Terry Goodkind - Sword of Truth 5 - Soul of the Fire

SOUL OF FIRE

by TERRY GOODKIND

CHAPTER 1

"I WONDER WHAT'S BOTHERING the chickens," Richard said.

Kahlan nuzzled tighter against his shoulder. "Maybe your grandfather is

pestering them now, too." When he didn't reply, she tilted her head back to

squint up at him in the dim firelight. He was watching the door. "Or maybe

they're grouchy because we kept them awake most of the night."

Richard grinned and kissed her forehead. The brief squawking on the other side

of the door had ceased. No doubt the village children, still reveling in the

wedding celebration, had been chasing the chickens from a favorite roost on

the squat wall outside the spirit house. She told him as much.

Faint sounds of distant laughter, conversation, and singing drifted into their

quiet sanctuary. The scent of the balsam sticks that were always burned in the

spirit-house hearth mingled with the tang of sweat earned in passion, and the

spicy-sweet aroma of roasted peppers and onions. Kahlan watched the firelight

reflecting in his gray eyes a moment before lying back in his arms to sway

gently to the sounds of the drums and the boldas.

Paddles scraped up and down ridges carved on the hollow, bell-shaped boldas

produced an eerie, haunting melody that seeped through the solitude of the

spirit house on its

way out onto the grasslands, welcoming spirit ancestors to the celebration.

Richard stretched to the side and retrieved a round, flat piece of tava bread

from the platter Zedd, his grandfather, had brought them. "It's still warm.

Want some?"

"Bored with your new wife so soon, Lord Rahl?"

Richard's contented laugh brought a smile to her lips. "We really are married,

aren't we? It wasn't just a dream, was it?"

Kahlan loved his laugh. So many times she had prayed to the good spirits that

he would be able to laugh again- that they both would.

"Just a dream come true," she murmured.

She urged him from the tava bread for a long kiss. His breathing quickened as

he clutched her in his powerful arms. She slid her hands across the sweat-

slick muscles of his broad shoulders to run her fingers through the thick

tangle of his hair as she moaned against his mouth.

It had been here in the Mud People's spirit house, on a night that now seemed

lifetimes ago, that she had first realized she was hopelessly in love with

him, but had to keep her forbidden feelings secret. It was during that visit,

after battle, struggle, and sacrifice, that they had been accepted into the

community of these remote people. On another visit, it was here in the spirit

house, after Richard accomplished the impossible and broke the spell of

prohibition, that he had asked her to be his wife. And now they had at last

spent their wedding night in the spirit house of the Mud People.

Though it had been for love and love alone, their wedding was also a formal

joining of the Midlands and D'Hara. Had they been wedded in any of the great

cities of the Midlands, the event undoubtedly would have been a pageant of

unparalleled splendor. Kahlan was experienced in pageantry. These guileless

people understood their sincerity and simple reasons for wanting to be

married. She preferred the joyous wedding they had celebrated among people

bonded to them in their hearts, over one of cold pageant.

Among the Mud People, who led hard lives on the plain of the wilds, such a

celebration was a rare opportunity to gather in merriment, to feast, to dance,

and to tell stories. Kahlan knew of no other instance of an outsider being

accepted as Mud People, so such a wedding was unprecedented. She suspected it

would become part of their lore, the story repeated in future gatherings by

dancers dressed in elaborate grass-and-hide costumes, their faces painted with

masks of black and white mud.

"I do believe you're plying an innocent girl with your magic touch," she

teased, breathlessly. She was beginning to forget how weak and weary her legs

were.

Richard rolled onto his back to catch his breath. "Do you suppose we ought to

go out there and see what Zedd is up to?"

Kahlan playfully smacked the back of her hand against his ribs. "Why Lord

Rahl, I think you really are bored with your new wife. First the chickens,

then tava bread, and now your grandfather."

Richard was watching the door again. "I smell blood."

Kahlan sat up. "Probably just some game brought back by a hunting party. If

there really was trouble, Richard, we would know about it. We have people

guarding us. In fact, we have the whole village watching over us. No one could

get past the Mud People hunters unseen. There would at least be an alarm and

everyone would know about it."

She wasn't sure if he even heard her. He was stone still, his attention

riveted on the door. When Kahlan's fingers glided up his arm and her hand

rested lightly on his shoulder, his muscles finally slackened and he turned to

her.

"You're right." His smile was apologetic. "I guess I can't seem to let myself

relax."

Nearly her whole life, Kahlan had trod the halls of power and authority. From

a young age she had been disciplined in responsibility and obligation, and

schooled in the threats that always shadowed her. She was well steeled to it

all by the time she had been called upon to lead the alliance of the Midlands.

Richard had grown up very differently, and had gone onto fulfill his passion

for his forested homeland by becoming a woods guide. Turmoil, trial, and

destiny had thrust him into a new life as leader of the D'Haran Empire.

Vigilance was his valuable ally and difficult to dismiss.

She saw his hand idly skim over his clothes. He was looking for his sword.

He'd had to travel to the Mud People's village without it.

Countless times, she had seen him absently and without conscious thought

reassure himself that it was at hand. It had been his companion for months,

through a crucible of change-both his, and the world's. It was his protector,

and he, in turn, was the protector of that singular sword and the post it

represented.

In a way, the Sword of Truth was but a talisman. It was the hand wielding the

sword that was the power; as the Seeker of Truth, he was the true weapon. In

some ways, it was only a symbol of his post, much as the distinctive white

dress was a symbol of hers.

Kahlan leaned forward and kissed him. His arms returned to her. She playfully

pulled him back down on top of her. "So, how does it feel being married to the

Mother Confessor herself?"

He slipped onto an elbow beside her and gazed down into her eyes. "Wonderful,"

he murmured. "Wonderful and inspiring. And tiring." With a gentle finger he

traced the line of her jaw. "And how does it feel being married to the Lord

Rahl?"

A throaty laugh burbled up. "Sticky." Richard chuckled and stuffed a piece of

tava bread in her mouth. He sat up and set the brimming wooden platter down

between them. Tava bread, made from tava roots, was a staple of the Mud

People. Served with nearly every meal, it was eaten by itself, wrapped around

other foods, and used as a scoop for porridge and stews. Dried into biscuits,

it was carried on long hunts.

Kahlan yawned as she -stretched, feeling relieved that he was no longer

preoccupied by what was beyond the door. She kissed his cheek at seeing him

once again at ease.

Under a layer of warm tava bread he found roasted peppers, onions, mushroom

caps as broad as her hand, turnips, and boiled greens. There were even several

rice cakes. Richard took a bite out of a turnip before rolling some of the

greens, a mushroom, and a pepper in a piece of tava bread and handing it to

her.

In a reflective tone, he said, "I wish we could stay in here forever."

Kahlan pulled the blanket over her lap. She knew what he meant. Outside, the

world awaited them.

"Well..." she said, batting her eyelashes at him, "just because Zedd came and

told us the elders want their spirit house back, that doesn't mean we have to

surrender it until we're good and ready."

Richard took in her frolicsome offer with a mannered smile. "Zedd was just

using the elders as an excuse. He wants me."

She bit into the roll he had given her as she watched him absently break a

rice cake in half, his thoughts seeming to drift from what he was doing.

"He hasn't seen you for months." With a finger, she wiped away juice as it

rolled down her chin. "He's eager to hear all you've been through, and about

the things you've learned." He nodded absently as she sucked the juice from

her finger. "He loves you, Richard. There are things he needs to teach you."

"That old man has been teaching me since I was born." He smiled distantly. "I

love him, too."

Richard enfolded mushrooms, greens, pepper and onion in tava bread and took a

big bite. Kahlan pulled strands of limp greens from her roll and nibbled them

as she listened to the slow crackle of the fire and the distant music.

When he finished, Richard rooted under the stack of tava bread and came up

with a dried plum. "All that time, and I never knew he was more than my

beloved friend; I never suspected he was my grandfather, and more than a

simple man."

He bit off half the plum and offered her the other half.

"He was protecting you, Richard. Being your friend was the most important

thing for you to know." She took the proffered plum and popped it in her

mouth. She studied his handsome features as she chewed.

With her fingertips, she turned his face to look up at her. She understood his

larger concerns. "Zedd is back with us, now, Richard. He'll help us. His

counsel will be a comfort as well as an aid."

"You're right. Who better to counsel us than the likes of Zedd?" Richard

pulled his clothes close. "And he is no doubt impatient to hear everything."

As Richard drew his black pants on, Kahlan put a rice cake between her teeth

and held it there as she tugged things from her pack. She halted and took the

rice cake from her mouth.

"We've been separated from Zedd for months-you longer than I. Zedd and Ann

will want to hear it all. We'll have to tell it a dozen times before they're

satisfied.

"I'd really like to have a bath first. There are some warm springs not too far

away."

Richard halted at buttoning his black shirt. "What was it that Zedd and Ann

were in such a fret about, last night, before the wedding?"

"Last night?" She pulled her folded shirt from her pack and shook it out.

"Something about the chimes. I told them I spoke the three chimes. But Zedd

said they would take care of it, whatever it was."

Kahlan didn't like to think about that. It gave her goose-flesh to remember

her fear and panic. It made her ache with a sick, weak feeling to contemplate

what would have happened had she delayed even another moment in speaking those

three words. Had she delayed, Richard would now be dead. She banished the

memory.

"That's what I thought I remembered." Richard smiled as he winked. "Looking at

you in your blue wedding dress ... well, I do remember having more important

things on my mind at the time.

"The three chimes are supposed to be a simple matter. I guess he did say as

much. Zedd, of all people, shouldn't have any trouble with that sort of

thing."

"So, how about the bath?"

"What?" He was staring at the door again.

"Bath. Can we go to the springs and have a warm bath before we have to sit

down with Zedd and Ann and start telling them long stories?"

He pulled his black tunic over his head. The broad gold band around its

squared edges caught the firelight. He gave her a sidelong glance. "Will you

wash my back?"

She watched his smile as he buckled on his wide leather over-belt with its

gold-worked pouches to each side. Among other things, they held possessions

both extraordinary and dangerous.

"Lord Rahl, I will wash anything you want."

He laughed as he put on his leather-padded silver wristbands. The ancient

symbols worked onto them reflected with points of reddish firelight. "Sounds

like my new wife may turn an ordinary bath into an event."

Kahlan tossed her cloak around her shoulders and then pulled the tangle of her

long hair out from under the collar. "After we tell Zedd, we'll be on our

way." She playfully poked his ribs with a finger. "Then you'll find out."

Giggling, he caught her finger to stop her from tickling him. "If you want a

bath, we'd better not tell Zedd. He'll start in on us with just one question,

then just one more, and then another." His cloak, glimmered golden in the

firelight as he fastened it at his throat. "Before you know it, the day will

be done and he'll still be asking questions. How far are these warm springs?"

Kahlan gestured to the south. "An hour's walk. Maybe a bit more." She stuffed

some tava bread, a brush, a cake of fragrant herb soap, and a few other small

items into a leather satchel. "But if, as you say, Zedd wants to see us, don't

you suppose he'll be nettled if we go off without telling him?"

Richard grunted a cynical laugh. "If you want a bath, it's best to apologize

later for not telling him first. It isn't that far. We'll be back before he

really misses us, anyway."

Kahlan caught his arm. She turned serious. "Richard, I know you're eager to

see Zedd. We can go bathe later, if you're impatient to see him. I wouldn't

really mind.... Mostly I just wanted to be alone with you a little longer." He

hugged her shoulders. "We'll see him when we get back in a few hours. He can

wait. I'd rather be alone with you, too."

As he nudged open the door, Kahlan saw him once again absently reach to touch

the sword that wasn't there. His cloak was a golden blaze as the sunlight fell

across it. Stepping behind him into the cold morning light, Kahlan had to

squint. Savory aromas of foods being prepared on village cook fires filled her

lungs.

Richard leaned to the side, looking behind the short wall. His raptorlike gaze

briefly swept the sky. His scrutiny of the narrow passageways among the jumble

of drab, square buildings all around was more meticulous.

The buildings on this side of the village, such as the spirit house, were used

for various communal purposes. Some were used only by the elders as

sanctuaries of sorts. Some were used by hunters in rites before a long hunt.

No man ever crossed the threshold of the women's buildings.

Here, too, the dead were prepared for their funeral ceremony. The Mud People

buried their dead.

Using wood for funeral pyres was impractical; wood of any quantity was

distant, and therefore precious. Wood for cook fires was supplemented with

dried dung but more often with billets of tightly wound dried grass. Bonfires,

such as the ones the night before at their wedding ceremony, were a rare and

wondrous treat.

With no one living in any of the surrounding buildings, this part of the

village had an empty, otherworldly feel to it. The drums and boldas added

their preternatural influence to the mood among the deep shadows. The drifting

voices made the empty streets seem haunted. Bold slashes of sunlight slanting

in rendered the deep shade beyond nearly impenetrable.

Still studying those shadows, Richard gestured behind. Kahlan glanced over the

wall.

In the midst of scattered feathers fluttering in the cold breeze lay the

bloody carcass of a chicken.

CHAPTER 2

KAHLAN HAD BEEN WRONG. It hadn't been children bothering the chickens.

"Hawk?" she asked.

Richard checked the sky again. "Possibly. Maybe a weasel or a fox. Whatever it

was, it was frightened off before it could devour its meal."

"Well, that should put your mind at ease. It was just some animal after a

chicken."

Cara, in her skintight, red leather outfit, had immediately spotted them and

was already striding their way. Her Agiel, appearing to be no more than a

thin, bloodred leather rod at most a foot in length, dangled from her wrist on

a fine chain. The gruesome weapon was never more than a flick of her wrist

away from Cara's grasp.

Kahlan could read the relief in Cara's blue eyes at seeing that her wards had

not been stolen away by invisible forces beyond the spirit-house door.

Kahlan knew Cara would rather have been closer to her charges, but she had

been considerate enough to give them the privacy of distance. The

consideration extended to keeping others away, too. Knowing how deadly serious

was Cara's commitment to their protection, Kahlan appreciated the true depth

of the gift of that distance.

Distance.

Kahlan glanced up at Richard. That was why his suspicion had been aroused. He

had known it wasn't children bothering the chickens. Cara wouldn't have

allowed children to get that close to the spirit house, that close to a door

without a lock.

Before Cara could speak, Richard asked her, "Did you see what killed the

chicken?"

Cara nicked her long, single blond braid back over her shoulder. "No. When I

ran over to the wall by the door I must have frightened off the predator."

All Mord-Siths wore a single braid; it was part of the uniform, lest anyone

mistake who they were. Few, if any, ever made such a dangerous mistake.

"Has Zedd tried to come back to see us again?" Richard asked.

"No." Cara brushed back a stray wisp of blond hair. "After he brought you the

food, he told me that he wishes to see you both when you are ready."

Richard nodded, still eyeing the shadows. "We're not ready. We're going first

to some nearby warm springs for a bath."

A sly smile stole onto Cara's face. "How delightful. I will wash your back."

Richard leaned down, putting his face closer to hers. "No, you will not wash

my back. You will watch it."

Cara's sly smile widened. "Mmm. That sounds fun, too."

Richard's face turned as red as Cara's leather.

Kahlan looked away, suppressing her own smile. She knew how much Cara enjoyed

flustering Richard. Kahlan had never seen bodyguards as openly irreverent as

Cara and her sister Mord-Sith. Nor better.

The Mord-Sith, an ancient sect of protectors to the Lord

10

Rahl of D'Hara, all shared the same ruthless confidence. From adolescence,

their training was beyond savage. It was merciless. It twisted them into

remorseless killers.

Kahlan grew up knowing little of the mysterious land of D'Hara to the east.

Richard had been born in Westland, far from D'Hara, and had known even less -

than she. When D'Hara had attacked the Midlands, Richard had been swept up

into the fight, and in the end had killed Darken Rahl, the tyrannical leader

of D'Hara.

Richard never knew Darken Rahl had raped his mother and sired him; he had

grown up thinking George Cypher, the gentle man who had raised him, was his

father. Zedd had kept the secret in order to protect his daughter and then his

grandson. Only after Richard killed Darken Rahl had he discovered the truth.

Richard knew little of the dominion he had inherited. He had assumed the

mantle of rule only because of the imminent threat of a larger war. If not

stopped, the Imperial Order would enslave the world.

As the new master of D'Hara, Richard had freed the Mord-Sith from the cruel

discipline of their brutal profession, only to have them exercise that freedom

by choosing to be his protectors. Richard wore two Agiel on a thong around his

neck as a sign of respect for the two women who had given their lives while

protecting him.

Richard was an object of reverence to these women, and yet with their new Lord

Rahl they did the previously unthinkable: they joked with him. They teased

him. They rarely missed a chance to bait him.

The former Lord Rahl, Richard's father, would have had them tortured to death

for such a breach of discipline. Kahlan speculated that their irreverence was

their way of reminding Richard that he had freed them and that they served

only by choice. Perhaps their shattered childhoods simply left them with an

odd sense of humor they were now free to express.

The Mord-Sith were fearless in protecting Richard-and by his orders, Kahlan-to

the point of seeming to court

11

death. They claimed to fear nothing more than dying in bed, old and toothless.

Richard had vowed more than once to visit that fate upon them.

Partly because of his deep empathy with these women, for their torturous

training at the hands of his ancestors, Richard could rarely bring himself to

reprimand their antics, and usually remained above their jabs. His restraint

only encouraged them.

The redness of this Lord Rahl's red face when Cara said she was going to watch

him take a bath betrayed his upbringing.

Richard finally schooled his exasperation and rolled his eyes. "You're not

watching, either. You can just wait here."

Kahlan knew there was no chance of that. Cara barked a dismissive laugh as she

followed them. She never gave a second thought to disregarding his direct

orders if she thought they interfered with the protection of his life. Cara

and her sister Mord-Sith only followed his orders if they judged them

important and if they didn't seem to put him at greater risk.

Before they had gone far, they were joined by a half-dozen hunters who

materialized out of the shadows and passageways around the spirit house.

Sinewy and well proportioned, the tallest of them was not as tall as Kahlan.

Richard towered over them. Their bare chests and legs were cloaked with long

streaks and patches of mud for better concealment. Each carried a bow hooked

over his shoulder, a knife at his hip, and a handful of throwing spears.

Kahlan knew their quivers to be filled with arrows dipped in ten-step poison.

These were Chandalen's men; among the Mud People, only they routinely carried

poison arrows. Chandalen's men were not simply hunters, but protectors of the

Mud People.

They all grinned when Kahlan gently slapped their faces-the customary greeting

of the Mud People, a gesture of respect for their strength. She thanked them

in their language for standing watch and then translated her words to Richard

and Cara.

12

"Did you know they were scattered about, guarding us?" Kahlan whispered to

Richard as they started out once more.

He stole a look back over his shoulder. "I only saw four of them. I have to

admit I missed two."

There was no way he could have seen the two he missed-they had come from the

far side of the spirit house. Kahlan hadn't seen even one. She shuddered. The

hunters seemed able to become invisible at will, though they were even better

at it out on the grasslands. She was grateful for all those who silently

watched over their safety.

Cara told them Zedd and Ann were over on the southeast side of the village, so

they stayed to the west as they walked south. With Cara and the hunters in

tow, they skirted most of the open area where the. villagers gathered,

choosing instead the alleys between the mud-brick buildings plastered over

with a tan clay.

People smiled and waved in greeting, or patted their backs, or gave them the

traditional gentle slaps of respect.

Children ran among the legs of the adults, chasing small leather balls, each

other, or invisible game. Occasionally, chickens were the not so invisible

game. They scattered in fright before the laughing, leaping, grasping young

hunters.

Kahlan, with her cloak wrapped tight, couldn't understand how the children,

wearing so little, could stand the cold morning air. Almost all were at least

bare-chested, the younger ones naked.

Children were watched over, but allowed to run about at will. They were rarely

called to account for anything. Their later training would be intense,

difficult, strict, and they would be accountable for everything.

The young children, still free to be children, were a constant, ever-present,

and eager audience for anything out of the ordinary. To the Mud People

children, like most children, a great many things seemed out of the ordinary.

Even chickens.

As the small party cut across the southern edge of the open area in the center

of the village, they were spotted by Chandalen, the leader of the fiercest

hunters. He was dressed

13

in his best buckskin. His hair, as was the custom among the Mud People, was

fastidiously slicked down with sticky mud. The coyote hide across his

shoulders was a new mark of authority. Recently he had been named one of the

six elders of the village. In his case, "elder" was simply a term of respect

and not reflective of age.

After the slaps were exchanged, Chandalen finally grinned as he clapped

Richard's back. "You are a great friend "to Chandalen," he announced. "The

Mother Confessor would surely have chosen Chandalen for her husband had you

not married her. You will forever have my thanks." Before Kahlan had gone to

Westland desperately seeking' help and there met Richard, Darken Rahl had

murdered all the other Confessors, leaving Kahlan the last of her kind. Until

she and Richard had found a way, no Confessor ever married for love, because

her touch would unintentionally destroy that love.

Before now, a Confessor chose her mate for the strength he would bring to her

daughters, and then she took him with her power. Chandalen reasoned that put

him at great risk of being chosen. No offense had been intended.

With a laugh, Richard said he was happy to take the job of being Kahlan's

husband. He briefly looked back at Chandalen's men. His voice lowered as he

turned more serious. "Did your men see what killed the chicken by the spirit

house?"

Only Kahlan spoke the Mud People's language, and among the Mud People, only

Chandalen spoke hers. He listened carefully as his men reported a quiet night

after they had taken up their posts. They were the third watch.

One of their younger guards, Juni, then mimed nocking an arrow and drawing

string to cheek, quickly pointing first one direction and then another, but

said that he was unable to spot the animal that had attacked the chicken in

their village. He demonstrated how he'd cursed the attacker with vile names

and spat with contempt at its honor, to shame it into showing itself, but to

no avail. Richard nodded at Chandalen's translation.

14

Chandalen hadn't translated all of Juni's words. He left out the man's

apology. For a hunter-one of Chandalen's men especially-to miss such a thing

right in their midst while on watch was a matter of shame. Kahlan knew

Chandalen would later have more to say to Juni.

Just before they once again struck out, the Bird Man, over on one of the open

pole structures, glanced their way. The leader of the six elders, and thus of

the Mud People, the Bird Man had conducted the wedding ceremony.

It would be inconsiderate not to give their greetings and thanks before they

left for the springs. Richard must have had the same thought, for he changed

direction toward the grass-roofed platform where sat the Bird Man.

Children played nearby. Several women in red, blue, and brown dresses chatted

among themselves as they strolled past. A couple of brown goats searched the

ground for any food people might have dropped. They seemed to be having some

limited success-when they were able to pull themselves away from the children.

Some chickens pecked at the dirt, while others strutted and clucked.

Off in the clearing, the bonfires, most little more than glowing embers, still

burned. People yet huddled about them, entranced by the glow or the warmth.

Bonfires were a rare extravagance symbolizing a joyous celebration, or a

gathering to call their spirit ancestors and make them welcome with warmth and

light. Some of the people would have stayed up the whole night just to watch

the spectacle of the fires. For the children, the bonfires were a source of

wonder and delight.

Everyone had worn their best clothes for the celebration, and they were still

dressed in their finery because the celebration officially continued until the

sun set. Men wore fine hides and skins and proudly carried their prize

Terry Goodkind - Sword of Truth 5 - Soul of the Fire

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