over everyone. But what choice did he have? Maybe what Shota said was right. Maybe Zedd and Kahlan would try to kill him. Maybe he should be killed for even thinking of helping Darken Rahl. If he had to choose, though, he would not let Kahlan be hurt by a Mord-Sith. He would have to help Rahl.

Richard lay back down, too sick at his choices to finish his meal. He put his head against his pack, pulling the cloak around himself, and thought about Kahlan. He was asleep in moments.

The next day, Scarlet took him into D’Hara, over where she said the boundary used to be, searching the roads and trails. Thin, high clouds filtered the sunlight. Richard hoped his friends wouldn’t be this close to Darken Rahl, but if Zedd had sought the night stone before Rahl had destroyed it, and knew he had been at the People’s Palace, they would be heading there. The dragon swept low over people they saw, giving them a fright, but they weren’t the ones he sought.

Near midday, Richard saw them. Zedd, Chase, and Kahlan were riding horses on a trail near the main road. He yelled at Scarlet to take them down. The dragon rolled into a banking turn, diving toward the ground, a streak of red. The three riders saw them coming, stopped, and dismounted.

Scarlet spread her crimson wings, stopping their descent, and set them in a clearing next to the trail. Richard jumped off, running as he hit the ground. The three stood holding the reins to their horses. Chase held a mace in his other hand. Seeing Kahlan overwhelmed Richard with elation. Every memory of her was suddenly true to life in front of him. They stood still as he ran toward them, down a short, steep decline in the trail. Richard watched the ground so he wouldn’t trip over roots.

When he looked up, wizard’s fire was wailing toward him. He froze in surprise. What was Zedd doing? The ball of liquid fire was bigger than any he had seen before. It illuminated the trees all around with its blue and yellow flame, shrieking as it advanced. Richard watched, wide-eyed, as it came, tumbling, twisting, expanding.

With the fright of what was about to happen, Richard’s hand went to the hilt, feeling the word Truth press into the flesh of his palm. With a strong pull, he drew the sword, sending metallic ringing into the air. Released, the magic raced instantly through him. The fire was almost there. As he had done when he had been with Shota, he held the sword up, gripping the hilt in one hand, the point in the other, arms locked, holding it before him as a shield. Wrath took him, at the thought of Zedd betraying them. It couldn’t be Zedd.

The impact drove him back a step. Heat and fire was all around him. The anger of the wizard’s fire exploded, scattering back into the air from where it came, and then it was gone.

“Zedd! What are you doing? Are you crazy! It’s me, Richard!” He advanced, angry. Angry that Zedd would do this, angry from the magic of the sword. The heat of his rage pounded through his veins.

Zedd, in his simple robes, looking as thin and frail as ever, stood his ground. Chase, bristling weapons, looking as dangerous as ever, stood his. Zedd took Kahlan’s arm in his sticklike hand and pulled her protectively behind himself. Chase started forward, the look in his eyes as dark as his clothes.

“Chase,” Zedd cautioned in a low voice, “don’t be a fool. Stay where you are.”

Richard looked from one grim face to another. “What’s the matter with you three? What are you doing here? I told you not to come after me! Darken Rahl has sent men to capture you. You must turn back.”

Zedd, his white hair in its usual disarray, turned a little to Kahlan, but kept his eyes on Richard. “Do you know what he’s saying?”

Kahlan shook her head, pulling some of her long hair back. “No. I think it’s high D’Haran—I don’t speak high D’Haran.”

“High D’Haran? What are you talking about? What are . . .”

With a cold wave of understanding, he remembered. It was the enemy web Darken Rahl had put on him. They didn’t recognize him. They thought he was their worst enemy. They thought he was Darken Rahl.

Another thought came to him. Bumps ran up his arms to the back of his neck. Zedd, at least, thought he was Darken Rahl, and had used wizard’s fire against him. Zedd wasn’t the traitor. That left only Kahlan. Could it be she saw him for who he really was?

Choked with fear at the thought, he advanced toward her as his stare locked on her green eyes, Kahlan’s back stiffened, her hands at her sides, her head held up. Richard recognized the stance—it was one of warning. Serious warning. He knew what her touch would do to him. He remembered Shota’s warning that he might beat Zedd, but that Kahlan would not fail.

Zedd tried to stay between them. Richard hardly noticed him as he pushed the old man out of the way. Zedd came up behind him and put his thin fingers on the back of Richard’s neck. They gave a pain something like the Agiel had given. Fire burned through the nerves of his arms, and all the way down his legs. Before all the time spent at the mercy of Denna, the wizard’s fingers would have paralyzed him with pain. But Denna had spent a long time training him, forcing him to tolerate pain, to deal with this much and more. Zedd was a match for what Denna had been able to do, but Richard pulled resolve from deep within himself, and put the pain from his mind, letting the anger of the sword take its place. He gave Zedd a look of warning. The wizard didn’t back off. Richard gave him another shove. He pushed harder than he intended to, and Zedd tumbled to the ground. Kahlan stood frozen in front of him.

“Who do you see me as?” the Seeker whispered. “Darken Rahl, or Richard?”

She trembled slightly, seemingly unable to move. Richard’s eye was caught by something, his view flicked down for an instant, and he saw that he had the sword point at her throat, at the hollow of her neck. He hadn’t been aware of putting it there—it was as if the magic had taken it there of its own accord. But he knew that wasn’t true. He had put it there. That was why she was trembling. A drop of blood grew against her skin, under the sword’s point. If she was the traitor, he had to kill her.

The blade had turned white. So had Kahlan’s face.

“Who do you see?” he whispered again.

“What have you done to Richard?” Her whisper was ragged with rage. “If you have harmed him, I swear I will kill you.”

He remembered the way she had kissed him. It was not the kiss of a traitor, it was a kiss of love. He realized there was no way he could kill her, even if his fear was true. But he knew now it wasn’t. With tears in his eyes, he slid the sword into its scabbard.

“I’m sorry, Kahlan. May the good spirits forgive me for what I almost did. I know you can’t understand me, but I’m sorry. Darken Rahl is using the Wizard’s First Rule on me, trying to turn us against one another. He is trying to make me believe a lie, and I almost did. I know you and Zedd would never betray me. Forgive me for thinking it.”

“What do you want?” Zedd asked. “We can’t understand you.”

“Zedd . . .” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “How can I make you understand?” He grabbed the wizard’s robes in his fists. “Zedd, where’s the box? I have to have the box before Rahl finds it! We can’t let him get it!”

Zedd frowned. Richard knew this was doing no good—none of them could understand him. He went to the horses and started searching through the packs.

“Look all you want, you’ll never find it,” the wizard smiled. “We don’t have the box. You are going to die in four days.”

Richard sensed something move behind him. He spun around—Chase had the mace raised. A stream of fire shot past, between them. Scarlet kept the fire up until Chase stepped back.

“Some friends you have,” the dragon grumbled.

“Darken Rahl put a wizard’s web on me. They don’t recognize me.”

“Well, if you stay with them much longer, they are going to kill you.”

Richard realized that they wouldn’t have the box. Not if they were coming to D’Hara to save him. They wouldn’t have risked taking the box to Rahl. The three of them silently watched him and the dragon.

“Scarlet, say something to them, see if they can understand you.”

The dragon’s head swept closer to the three. “This is not Darken Rahl, but your friend, hidden by a wizard’s web. Can any of you understand me?”

The three stood mute. Aggravated, Richard stepped closer to Zedd.

“Zedd, please try to understand me. Don’t seek the night stone. If you do, Rahl will trap you in the underworld. Try to understand!”

None of the three grasped a word he was saying. He had to get the box first—then he would come back and protect them from the men Rahl had sent. Reluctantly, he climbed back up onto Scarlet. She kept a wary eye to the three, puffing a little smoke and flame in warning. Richard wanted desperately to stay with Kahlan, but he couldn’t—he had to get the box first.

“Let’s get out of here. We have to go find my brother.”

With a roar of flame, warning the three to stay back, Scarlet took to the air. Richard held her spikes tight. Her red, scaled neck stretched out as she climbed into the sky among the drifting white clouds, weaving between them. He watched his three friends watching back until he could see them no more. He felt desperately helpless. He wished he could have seen Kahlan’s smile, just once.

“Now what?” Scarlet asked over her shoulder.

“We have to find my brother. He should be with an army of about a thousand men, somewhere between here and the Rang’Shada. They shouldn’t be as hard to find.”

“They couldn’t understand my words—the web must affect me too, since I’m with you. But it must be a web for people, not dragons, for I see the truth. If these three wanted to kill you because of a wizard’s web, surely the others will too. I can’t protect you against a thousand men.”

“I have to try. I’ll think of something. Michael is my brother, I’ll think of a way to make him see the truth. He’s on his way with the army to help me. I need his help very badly.”

Since an army would be easier to spot, they flew high, to see more ground. Scarlet made gentle sweeping turns among the immense, cottony clouds. Richard hadn’t realized how big clouds really were, when viewed this close. As some of them gathered, it was like being in a wonderland of white mountains, and valleys. The dragon skimmed under their dark bases, sometimes passing through a damp wisp that hung down, her head disappearing in the whiteness at the end of her neck, the tips of her wings vanishing, too. The size of the clouds made even Scarlet seem small and insignificant.

They searched for hours without seeing any sign of an army. Richard was getting so used to flying, he didn’t have to hold on to Scarlet’s spikes all the time. He leaned back against two of them, letting his body relax while he looked at the landscape below. As they flew, Richard thought about what he could do to convince Michael of who he was. Michael would have the box—that had to be where Zedd had left it. Zedd would have hidden it from Rahl with magic, and let the army protect it. He had to think of a way to show Michael who he was. Once he had the box, he would have Scarlet fly it up to her cave with her egg. There it would be safe from Rahl.

Then he could go back to Kahlan and protect her from Rahl’s men. Maybe he could have Scarlet fly her to the cave, too. There she would be safe from the men.

Three and a half days, and then Darken Rahl would die. Then Kahlan would be safe for sure. Forever. Then he would go back to Westland, and be finished with the magic. Be finished with Kahlan. The thought of never seeing her again made him weak with pain.

Late in the afternoon, Scarlet spotted the army. She was better at seeing things from this height than he. They were still a long way off and Richard had to stare awhile. At first he saw only a wispy column of dust—then he saw the ranks, moving along a road.

“Well, what’s your plan? What do you want to do?” she called back to him.

“Do you think you could land us ahead of them, without letting them see us?”

A big yellow eye frowned back at him. “I’m a red dragon. I could land us in the middle of them, and they wouldn’t see me, if I didn’t want them to. How close do you want to be to them?”

“I don’t want them to see me. I have to get to Michael without his men seeing me. I need to avoid trouble.” Richard thought a moment. “Set us down a few hours’ march ahead of them. Let them come to us. It’ll be dark soon—then I can get to Michael.”

Scarlet held her wings spread, gliding in a spiral toward hills ahead of the advancing army. She came down behind some of the higher ground, flew up the valleys, keeping out of sight of the road, and landed in a small clearing of long brown grass. Her bright red scales, glossy and lustrous, stood out in the late afternoon light. Richard slid off her shoulder.

Her head came around. “What now?”

“I want to wait until dark, until they set up camp for the night. After they eat, I’ll be able to sneak into Michael’s tent, and talk to him alone. I’ll think of a way to convince him of who I really am.”

The dragon grumbled, looking up at the sky, and toward the road. Her head swung back around, tilting, a big yellow eye peering at him.

“It will be dark soon. I must return to my egg. It needs to be warmed.”

“I understand, Scarlet.” Richard let out a deep breath, thinking. “Come back for me in the morning. I’ll wait for you in this field at sunrise.”

Scarlet looked up at the sky. “Clouds are gathering.” Her head came back down. “If there are clouds, I can’t fly in them.”

“Why?”

She grunted, a puff of smoke rising from her nostrils. “Because clouds have rocks in them.”

Richard frowned. “Rocks?”

Her tail swished impatiently. “The clouds hide things—it’s like fog, you can’t see. When you can’t see, you run into things, like hills and mountains. I may be strong, but running into rock when I’m flying would break my neck. If the cloud bottoms are high enough, I can fly under them. If the tops are low enough, I can fly over them, but then I won’t be able to see the ground. I won’t be able to find you. What if there are clouds and I can’t find you, or what if something else goes wrong?”

Richard rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, looking off toward the road. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll have to go back to my other three friends. I’ll try to stick to the main road, so you will be able to see me.” Richard swallowed hard. “If all else fails, I will have to go back to the People’s Palace. Please, Scarlet, if I can’t stop Rahl with what I do here, I must be in the People’s Palace three days from tomorrow.”

“Not much time.”

“I know.”

“Three days from tomorrow, and then I’m done with you.”

Richard smiled. “That’s our bargain.”

Scarlet peered up once more. “I don’t like the look of the sky. Good luck, Richard Cypher. I will return in the morning.”

She took a little run and lifted into the air. Richard watched her circle around him once, low, then fly off getting smaller, disappearing between hills. A memory struck him: the memory of having seen her before. It had been the day he had first met Kahlan, right after the snake vine had bit him. He had seen her fly overhead just as she had done now, and disappear behind hills. He wondered what she had been doing in Westland that day.

Making his way through the tall, dry grass, Richard hiked to a nearby hill, climbing to the top of its sparsely wooded slope, where he could watch the approaches to the west. He found a well-hidden nook in the brush, made himself comfortable, and took out some dried meat and fruit. He found he even had a few apples left. He ate without enjoyment while he watched for the Westland army and his brother, wondering all the while what he could do to convince Michael of who he was.

He thought of trying to write it out, or maybe even drawing a picture, or a map, but he had doubts that would work. If the enemy web around him changed his spoken words, it would probably change the written ones as well. He tried to think of games they had played when they were young, but none stood out in his mind. Michael hadn’t played all that much with him when they were young. Richard remembered that Michael only really liked fighting with play swords. He didn’t think pulling his sword on his brother would have the desired effect.

But there was one thing, he remembered. When they had played at swords, Michael had liked Richard to salute him, while on one knee. Would Michael remember that? He had liked it done often—it made him smile more than anything else. Michael called it the loser’s salute. When Richard had won, Michael wouldn’t give him the salute, and Richard wasn’t his match in size at the time, and hadn’t ever been able to make Michael give the salute. But Michael had made Richard give it often enough. He smiled at the memory, though at the time it had hurt. Maybe Michael would remember. It was worth a try.

Before dark came, Richard heard the sound of the horses coming, the sound of gear clattering, leather creaking, metal rattling, the sound of a lot of men on the move. About fifty well-armed horsemen rode past at a quick pace, raising dust and kicking up dirt. He saw Michael, dressed in white, at their lead. Richard recognized the uniforms, the Hartland crest on each shoulder, the yellow banner with a blue silhouette of a pine tree and crossed swords under it. Each man wore a short sword over his shoulder, had a battle-axe hooked to a wide belt, and carried a short spear. Their mail armor, called battle nets, sent sparks of light through the dust. These were not regular Westland soldiers—these were Michael’s personal guards.

Where was the army? From the air, he had seen all of them together, horsemen and foot soldiers. These horses were moving too fast for foot soldiers at a march to keep up. Richard stood after they passed, looking back up the road to see if the others were to follow. No one else came.

At first worried about what this could mean, he relaxed, when it came to him. Zedd, Chase, and Kahlan had left the box with Michael, and told him they were going to D’Hara, going after Richard. Michael probably couldn’t wait any longer, and was going himself to help. The foot soldiers couldn’t keep up the pace needed to reach the People’s Palace in time, so Michael had taken his personal guard and ridden on ahead, leaving the rest to catch up when they could.

Fifty men, even Michael’s personal guard, tough as they were, were still not many if they ran into a good-size force of Rahl’s men. Richard guessed that Michael was putting his heart above his head.

Richard didn’t catch them until well after dark. They had ridden hard, and stopped late. They had gotten farther ahead of him than he had expected, and it was well past dinner when he finally reached their camp. The horses had been tended to and picketed for the night. Some men were already in their bedrolls. Guards were posted, and hard to spot in the dark, but Richard knew where to expect them, as he looked down from a hilltop, watching the camp’s small fires.

It was a dark night. Clouds hid the moon. He worked his way carefully down the hill, creeping silently between the guards. Richard was in his element. It was easy for him—he knew where they were, and they weren’t expecting him to be gliding through their midst. He watched them watching, and ducked down when they looked his way. Once inside the ring of guards, he made his way to the camp. Michael had made it easy for him—his tent was set off, away from the men. If he had put his tent among his men, it would have been more difficult. Still, there were guards around the tent. Richard studied them for a while, analyzing the weak points, until he found the place where he would pass between them: in the shadow of the tent, the shadow cast by the fires. The guards stayed to the light because they couldn’t see anything in the shadow.

Richard stalked through the blackness, to the tent, and squatted down, making himself still, silent, low to the ground. He listened for a long time to determine if anyone was in the tent with Michael. He heard papers being shuffled, and there was a lamp burning, but he heard no one else inside. Carefully, he made a tiny cut with his knife, just enough to see through. He saw Michael’s left side to him as he sat at a small, collapsible field table, looking over papers. His head of unruly hair was cradled in one hand. The papers didn’t seem to have lines of words on them, and from what Richard could see, they were large. Probably maps.

He had to get inside, stand tall, drop to one knee, and do his salute, before Michael had a chance to raise an alarm. Just inside, below him, was a cot. That was what he needed to hide his entry. Holding the rope taut so the canvas wouldn’t jerk back suddenly, Richard cut the tie down in about the center of where the cot sat, then lifted the edge of the canvas a little and rolled carefully underneath it, behind the cot.

When Michael turned to a sound, Richard rose up in front of the little table, in front of his brother. Richard had a smile on his face at seeing his older brother again. Michael’s head snapped to him. The color left his soft cheeks. He leapt to his feet. Richard was just about to do his salute when Michael spoke.

“Richard . . . how did you . . . What are you doing here? It’s . . . so . . . good to see you again. We have all been so . . . worried.”

Richard’s smile withered.

When the enemy web was put on him, Rahl had said those who honored Rahl would see Richard for who he was.

Michael saw him for who he was.

Michael was the one who had betrayed him. Michael was the one who allowed him to be captured and tortured by a Mord-Sith. Michael was the one who would give Kahlan and Zedd over to Darken Rahl. Michael was the one who would give everyone over to Darken Rahl. His insides turned to ice.

Richard could manage no more than a whisper. “Where is the box?”

“Ah . . . you look hungry, Richard. Let me have some dinner brought in for you. We’ll have a talk. It’s been so long.”

Richard kept his hand away from the sword, for fear he would use it. He sternly reminded himself that he was the Seeker, and that was all that mattered right now. He was not Richard—he was the Seeker. He had a job to do. He could not allow himself to be Richard. He could not allow himself to be Michael’s brother. There were more important things right now. Much more important.

“Where is the box?”

Michael’s eyes darted about. “The box . . . well . . . Zedd told me about it . . . He was going to give it to me . . . but then he said something about finding you in D’Hara by a stone of some sort, and the three of them went off after you. I told them I wanted to come too, to save my brother, but I had to get the men together, and prepare, so they started ahead of me. Zedd kept the box. He has it.”

Richard now knew—Darken Rahl had the third box. Darken Rahl had spoken the truth.

The Seeker suppressed his emotions and made a quick assessment of the situation. The only thing that mattered now was getting to Kahlan. If he lost his head now, she would be the one to suffer—she would be the one at the end of an Agiel. He found himself concentrating on a mental image of Denna’s braid. He let himself do it. Whatever worked, he told himself. He couldn’t kill Michael, couldn’t risk being captured by all those men outside. He couldn’t even let Michael know what he knew—that would accomplish nothing, and risk others.

He took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Well, as long as the box is safe. That’s what counts.”

Some of the color returned to Michael’s face, bringing with it a smile. “Richard, are you all right? You look . . . different. You look like you have been through . . . a lot.”

“More than you could ever know, Michael.” He sat down on the cot. Michael returned cautiously to his chair. Dressed in his baggy white trousers and shirt, a gold belt at his waist, he looked like a disciple of Darken Rahl. Richard noticed the maps his brother had been looking at. Maps of Westland. Maps of Westland, for Darken Rahl. “I was in D’Hara, just as Zedd told you, but I escaped. We have to get away from D’Hara. As far away as possible. I must go get the others, before they go there looking for me. You can take your men back now, take the army back and protect Westland. Thank you, Michael, for coming to help me.”

His brother’s smile widened. “You’re my brother. What else was I going to do?”

With the pain of betrayal burning hotly in him, Richard forced a warm smile. In some ways, this was worse than if the traitor had been Kahlan. He had grown up with Michael—they were brothers, and had shared a good portion of their lives. He had always admired Michael, always supported him, given him his unconditional love. He remembered bragging to other boys about his older brother.

“Michael, I need a horse. I must be on my way. Right now.”

“We’ll all go with you. Me and my men.” His grin widened. “Now that we’re back together, I don’t want to lose sight of you again.”

Richard jumped to his feet. “No!” He calmed his voice. “You know me, I’m used to being alone in the woods. It’s what I do best. You would only slow me down. I don’t have the time now.”

Michael stood, his eyes shifting to the tent’s opening. “I’ll not hear of it. We are . . .”

“No. You are First Councilor of Westland. That is your first responsibility, not watching after your little brother. Please, Michael, take the army back to Westland. I’ll be fine.”

Michael rubbed his chin. “Well, I guess you’re right. We were only going to D’Hara to help you, of course, and now that you’re safe . . .”

“Thank you for coming to help me, Michael. I’ll get my own horse. You go back to your work.”

Richard felt like the biggest fool that had ever lived. He should have known. He should have figured it out a long time ago. He remembered the speech Michael had given about fire being the enemy of the people. He should have known from that, if nothing else. Kahlan had tried to warn him that first night. Her suspicions that Michael was on Rahl’s side were correct. If only he had listened to his head instead of his heart.

Wizard’s First Rule: people are stupid, they believe what they want to believe. He had been the stupidest of them all. He was too angry with himself to be angry with Michael.

His refusal to see the truth was going to cost him everything. He had no choices left him now. He deserved to die.

With wet eyes held on Michael, Richard slowly dropped to one knee, and gave the loser’s salute.

Michael put his hands on his hips and smiled down. “You remember. That was a long time ago, little brother.”

Richard rose. “Not so long ago. Some things never change—I always loved you. Good-bye, Michael.”

Richard gave momentary thought, again, to killing his brother. He knew he would have to do it with the anger of the sword—he would never be able to bring himself to forgive Michael and make the blade white. For himself, maybe, but for what he had done to Kahlan, and Zedd, never. Killing Michael wasn’t as important as helping Kahlan—he couldn’t take the risk just to soothe his own stupidity. He went through the tent’s opening. Michael followed.

“At least stay and have something to eat. There are other things to discuss. I’m still not sure . . .”

Richard turned back looking at his brother standing in front of the tent. A light mist had begun to fall. He realized by the look on Michael’s face that he didn’t have any intention of letting him go—he was only waiting until he could get to his men for support.

“Do it my way, Michael, please. I have to go.”

“You men,” he called to the guards, “I want my brother to stay with us, for his own protection.”

Three guards started for him. Richard leapt over the brush and into the blackness of the night. They followed, clumsily. These were not woodsmen, they were soldiers. Richard didn’t want to have to kill them—they were Westlanders. He slipped through the darkness while the camp came to life with the sound of orders being yelled. He heard Michael yelling for them to stop him, but not to kill him. Of course not—he wanted to hand Richard over to Darken Rahl personally.

Richard made his way around the camp to the horses, slipping between the guards. He cut all the lead lines, then mounted one, bareback. He yelled and kicked and slapped at the others. They bolted in panic. Men and horses ran in every direction. He put his heels to his horse.

The sound of frantic voices faded behind him. His face was wet with mist and tears as he ran his horse into the blackness.