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They weren’t false words to save his own life, they were the reverent words of a man who had seen something he truly hadn’t expected.
Richard had chanted those same words countless times at devotions. For two hours each morning and afternoon everyone at the People’s Palace in D’Hara went to a devotion square when the bell tolled and, bowing forehead to the ground, chanted those same words. Richard, as commanded, had said those same words the first time he had met Darken Rahl.
Looking down at the general, now, and hearing those same words, Richard was repulsed, and yet another part of him was relieved at the same time.
“Lord Rahl,” Reibisch whispered, “you saved my life. You saved all our lives. Thank you.”
Richard knew that if he were to try to use the Sword of Truth against him now, it wouldn’t touch his flesh. In his heart, Richard knew this man was no longer a threat, or his enemy. The sword, unless he turned it white and used the love and forgiveness of the magic, couldn’t harm anyone who was not a threat. The wrath, though, responded not to reason, and denying it the attempt was agony. Richard finally exerted his dominion over the rage and drove the Sword of Truth into its scabbard, driving back the magic, the anger, at the same time.
It had ended as swiftly as it had begun. To Richard, it almost seemed an unexpected dream, a twitch of violence, and it was over.
Across the sloping tabletop lay a dead officer, his blood running down the incline of polished wood. Glass littered the floor, along with scattered papers and stinking mriswith blood. The roomful of soldiers, and those in the hall, were on their knees. Their eyes, too, had seen the unequivocal.
“Is everyone else all right?” Richard realized his voice was hoarse from screaming. “Is anyone else hurt?”
Silence echoed in the room. A few of the men were nursing injuries that looked painful, but not life-threatening. Ulic and Egan, both panting, both with their swords still in their scabbards, both with bloody knuckles, were standing among the men on their knees. They had been at the People’s Palace; their eyes had already seen.
Gratch folded his wings and grinned. At least there was one, Richard thought, who was bonded through friendship. Four dead mriswith lay sprawled on the floor; Gratch had killed one, and Richard three, fortunately before they were able to kill anyone else. It could have easily been much worse. Cara drew a hank of hair back from her face, while Berdine brushed glass fragment off her head, and Raina released her grip on a soldier’s arm, letting him slump forward to catch his breath.
Richard glanced past the severed torso of a mriswith on the floor. Hally, her red leather standing out in sharp contrast to her blond hair, stood stooped with her arms folded across her abdomen. Her Agiel dangled from its chain at her wrist. Her face was ashen.
As Richard looked down, a tingle of icy dread flushed across his flesh. Her red leather had hidden what he now saw; she was standing in a pool of blood. Her blood.
He vaulted the mriswith and caught her in his arms.
“Hally!” Richard took up her weight and lowered her to the floor. “Dear spirits, what happened?” Before the words were out of his mouth, he knew; that was the way mriswith killed. The other three women were there, kneeling behind him as he put her head in his lap. Gratch squatted beside him.
Her blue eyes fixed on his. “Lord Rahl…”
“Oh, Hally, I’m so sorry. I should never have let you—”
“No… listen. I was foolishly distracted… and he was quick… but still… as he slashed me… I captured his magic. For an instant… before you killed him… it was mine.”
If magic was used against them, Mord-Sith could take control of it, leaving an opponent helpless. That was how Denna had captured him.
“Ah, Hally, I’m so sorry I wasn’t fast enough.”
“It was the gift.”
“What?”
“His magic was as yours… the gift.”
His hand stroked her cold brow, forcing him to keep his eyes on hers, and not look down. “The gift? Thank you for the warning, Hally. I’m in your debt.”
She gripped his shirt with a bloody hand. “Thank you, Lord Rahl… for my freedom.” She struggled to take a shallow breath. “As brief as it was… it was worth… the price.” She looked to her sisters of the Agiel. “Protect him.…”
With a sickening wheeze, the air left her lungs for the last time. Her sightless eyes stared up at him.
Richard drew her limp body to himself as he wept, a despairing response at being powerless to undo what had happened. Gratch put a claw tenderly to her back, and Cara a hand to his.
“I didn’t want any of you to die. Dear spirits, I didn’t.”
Raina squeezed his shoulder. “We know, Lord Rahl. That is why we must protect you.”
Richard gently laid Hally to the floor, bending over her, not wanting the others to see the ghastly wound she had taken. A searching glance revealed a mriswith cape close by. He turned to a nearby soldier instead.
“Give me your cloak.”
The man yanked his cloak off as if it were on fire. Richard closed Hally’s eyes and then covered her with the cloak as he fought back the urge to be sick.
“We’ll give her a proper D’Haran funeral, Lord Rahl.” General Reibisch, standing beside him, gestured toward the table. “Along with Edwards.”
Richard squeezed his eyes closed and said a prayer to the good spirits to watch over Hally’s sprit, and then he stood.
“After the devotion.”
The general squinted one eye. “Lord Rahl?”
“She fought for me. She died trying to protect me. Before she’s put to rest, I want her spirit to see that it was to a purpose. This afternoon, after the devotion, Hally and your man will be put to rest.”
Cara leaned close and whispered. “Lord Rahl, full devotions are done in D’Hara, but not in the field. In the field, one reflection, as General Reibisch has done, is customary.”
General Reibisch nodded apologetically. Richard’s gaze swept the room. All eyes were on him. Beyond the faces, splashes of mriswith blood stained the whitewash. He brought his steely gaze back to the general.
“I don’t care what you have done in the past. This day there will be a full devotion, here, in Aydindril. Tomorrow, you may go back to the custom. Today, all D’Harans in and around the city will do a full devotion.”
The general’s fingers fidgeted at his beard. “Lord Rahl, there are a great many troops in the area. They must all be notified and—”
“I’m not interested in excuses, General Reibisch. A difficult path lies ahead. If you cannot accomplish this task, then do not expect me to have faith that you can accomplish the rest.”
General Reibisch cast a quick look over his shoulder at the officers, as if to say he was about to give his word, and commit them to it as well. He turned back to Richard and clapped a fist over his heart. “On my word as a soldier in the service of D’Hara, the steel against steel, it will be as Lord Rahl commands. This afternoon all D’Harans will be honored to do a full devotion to the new Master Rahl.”
The general glanced at the mriswith under the corner of the table. “I’ve never heard of a Master Rahl fighting steel against steel beside his men. It was as if the spirits themselves guided your hand.” He cleared his throat. “If I may, Lord Rahl, may I ask what difficult path it is that lies ahead?”
Richard studied the man’s scarred face. “I am a war wizard. I fight with everything I have—magic, and steel.”
“And my question, Lord Rahl?”
“I just answered your question, General Reibisch.”
A slight smile tightened the corner of the general’s mouth.
Involuntarily, Richard glanced down at Hally. The cloak couldn’t cover everything that had been rent from her. Kahlan would have even less of a chance against a mriswith. Again, he thought he might be sick.
“Know that she died in the way she wished, Lord Rahl,” Cara said in soft condolence. “As Mord-Sith.”
In his
mind’s eye he tried to picture the smile he had known for a only few hours. He could not. His mind would show him only the horrific wound he had seen for but a few seconds.
Richard tightened his fists against the nausea and turned a glare on the three remaining Mord-Sith. “By the spirits, I intend to see you all die in bed, toothless and old. Get used to the idea!”
10
Tobias Brogan knuckled his mustache as he glanced out of the corner of his eye at Lunetta. When she returned the slightest of nods, his mouth twisted with a sour expression. His rare good mood had evaporated. The man was telling the truth, Lunetta didn’t make mistakes about this kind of thing, yet Brogan knew it wasn’t the truth. He knew better.
He redirected his gaze to the man standing before him on the other side of a table long enough to banquet seventy people, and willed a polite smile to his lips.
