Wizard's First Rule

Chapter 47

Zedd lay awake in the early dawn light, his mind filled with troubling thoughts. Clouds had gathered during the night, and it looked to be a wet journey ahead. Kahlan lay on her side, facing toward him, close to him, breathing slowly in a deep sleep. Chase was off somewhere on watch.

The world was coming apart, and he felt helpless. A leaf in the wind. He thought that somehow, being a wizard, after all these years, he should have some control of events. Yet he was hardly more than a bystander, watching others being hurt, killed, while he tried to guide those who could make a difference, to do what needed to be done.

As a Wizard of the First Order, he knew better than to go to D’Hara, and yet what else could he do? He had to go if there was any chance of rescuing Richard. In three days, it would be the first day of winter. Darken Rahl had only two boxes—he was going to die. If they didn’t get Richard out of there, Darken Rahl would kill him first.

He thought again of the encounter with Darken Rahl the day before. Try as he might, he couldn’t understand it. It was bizarre in the extreme. Rahl had obviously been frantic to find the box, so frantic that he didn’t kill him when he had the chance. The wizard who had killed his father, the one he had been searching for, and when he found him, he did nothing. But his other behavior defied sense.

The sight of him wearing Richard’s sword gave Zedd chills. Why would Darken Rahl, master of the magic of both worlds, be wearing the Sword of Truth? More to the point, what had he done to Richard to get the sword from him?

The most disturbing behavior had been when he held the sword to Kahlan. Zedd had never felt more helpless in his life. It was stupid to try to use wizard’s pain on him. Those with the gift, and who had survived the test of pain, could survive the touch. But what was he to do? To see Darken Rahl holding the Sword of Truth at her throat gave him pain, the worst kind of pain. For a moment, he had been sure Rahl was going to kill her, and then the next moment, before Zedd had a chance to do anything, futile as it would have been, Rahl got tears in his eyes, and put the sword away. Why would Darken Rahl bother to use the sword, if he wanted to kill her, or any of them for that matter? He could kill any of them with a snap of his fingers. Why would he want to use the sword? And why then stop?

Worse, though, was that he had made the blade turn white. When Zedd had seen that, he had almost parted company with his skin. The prophecies spoke of the one who would turn the Sword of Truth white. Spoke with great caution. That it would be Darken Rahl gave him a fright to his very core. That it might have been Richard who would turn the sword white had caused him a dread all its own, but for it to be Rahl . . .

The veil, the prophecies called it, the veil between the world of life and the underworld. If the veil was torn by the magic of Orden, through an agent, the prophecies foretold, only the one who had turned the Sword of Truth white could restore it. Unless he was able to, the underworld would be loosed on the world of the living.

The word agent had terrible significance that worried Zedd greatly. It could mean that Darken Rahl was not acting on his own, but was an agent. An agent of the underworld. That he had gained mastery of the subtractive magic, the underworld magic, implied that he was. It also implied that even if Rahl failed, and was killed, the magic of Orden would still tear the veil. Zedd tried not to think of what these prophecies meant. The idea of the underworld being loosed made his throat clench shut. Better for him to be dead first. Better for everyone to be dead first.

Zedd rolled his head to the side, watching Kahlan sleep. The Mother Confessor. The last of the ones created by the old wizards. His heart ached for her pain, ached because he hadn’t been able to help her when Rahl held the sword at her throat—ached for what she felt for Richard, and for what he couldn’t tell her.

If only it had not been Richard. Anyone but Richard. Nothing was ever easy.

Zedd sat up in a rush. Something was wrong. It was too light out for Chase not to be back. With a finger to Kahlan’s forehead, Zedd brought her wide awake.

Kahlan reflected his worry in her face. “What is it?” she whispered.

Zedd sat still, feeling for life around him. “Chase isn’t back, and he should be.”

She looked about. “Maybe he fell asleep.” Zedd lifted an eyebrow. “Well, maybe there is a good reason. Maybe it’s nothing.”

“Our horses are gone.”

Kahlan came to her feet, checking her knife. “Can you sense where he is?”

Zedd flinched. “There are others about. Others touched by the underworld.”

He jumped to his feet. As he did, Chase, having been pushed, stumbled and fell face first into the camp. His arms were tied securely behind his back, and there was blood on him. A lot of blood. He groaned in the dirt. Zedd felt the presence of men around them. Four men. He recoiled at what he felt of them.

The big man who had pushed Chase stepped forward. His short blond hair stood up in spikes, and a black streak ran back through it. His cold eyes, his smile, sent a chill through the wizard.

Kahlan was in a half crouch. “Demmin Nass,” she hissed.

He hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Ah. You’ve heard of me, Mother Confessor.” His wicked smile widened. “I’ve certainly heard of you. Your friend here has killed five of my best men. I’ll execute him later, after the festivities. I’d like him to the have the enjoyment of watching what we do to you.”

Kahlan looked about as three other men, not as big as Demmin Nass, but bigger than Chase, stepped out of the woods. They were surrounded, but that was not a problem for a wizard. Each of the men was blond-haired, heavily muscled, and covered in sweat despite the chill to the air. Chase had obviously given them trouble. For now, their weapons were put away—they had no fear of their control of the situation.

Their confidence irritated Zedd. Their grins made him furious. The early light made the four pairs of blue eyes all the more penetrating.

Zedd knew very well that this was a quad, and he knew very well what it was that quads did to Confessors. Very well. His blood boiled at the knowing. There was no way he was going to let that happen to Kahlan. Not as long as he was alive.

Demmin Nass and Kahlan stared at one another.

“Where is Richard? What has Rahl done with him?” she demanded.

“Who?”

She gritted her teeth. “The Seeker.”

Demmin smiled. “Well now, that is Master Rahl’s and my business. Not your.”

“Tell me,” she glared.

His smiled widened. “You have more important things to worry about right now, Confessor. You are about to give my men a very good time. I want you to keep your mind on that, and make sure they enjoy themselves. The Seeker does not concern you.”

Zedd decided that it was time to stop this, before something more happened. He brought his hands up, and released the most powerful paralysis web he could marshal. The camp lit with a loud crack of green light as it flashed in four directions at once, toward each of the blue-eyed men. The green light hit each man with a hard thud.

Before the wizard had time to react, things went terribly wrong.

As fast as the green light hit them, it reflected back from each. Too late, Zedd realized that they were protected by a spell of some sort—an underworld spell that he hadn’t been able to see. From four directions at once, the green light hit him. His own web paralyzed him in place. He was frozen tight as stone. Helpless. Try as he might, he could not move.

Demmin Nass took his thumb out of his belt. “Problem, old man?”

Kahlan, a look of rage on her face, stretched her arm out and planted her hand against his smooth chest. Zedd braced for the release of her power, for the thunder with no sound.

It didn’t come.

By the look of surprise on Kahlan’s face, he knew it should have.

Demmin Nass brought his fist down and broke her arm.

Kahlan fell to her knees with a cry of pain. She came back up with her knife in her other hand, slashing at the man before her. He grabbed her hair with his fist, holding her away. She drove the knife up into the arm that held her. He pulled the knife out and twisted it from her hand. With a toss, he stuck it in a tree. Holding her by the hair, he backhanded her across the face a few times. She kicked and clawed and screamed at him—while he chuckled. The other three closed in.

“Sorry, Mother Confessor, I’m afraid you’re not my type. But not to worry, these fellows here will be only too happy to do the honors. Try to wiggle your bottom, though,” he sneered. “I’ll enjoy that much of it.”

Demmin tossed her by her hair to the other three. They shoved her back and forth among them, slapping her, hitting her, spinning her around roughly until she was too dizzy to stand and fell from one pair of arms to another. She was as helpless as a mouse held by three cats. Her hair fell across her face. Kahlan swung her fist at them, too disoriented to make contact. They laughed all the more.

One of them slammed his fist into her stomach. Kahlan doubled over, dropping to her knees, convulsed in pain. Another lifted her by her hair. The third ripped the buttons off the front of her shirt. They threw her violently back and forth, tearing her shirt, yanking it off with each throw. When it pulled over her broken arm, she screamed in pain.

Zedd couldn’t even shake with the rage storming through him.

He couldn’t even close his eyes against the sight of it, close his hearing against the sound of it. Painful memories of having seen this before overlaid themselves on the reality of what was happening now. He couldn’t breathe with the pain of those memories. He couldn’t breathe with the pain of what was happening now. He would have given his life to free himself. He wished she wouldn’t fight them—it was only going to make it worse. But he knew Confessors always fought it. Fought it with everything they had. And what she had, he knew, was not going to be enough.

From the prison of his body, as if frozen into stone, Zedd railed against his helplessness with everything he had, every spell, every trick, every power he possessed. It was not enough. He felt tears running down his cheeks.

Kahlan screamed when one of the men tossed her by her broken arm into the powerful arms of the other two. With her lips pulled back over gritted teeth, she twisted and kicked against them while they held her tight by her arms and hair. The third man unbuckled her belt and tore open the buttons. She spat at him, screamed curses at him. He laughed as he yanked and pulled her pants down her legs, stripping them inside out over her feet. The other two had their arms full holding her—she was almost more than they could handle. Had her arm not been broken, they might not have been able to hold her. One of them twisted it brutally, making her scream.

The two holding her jerked her head back by her hair while the third put his lips and teeth to her neck, biting her. Pawing her with one hand, he undid his belt and unfastened his pants with the other. He put his mouth over hers, suffocating her screams while his thick fingers moved from her breasts to the darkness between her legs.

His pants dropped, his leg forced her thighs open. She grunted against his mouth with the effort of trying to prevent what he was doing, but she could not. His thick fingers groped and wormed into her. Her eyes opened wide. Her face was red with rage, her breast heaved with ire.

“Put her on the ground and hold her down,” he growled.

Kahlan’s knee came up into his groin. He doubled over with a groan while the other two laughed. There was fire in his eyes as he straightened. His fist cut her lip open. Blood gushed over her chin.

Chase, his arms still tied securely behind him, crashed headfirst into the man’s middle. They both fell to the ground, the pants around the man’s ankles tripping him up, and before he could react, Chase clamped his thighs around the man’s thick neck. His blue eyes bulged. The boundary warden rolled onto his side, pulling the head back sharply. There was a loud pop, and the man went limp.

Demmin Nass kicked Chase in the ribs and head, until he didn’t move anymore.

Seemingly from midair, fur and fangs landed on Nass. The wolf growled savagely as he tore at the big man. They tumbled to the ground, rolling over in the dirt, through the fire. A knife flashed through the air.

“No!” Kahlan screamed. “Brophy! No! Get away!”

It was too late. The knife slashed into the wolf with a sickening thud as the fist holding it slammed against the ribs. Over and over, Nass tore the wolf open. In moments, it was over. Brophy lay sprawled on the ground, his fur matted with blood. His legs jerked a little, then were still.

Kahlan hung by her arms and hair, crying and sobbing the wolf’s name.

Nass came to his feet, panting from the effort of the short but fierce fight. Blood ran from wounds on his chest and arm. Anger flared in his eyes.

“Make her pay,” he hissed to the two men holding her. “Do her good.”

Kahlan struggled and twisted against them. “What’s the matter, Demmin?” she screamed. “Not man enough to do it yourself? Have to have real men do it for you?”

Please, Kahlan, Zedd begged silently in his mind, please, keep your mouth shut. Please, don’t say anything else.

Nass’s face heated to red. His chest heaved. He glared at her.

“At least these are real men! At least they have what it takes to handle a woman! You probably don’t! You only have enough for little boys! What’s the matter, little boy? Afraid to show a real woman what you have? I’ll be laughing at you while real men do what you can’t!”

Nass took a step closer, his teeth gritted. “Shut up, bitch.”

She spat in his face. “That’s what your father would do if he knew you couldn’t handle a woman. You’re a disgrace to your father’s name!”

Zedd wondered if Kahlan had lost her mind. He had absolutely no idea why she was doing this. If she wanted to provoke Nass to do worse, this would do it.

Nass looked as if he might explode, but then his face relaxed, his smiled returned. He looked around and saw what he wanted.

“Over there,” he pointed. “Hold her face down over that log.” He put his face close to hers. “You want it from me? All right, bitch, you’ll get it from me. But you’ll get it my way. Now we’ll see how good you can squirm.”

Kahlan’s face was crimson with fury. “I think your talk is all that’s big! I think you’re going to embarrass yourself. Your men and I will have a good laugh. Once again, they will have to do the job for you.” Her mouth spread into a defiant smile. “I’m waiting, little boy. Do it to me like your father did it to you, so we can all have a good laugh, thinking about you on your knees under him. Show me how he did it to you.”

The veins on his forehead threatened to burst—his eyeballs bulged. Nass’s hand sprang to her throat, tightening, lifting her. He shook with rage. His grip tightened, choking her.

“Commander Nass,” one of the men cautioned in a low voice, “you’re going to kill her.”

Demmin looked up, glaring at the man, but then relaxed his grip. He looked back to Kahlan: “What does a bitch like you know of anything?”

“I know you’re a liar. I know your master wouldn’t let a little boy like you know what had been done with the Seeker. You know nothing. You couldn’t tell me because you don’t know, and you’re so worthless you couldn’t even admit it.”

So that was it. Zedd understood. Kahlan knew she was going to die, and was willing to trade whatever worse Nass could do to her for knowing if Richard was all right. She didn’t want to die without knowing if he was safe. The enormity of what was happening made tears roll down Zedd’s face. He heard Chase stir at his feet.

Nass released her throat and motioned to the two men to let go of her. In a sudden burst he struck her with his fist. She landed flat on her back. He leaned over, lifting her by her hair as if she weighed nothing.

“You know nothing! Your fist says it all. Your master might tell your father,” she sneered, “but he wouldn’t tell your father’s little girl anything.”

“All right. All right, I’ll tell you. It will make it more fun when I’m on you, to have you know what we do to little pests like the Seeker. Then maybe you’ll understand you waste your time fighting us.”

Kahlan stood naked in front of him, her face red with anger. She was not a small woman, but she looked small in front of Demmin Nass. She breathed hard as she waited, one fist at her side, the other arm hanging limp, blood down the front of her.

“Almost a month ago, an artist drew a spell, so the Seeker could be captured. He killed the artist, but he was captured anyway. Captured by a Mord-Sith.”

The color drained from Kahlan’s face. She turned white as a lily.

Zedd felt as if he had been stabbed through the heart. If it had been possible, he would have collapsed to the ground in agony.

“No,” she whispered, her eyes wide.

“Yes,” he mocked. “And a particularly nasty Mord-Sith at that. One by the name of Denna. Even I give this one a wide berth. She is the favorite of Master Rahl, because of her . . .” He grinned. “. . . talents. From what I have heard, she outdid herself on the Seeker. I even saw her myself one day, at dinner, covered from head to foot with his blood.”

Kahlan shook slightly, her eyes wet, and Zedd was sure she turned even whiter.

“But he is still alive,” she whispered in a broken voice.

Demmin gave a self-satisfied smile, happy with the telling, at seeing her reaction. “As a matter of fact, Mother Confessor, the last I saw of the Seeker, he was on his knees in front of Master Rahl, with Denna’s Agiel at the back of his head. I don’t think he even knew his own name. Master Rahl wasn’t happy at the time. When Master Rahl is unhappy people always die. From what Master Rahl said to me when I left, I’m sure the Seeker never rose from his knees. His corpse is rotten by now.”

Zedd wept that he couldn’t comfort her, that she couldn’t comfort him.

Kahlan went dead calm.

Her arms rose slowly into the air, her fists to the sky. Her head rolled back.

She let out an unearthly scream. It went through Zedd like a thousand needles of ice, it echoed against the hills, through the valleys, against the trees all around, making them vibrate. Zedd’s breath was taken away. Nass and the other two men stumbled back a few paces.

If he had not already been frozen to stone, he would be now, at the fear of what she was doing. Kahlan should not be able to do this.

She took a deep breath, her fists getting tighter, tears streaming from her face.

Kahlan screamed again. Long, piercing, otherworldly. The sound avalanched through the air. Pebbles danced on the ground. Water danced in the lakes around. The very air danced, and began to move. The men covered their ears. Zedd would have, too, had he been able to move.

She took another deep breath. Her back arched as she stretched to the sky.

The third scream was worse. The magic of it tore through the fabric of the air. Zedd felt as if it would pull his body apart. The air began to turn about her, dust rising at its passing.

Darkness began to gather, the magic of the scream taking the very light away, pulling the darkness as it was pulling the wind. Light and dark moved around the Mother Confessor as she released ancient magic into the scream.

Zedd nearly choked with the fear of what she was doing. He had seen this being done only once before, and it came to no good end. She was joining the Confessor’s magic, the additive, the love, with its counterpart from the underworld, the subtractive, the hate.

Kahlan stood screaming in the center of a maelstrom. The light was sucked to her. Darkness fell all about. Where Zedd stood, it was black as night. The only light was around Kahlan. Night around day.

Lightning tore violently across the blackness of the sky, flashing rapidly in every direction, forking, doubling, over and over until the sky burned. Thunder rolled through the countryside, coalescing into a continuous fury, mixing with the scream, becoming part of it.

The ground shook. The scream went beyond sound, to something else entirely. All about, the ground cracked open in jagged, ferocious tears. Shafts of violet light shot upward from the cracks. The bluish purple curtains of light vibrated, danced, and with gathering speed were pulled into the vortex, sucked to Kahlan. She was a glowing form of light in a sea of darkness. She was the only thing in existence—all else was nothingness, devoid even of light. Zedd could see nothing but Kahlan.

There was a horrific impact to the air all about. In a brief, tremendous flash of light, Zedd saw the trees around them suddenly stripped of pine needles, as every one of them was blown back in a cloud of green. A wall of dust and sand hit his face, feeling as if it would take the skin from his bones in its explosive passing.

The ferocity of the concussion tore the darkness away. The light was returned.

The joining was complete.

Zedd saw Chase standing next to him, watching, his arms still tied behind his back. Boundary wardens, Zedd thought, were tougher than they had a right to be.

Pale blue light coalesced into a jagged egg shape around her, gathered in intensity, purpose, and somehow, violence. Kahlan turned. One arm, the broken one, came down to her side. The other arm stopped halfway down, her fist reaching toward the wizard. The blue light bled from the ring that surrounded her into one spot, where her fist was. It seemed to fuse and in a sudden release, blasted in a line of light through the space between them.

With a solid strike, it hit him, lighting him at contact, as if he were connected to Kahlan by a thread of living light. It bathed him in the pale blue glow. The wizard felt the familiar touch of additive magic and the unfamiliar tingle of the subtractive, underworld magic. He was thrown back a step—the web that held him shattered. He was free. The line of light extinguished itself.

Zedd turned to Chase and parted the ropes with a quick spell. Chase gave a grunt of pain at having his arms free.

“Zedd,” he whispered, “what in the name of the prophets is going on? What has she done?”

Kahlan ran her fingers through the pale blue light that vibrated around her, stroking it, caressing it, bathing in it. Demmin Nass and one of his men watched her, but held their ground, waiting. Her eyes gazed at things they couldn’t see. Her eyes were in another world. Her eyes, Zedd knew, were seeing the memory of Richard.

“It’s called the Con Dar. The Blood Rage.” Zedd looked slowly from Kahlan to the boundary warden. “It’s something only a few of the strongest Confessors can do. And she should not be able to do it at all.”

Chase frowned. “Why not?”

“Because it must be taught by her real mother—only the mother can teach how to bring it on, if there be call enough. It’s an ancient magic, ancient as the Confessor’s magic, part of it, but rarely used. It can only be taught after the daughter reaches a certain age. Kahlan’s mother died before she could teach her. Adie told me. Kahlan should not be able to do this. Yet she has. That she could do it without having been taught, by instinct and desire alone, speaks to very dangerous things in the prophecies.”

“Well, why didn’t she do it before? Why didn’t she put a stop to what was happening before now?”

“A Confessor can’t invoke it for herself, only on behalf of another. She has invoked it on behalf of Richard. On the rage at his murder. We are in a great deal of trouble.”

“Why?”

“The Con Dar is invoked for vengeance. Confessors who invoke it rarely survive—they give their lives over to the goal, give their lives to carry out the vengeance. Kahlan is going to use her power on Darken Rahl.”

Chase stared in shock. “You told me her power can’t touch him, can’t take him.”

“It couldn’t before. I don’t know if it can now, but I doubt it. Nonetheless, she is going to try. She is in the grip of the Con Dar, the Blood Rage. She doesn’t care if she dies. She is going to try, she is going to touch Darken Rahl even if it’s futile, even if it kills her. If anyone gets in her way, she will kill them. Without a second thought.” He put his face closer to Chase to make his point. “That includes us.”

Kahlan was curled almost into a ball against the ground, her head bowed, her hands on opposite shoulders, the pale blue light tight around her. She stretched slowly to her feet, pushing through the light, as if she were emerging from an egg. She stood naked, blood still throbbing from her wounds. Blood, still wet and fresh, dripped from her chin.

But her face showed the pain of wounds other than the ones on her body. And then even that expression was gone, and she showed nothing but a Confessor’s face.

Kahlan turned a little, to one of the two men who had held her. The other one was nowhere to be seen. She calmly lifted a hand toward him. He was a dozen feet away.

There was an impact to the air, thunder with no sound. Zedd felt the pain in his bones.

“Mistress!” the man called out as he fell to his knees. “What do you command of me? What do you wish of me?”

She regarded him coolly. “I wish for you to die for me. Right now.”

He convulsed and fell over, face first, into the dirt, dead. Kahlan turned and stepped to Demmin Nass. He had a smile on his face—his arms were folded. Kahlan’s broken arm hung at her side. She put her other hand against his chest with a sharp slap. The hand stayed there as their eyes locked together. He towered over her.

“Very impressive, bitch. But not only have you used your power, I am also protected by Master Rahl’s spell. You cannot touch me with your power. You still have a lesson to learn, and I’m going to teach you as I have never taught anyone before.” His hand came up and grabbed her tangled, matted hair. “Bend over.”

Kahlan’s face showed no emotion. She said nothing.

There was an impact to the air, thunder with no sound. Again, Zedd felt the ache of it in his bones. Demmin Nass’s eyes went wide. His mouth fell open.

“Mistress!” he whispered.

Chase leaned over. “How did she do that! She wasn’t even touching the first one, and Confessors can only use their power once, and then must rest and recover it!”

“Not anymore. She is in the Con Dar.”

“Stand there and wait,” she said to Nass.

With graceful smoothness, Kahlan walked to the wizard. She stopped, and lifted her broken arm to him.

Her eyes had a glaze to them. “Fix this for me, please. I need it.”

Zedd took his eyes from hers and looked down at the arm. He reached out and took it gently, speaking softly to distract her mind from the pain while he gripped above and below the break, pulling, setting the bone. She didn’t cry out, or even flinch. He wondered if she even felt it. Tenderly, his fingers surrounded the damage, letting the warmth of the magic flow into her, taking the cold pain into himself, feeling it, suffering with it, tolerating it with resolve.

His breathing stopped momentarily with the sharpness of the hurt. He felt all of her hurt—it mixed with his own pain, threatening to overwhelm him, until he was able to put it down at last. He felt the bone knit together, and added more magic to protect and strengthen it until it could heal the rest of the way on its own. He removed his hands from her at last, finished. Her green eyes came up to his, and the cold anger in them was frightening.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Wait here.”

She returned to Demmin Nass, who stood where he had been told to wait.

There were tears in his eyes. “Please, Mistress, command me.”

Kahlan pulled a knife from his belt, ignoring his request. With her other hand she unfastened the flanged battle mace from its hook. “Take off your pants.” She waited until he had pulled them off and stood once more before her. “Kneel.”

The coldness of her voice sent a shiver through Zedd as he watched the big man kneel before her.

Chase grabbed a fistful of his robes. “Zedd, we have to stop her! She’s going to kill him! We need information. Once he tells us what we need to know, then she can do whatever she wants, but not until we question him first!”

Zedd gave him a stern look. “As much as I agree with you, there is nothing we can do. If we interfere, she will kill us. If you take two steps toward her, she will kill you before you can take the third. A Confessor in the Blood Rage cannot be reasoned with. It’s like trying to reason with a thunderstorm it will only get you hit by lightning.”

Chase released the wizard’s robes with a frustrated huff and folded his arms in resignation. Kahlan turned the mace around, holding the handle down to Nass.

“Hold this for me.”

He took it and held it at his side. Kahlan kneeled down in front of him, close.

“Spread your legs,” she ordered in an icy voice. She reached down between his legs, gripping him in one hand. He flinched, grimaced. “Don’t move,” she warned. He became still. “How many of the little boys you’ve molested have you killed?”

“I don’t know, Mistress, I don’t keep count. I’ve done it for many years, since I was young. I don’t always kill them. Most live.”

“Make a good guess.”

He thought a moment. “More than eighty. Less than one hundred twenty.”

Zedd could see a glint off the knife as she put it under him. Chase unfolded his arms and stood up straighter, his jaw muscles tightening when he heard what Demmin Nass had done.

“I’m going to cut these off. When I do, I don’t want you to make a sound,” she whispered. “Not one sound. Don’t even flinch.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Look into my eyes. I wish to see it in your eyes.”

Her arm with the knife strained, and jerked up. The blade came up red.

Demmin’s knuckles around the mace were white.

The Mother Confessor rose to her feet in front of him. “Hold out your hand.”

Demmin held a shaking hand before her. She put the bloody sack in his palm.

“Eat them.”

Chase smiled as he watched. “Good for her,” he whispered to no one in particular. “A woman who knows the meaning of justice.” She stood before him, watching, until he finished. She tossed the knife aside. “Give me the mace.”

He handed it up. “Mistress, I am losing a lot of blood. I don’t know if I can remain upright.”

“It will displease me greatly if you don’t. Just hold on. It won’t be long.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Was what you told me about Richard, the Seeker, true?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Kahlan’s voice was deadly calm. “All of it?”

Demmin thought a moment, to be sure. “All that I told you, Mistress.”

“There is some you did not tell me?”

“Yes, Mistress. I did not tell you that Mord-Sith Denna also took him as her mate. I presume so that she might hurt him more.”

There was an eternity of silence. Kahlan stood motionless over Demmin. Zedd could hardly breathe with the pain, could hardly breath past the lump in his throat. His knees shook.

Kahlan’s voice came so soft, Zedd could hardly hear it. “And you are sure he is dead?”

“I did not see him killed, Mistress. But I am sure.”

“Why is that?”

“It looked to me as if Master Rahl was in the mood to kill him, and even if he didn’t, Denna would have. That is what Mord-Sith do. Mates of Mord-Sith do not live this long: I was surprised he was still alive when I left him. He looked to be in bad shape. I have not seen a man have the Agiel put to the base of his skull that many times and still be alive.

“He cried your name. The only reason Denna hadn’t allowed him to die before that day was because Master Rahl wanted to talk to him first. While I did not see it with my own eyes, Mistress, I am sure. Denna held him with the magic of his sword, there could be no escape for him. She had him for a lot longer than is usual, she hurt him more than is usual, she held him on the cusp between life and death longer than is usual. I have never seen a man last as long as he had. For some reason, Master Rahl wanted the Seeker to suffer a long time, which is why he chose Denna—none enjoy it more than her, none have her talent for prolonging the pain, the others don’t know how to keep their pets alive that long. If nothing else, he would be dead now from being the mate of a Mord-Sith. He could not have survived until now.”

Zedd sank to his knees, his heart breaking with agony. He cried with the pain. He felt as if his world had ended. He didn’t want to go on. He wanted to die. What had he done? How could he have allowed Richard to be pulled into this? Richard, of all people. Now he knew why Rahl hadn’t killed him when he had had the chance—he wanted Zedd to suffer first. That was the way of a Rahl.

Chase squatted down next to him and put his arm around him. “I’m sorry, Zedd,” he whispered. “Richard was my friend, too. I’m so sorry.”

“Look at me,” Kahlan said, the mace held high in both her hands.

Nass’s eyes came up to hers. She brought the mace down with all her strength. With a sickening sound, it buried in his forehead, stuck solid, tearing from her hands as he went down, limp and fluid, as if he had no bones.

Zedd forced himself to stop crying and come to his feet as she walked toward them, picking up a tin bowl from a pack along the way.

She handed the bowl to Chase. “Fill this half full with poison berries from a bloodthroat bush.”

Chase looked at the bowl, a little confused. “Now?”

“Yes.”

He noticed the warning in Zedd’s eyes, and stiffened. “All right.” He turned starting to leave, but turned back, taking his heavy black cloak off, putting it around her shoulders, covering her nakedness. “Kahlan . . .” He stared at her, finally unable to bring forth the words, and went off to his task.

Kahlan gazed fixedly, vacantly, at nothing. Zedd put his arm around her and sat her down on a bedroll. He retrieved what was left of her shirt, ripping it into strips, which he wet with water from a skin. As she sat without protest, he cleaned the blood off her, applied salve to some of her wounds and magic to others. She endured it without comment. When he finished, he put his fingers under her chin, lifting her eyes to his.

Zedd spoke softly. “He did not die for nothing, dear one. He found the box, he has saved everyone. Remember him for doing what no other could have.”

Light mist from the thick clouds that hugged the ground began to dampen their faces. “I will remember only that I love him, and that I could never tell him.”

Zedd closed his eyes against the pain, the burden, of being a wizard.

Chase returned, offering her the bowl of poison berries. She asked for something to crush them with. With a few quick strokes, Chase whittled a stout stick into a shape that satisfied her and she went to work.

She stopped as if she thought of something and looked up at the wizard, her green eyes ablaze. “Darken Rahl is mine.” It was a warning. A threat.

He nodded to her. “I know, dear one.”

She went back to crushing, a few tears running down her face.

“I’m going to bury Brophy,” Chase said softly to Zedd. “The others can rot.”

Kahlan crushed the red berries into a paste, adding a little ash from the fire. When she was finished, she had Zedd hold a little mirror for her while she applied it in the pattern of the Con Dar, twin lightning bolts, the magic guiding her hand. Starting from the temple on each side, in a mirror image of each other, the top part of each bolt zigzagged over the eyebrow, the center lobe of each passed over an eyelid, with the bottom zigzag over the cheekbones, finally terminating in a point at the hollow of each cheek.

The effect was frightening—and meant to be. It was a warning to the innocent. A vow to the guilty.

After she had brushed the tangles from her hair, she pulled her Confessor’s dress from her pack, took the cloak off, and slipped on the dress. Chase returned. Kahlan handed him his cloak, thanking him.

“Wear it,” Chase said, “it’s warmer than yours.”

“I am the Mother Confessor. I will wear no cloak.”

The boundary warden didn’t argue. “The horses are gone. All of them.” She gave him an indifferent look. “Then we will walk. We will not stop at night, we will keep going. You may come if you wish, if you do not slow me down.”

Chase raised an eyebrow at the unwitting insult, but let it drop. Kahlan turned and started off without picking up any of her things. Chase looked over at Zedd, letting out a noisy breath.

He bent to collect his things. “I’m not leaving without my weapons.”

“We better hurry before she gets too far ahead. She won’t wait for us.” The wizard picked up Kahlan’s pack, stuffing gear into it. “We better at least grab some of our supplies.” He smoothed a wrinkle on the pack. “Chase, I don’t think we are going to return from this—the Con Dar is a suicide venture. You have a family. There is no need for you to go.”

Chase didn’t look up. “What’s a Mord-Sith?” he asked quietly.

The wizard swallowed hard, his hands gripping the pack so firmly they shook. “Mord-Sith are trained from a young age in the art of torture, and the use of a merciless weapon of pain, called an Agiel. That was the red thing hanging from Darken Rahl’s neck. Mord-Sith are used against those with magic. They have the power to take a person’s magic, and use it against them.” Zedd’s voice broke, “Richard would not have known that. He had no chance. The only purpose in life for a Mord-Sith, the only thing they live for, is to torture to death those with magic.”

Chase rammed a fistful of blanket into the pack. “I’m going.”

Zedd nodded his understanding. “I will be glad for your company.”

“Are these Mord-Sith a danger to us?”

“Not to you, you have no magic, and not to wizards, I have protection.”

“What about to Kahlan?”

Zedd shook his head. “A Confessor’s magic is different from any other. The touch of a Confessor’s magic is death to a Mord-Sith. A very bad death. I saw it once. I don’t want to ever see it again.” Zedd’s eyes glided over the bloody mess, thinking of what they had done to Kahlan, and what they almost did. “I guess,” he whispered, “I have seen a lot of things I wish to never see again.”

As Zedd hoisted Kahlan’s pack to his shoulder, there was an impact to the air, thunder with no sound. They both ran to the trail, ran for Kahlan. They had only gone a short distance when they found the last man, sprawled across the way where he had lain in wait. His own sword jutted from his chest. Both his hands held the hilt in a death grip.

They both kept running until they caught up with her. She strode purposefully along, eyes ahead, disinterested in what was about her. Her Confessor’s dress flowed and flapped behind her like a flame in wind. Zedd had always thought Confessors looked beautiful in their dresses, especially the white of the Mother Confessor.

But he saw it now for what it really was. Battle armor.