Terry Goodkind - Sword Of Truth 10 - Phantom

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PHANTOM

By

Terry Goodkind

PHANTOM

A Sword of Truth novel

Also by Terry Goodkind

SWORD OF TRUTH

Wizard's First Rule

Stone of Tears

Blood of the Fold

Temple of the Winds

Soul of the Fire

Faith of the Fallen

The Pillars of Creation

Naked Empire

Chainfire

Debt of Bones

Voyager

HarperCollinsPublishers

Voyager

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An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

77-85 Fulham Palace Road,

Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Published by Voyager 2006

1

The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN-13 978 0 00 714563 8

ISBN-10 0 00 714563 2

Typeset in Times

Printed and bound in Great Britain by

Clays Limited, St Ives pic

To Phil and Debra Pizzolato,

And their kids, Joey, Nicolette, Philip, and Adriana,

Who constantly remind me of the value of life

by bringing their love and laughter to mine

The following individuals have been invaluable in helping to bring Phantom to life.

Brian Anderson

Jeff Bolton

R. Dean Bryan

Dr. Joanne Leovy

Mark Masters

Desirée and Dr. Roland Miyada

Keith Parkinson

Phil and Debra Pizzolato

Tom and Karen Whelan

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Ron Wilson

Each of these people has been there for me when I needed them most.

Each is a person of unique ability who played a key role in making this book happen. Each of

them brings joy to my life by just being themselves.

In loving memory of Keith Parkinson.

Those who have come here to hate should leave now, for in their hatred they only betray

themselves.

translated from The Book of Life

PHANTOM

CHAPTER 1

[11] [12]

Kahlan stood quietly in the shadows, watching, as evil knocked softly on the door. Huddled

under the small overhang, off to the side, she hoped that no one would answer that knock. As

much as she would like to spend the night in out of the rain, she didn't want trouble to visit

innocent people. She knew, though, that she had no say in the matter.

The light of a single lantern flickered weakly through the slender windows to either side of the

door, reflecting a pale, shimmering glow off the wet floor of the portico. The sign overhead, hung

by two iron rings, grated and squealed each time it swung back and forth in the wind-borne rain.

Kahlan was able to make out the spectral white shape of a horse painted on the dark, wet sign.

The light from the windows wasn't enough to enable her to read the name, but because the other

three women with her had talked of little else for days, Kahlan knew that the name would be the

White Horse Inn.

By the smell of manure and wet hay, she judged that one of the dark buildings nearby had to be a

stable. In the sporadic displays of distant lightning, she could just make out the hulking shoulders

of dark structures standing like ghosts beyond the billowing sheets of rain. Despite the steady

roar of the deluge and the rumble of thunder, it appeared that the village was sound asleep.

Kahlan could think of no better place to be on such a dark and wretched night than bundled up

under bed covers, safe and warm.

A horse in the nearby stable whinnied when Sister Ulicia knocked a second time, louder, more

insistently, evidently intending herself to be heard over the riot of rain, yet not so loud as to

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sound hostile. Sister Ulicia, a woman given to reckless impulse, seemed to be taking a

deliberately restrained approach. Kahlan didn't know why, but imagined that it had to do with the

reason they were there. It also might have been nothing more than the random nature of her

moods. Like lightning, the woman's smoldering bad temper was not only dangerous but

unpredictable. Kahlan couldn't always tell exactly when Sister Ulicia would lash out, and just

because she so far hadn't didn't mean that she wouldn't. Neither of the other two Sisters was in

any better mood or any less inclined toward losing their temper. Kahlan supposed that soon

enough the three of them would be happy and quietly celebrating the reunion.

Lightning flashed close enough that the blinding but halting incandescence briefly revealed a

whole street of buildings crowded close around the muddy, rutted road. Thunder boomed through

the mountainous countryside and shook the ground beneath their feet.

Kahlan wished that there was something52;like the way lightning revealed things otherwise

hidden in the obscurity of night52;that could help illuminate the hidden memories of her past and

bring to light what was concealed by the murky mystery of who she was. She had a fierce longing

to be free of the Sisters, a burning desire to live her own life52;to know what her life really was.

That much she knew about herself. She knew, too, that her convictions had to be founded in

experience. It was obvious to her that there had to be something there52;people and events52;that

had helped make her the woman she was, but try as she might to recall them, they were lost to

her.

That terrible day she stole the boxes for the Sisters, she had promised herself that someday she

would find the truth of who she was, and she would be free.

When Sister Ulicia knocked a third time, a muffled voice came from inside.

"I heard you!" It was a man's voice. His bare feet thumped down wooden stairs. "I'll be right

there! A moment, please!"

His annoyance at having been awakened in the middle of the night was layered over with forced

deference to potential customers.

Sister Ulicia turned a sullen look on Kahlan. "You know that we have business here." She lifted a

cautionary finger before Kahlan's face. "Don't you even think of giving us any trouble, or you'll

get what you got the last time."

Kahlan swallowed at the reminder. "Yes, Sister Ulicia."

"Tovi had better have gotten us a room," Sister Cecilia complained. "I'm in no mood to be told

the place is full."

"There will be room," Sister Armina said with soothing assurance, cutting off Sister Cecilia's

habit of always assuming the worst.

Sister Armina wasn't older, like Sister Cecilia, but nearly as young and attractive as Sister Ulicia.

To Kahlan, though, their looks were insignificant in light of their inner nature. To Kahlan, they

were vipers.

"One way or another," Sister Ulicia added under her breath as she glared at the door, "there will

be room."

Lightning arced through the greenish, roiling clouds, releasing an earsplitting boom of thunder.

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The door opened a crack. The shadowed face of a man peered out at them as he worked to button

up his trousers under his nightshirt. He moved his head a little to each side so that he could take

in the strangers.

Judging them to be less than dangerous, he pulled open the door and with a sweeping gesture

ushered them inside.

"Come on in, then," he said. "All of you."

"Who is it?" A woman called out as she descended the stairs to the rear. She carried a lantern in

one hand and held the hem of her nightdress up with the other so that she wouldn't trip on it as

she hurried down the steps.

"Four women traveling in the middle of a rainy night," the man told her, his gruff tone alluding to

what he thought of such a practice.

Kahlan froze in midstride. He'd said "four women."

He had seen all four of them and had remembered as much long enough to say so. As far as she

could recall, such a thing had never happened before. No one but her masters, the four Sisters52;

the three with her and the one they had come to meet52;ever remembered seeing her.

Sister Cecilia shoved Kahlan in ahead of her, apparently not catching the significance of the

remark.

"Well for goodness' sake," the woman said as she hurried between the two plank tables. She tsked

at the foul weather as the wind drove a rattle of rain against the windows. "Do get them in out of

that awful weather, Orlan."

Streamers of fat raindrops chased them in the door, wetting a patch of pine floor. The man's

mouth twisted with displeasure as he pushed the door closed against a wet gust and then dropped

the heavy iron bar back in the brackets to bolt the door.

The woman, her hair gathered up in a loose bun, lifted her lantern a little as she peered at the late-

night guests. Puzzled, she squinted as her gaze swept over the drenched visitors and then back

again. Her mouth opened but then she seemed to forget what she had been about to say.

Kahlan had seen that blank look a thousand times and knew that the woman only remembered

seeing three callers. No one could ever remember seeing Kahlan long enough to say so. She was

as good as invisible. Kahlan thought that maybe because of the darkness and rain the man, Orlan,

had merely made a mistake when he'd said to his wife that there were four visitors.

"Come in and get yourselves dry," the woman said as she smiled in earnest warmth. She hooked a

hand under Sister Ulicia's arm, drawing her into the small gathering room. "Welcome to the

White Horse Inn."

The other two Sisters, openly scrutinizing the room, took off their cloaks and gave them a quick

shake before tossing them over a bench at one of the two tables. Kahlan noticed a single dark

doorway at the back, beside the stairs. A fireplace made of stacked, flat stones took up most of

the wall to the right. The air in the dimly lit room was warm and carried the distractingly enticing

aroma of a stew in the iron pot hung from a crane pushed to the side of the hearth. Hot coals

glowed out from under a thick layer of feathery ashes.

"You three ladies look like drowned cats. You must be miserable." The woman turned to the man

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and gestured. "Orlan, get the fire going."

Kahlan saw a young girl of maybe eleven or twelve years slip down the stairs just far enough so

she could see into the room from under the low ceiling. Her long white nightdress with ruffled

cuffs had a pony stitched in coarse brown thread on the front, with a row of loose strands of dark

yarn making up the mane and tail. The girl sat on the steps to watch, tenting her nightdress over

her bony knees. Her grin revealed big teeth that she had yet to grow into. Strangers arriving in the

middle of the night apparently was an adventure at the White Horse Inn. Kahlan dearly hoped

that that was all there would be to the adventure.

Orlan, a big bear of a man, knelt at the hearth, stacking on a few sticks of wood. His thick, stubby

fingers made the wedges of oak look to be little more than kindling.

"What would possess you ladies to travel in the rain52;at night?" he asked as he cast them a look

over his shoulder.

"We're in a hurry to catch up with a friend of ours," Sister Ulicia said, offering a meaningless

smile. She kept her tone businesslike. "She was to meet us here. Her name is Tovi. She will be

expecting us."

The man put a hand on his knee to help himself up. "Those guests who stay with us52;especially

in such troubled times52;are pretty discreet. Most don't give their names." He lifted an eyebrow

at Sister Ulicia. "Much like you ladies52;not giving your names, that is."

"Orlan, they're guests," the woman scolded. "Wet, and no doubt tired and hungry, guests." She

flashed a smile. "Folks call me Emmy. My husband, Orlan, and I have run the White Horse since

his parents passed away, years back." Emmy gathered up three wooden bowls from a shelf. "You

ladies must be famished. Let me get you some stew. Orlan, get some mugs and fetch these ladies

some hot tea."

Orlan lifted a meaty hand on his way past, indicating the bowls his wife cradled in an arm.

"You're one short."

She twitched a frown at him. "No I'm not; I have three bowls."

Orlan pulled four mugs down from the top shelf of the hutch. "Right. Like I said, you're one

short."

Kahlan could hardly breathe. Something was very wrong. Sisters Cecilia and Armina had frozen

dead still, their wide eyes fixed on the man. The significance of the couple's chitchat had not

escaped them.

Kahlan glanced to the stairwell and saw the girl on the steps leaning toward them, gripping the

rails, peering out, trying to fathom what her parents were talking about.

Sister Armina snatched Sister Ulicia's sleeve. "Ulicia," she said in an urgent whisper through

gritted teeth, "he sees52;"

Sister Ulicia shushed her. Her brow drew down in a dark glare as she turned her attention back to

the man.

"You are mistaken," she said. "There are only three of us."

At the same time she was talking she prodded Kahlan with the stout oak rod she carried, shoving

her farther back into the shadows behind, as if shadows alone would make Kahlan invisible to the

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man.

Kahlan didn't want to be in the shadows. She wanted to stand in the light and be seen52;really

seen. Such a thing had always seemed an impossible dream, but it had suddenly become a real

possibility. That possibility had shaken the three Sisters.

Orlan frowned at Sister Ulicia. Holding all four mugs in the grip of one meaty hand, he used his

other to point out each visitor standing in his gathering room. "One, two, three"52;he leaned to

the side, looking around Sister Ulicia, to point at Kahlan52;"four. Do you all want tea?"

Kahlan blinked in astonishment. Her heart felt as if it had come up in her throat. He saw her70;

and remembered what he saw.

CHAPTER 2

[13] [14] [15]

"It can't be," Sister Cecilia whispered as she wrung her hands. She leaned toward Sister Ulicia,

her eyes darting about. "It's impossible." Her familiar, incessant but meaningless smile was

nowhere in evidence.

"Something's gone wrong70;" Sister Armina's voice trailed off when her sky blue eyes glanced

Sister Ulicia's way.

"It's nothing more than an anomaly," Sister Ulicia growled under her breath as she leveled a

dangerous look at the two of them. Never ones to be servile, the two nonetheless showed no

evidence of wanting to argue with their stormy leader.

In three strong strides Sister Ulicia closed the distance to Orlan. She seized the collar of his

nightshirt in her fist. With her other hand she swished her oak rod in the direction of Kahlan,

standing in the shadows back near the door.

"What does she look like?"

"Like a drowned cat," Orlan said in ill humor, obviously not liking her hand on his collar.

Kahlan knew without doubt that using such a tone of voice with Sister Ulicia was the wrong thing

to do, but the Sister, instead of exploding in a rage, seemed to be just as astonished as Kahlan.

"I know that, but what does she look like? Tell me what you see."

Orlan straightened, pulling his collar away from her grip. His features drew tight as he appraised

the stranger only he and the Sisters saw standing in the weak light of the lanterns.

"Thick hair. Green eyes. A very attractive woman. She'd look a lot better if she were dried out,

although those wet things on her do tend to show off what she's made of." He began to smile in a

way that Kahlan didn't like one bit, even if she was overjoyed that he really saw her. "Mighty fine

figure on her," he added, more to himself than the Sister.

His slow and deliberate evaluation made Kahlan feel naked. As his gaze roamed over her, he

wiped the corner of his mouth with a thumb. She could hear it rasp against his stubble. One of the

sticks of wood in the hearth caught flame, brightening the room in its flickering glow, letting him

see even more. His gaze wandered upward, and then caught on something.

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"Her hair is as long as70;"

Orlan's bawdy smile evaporated.

He blinked in surprise. His eyes widened. "Dear spirits," he whispered as his face went ashen. He

dropped to a knee. "Forgive me," he said, addressing Kahlan. "I didn't recognize52;"

The room rang with a crack as Sister Ulicia whacked him across the top of the head with her oak

rod, dropping him to both knees.

"Silence!"

"What's the matter with you!" the man's wife cried out as she rushed to her husband's side. She

squatted, putting an arm around his shoulders to steady him as he groaned and put a big hand

over the bloody wound on the top of his bowed head. His sandy-colored hair turned dark and wet

under his fingers.

"Are all of you crazy!" She cradled her husband's head to her breast, where a red stain grew

against her nightdress. He appeared stunned senseless. "Unless you travel in the company of a

spirit, there are only three of you! How dare you52;"

"Silence," Sister Ulicia growled in a way that gave Kahlan an icy shiver and made the woman's

mouth snap closed.

Rain paltered against the window while in the distance a slow rumble of thunder rolled through

the forested hills. Kahlan could hear the sign squeaking as it swung to and fro each time the wind

gusted. Inside the house it had gone dead silent. Sister Ulicia looked over at the girl, now at the

bottom of the steps, where she stood gripping the simple, square, wooden newel post.

Sister Ulicia fixed the girl in a glare that only a sorceress in a vile mood could marshal. "How

many visitors do you see?"

The girl stood wide-eyed, too frightened to speak.

"How many?" Sister Ulicia asked again, this time through gritted teeth in a voice so threatening

that it made the girl's grip on the newel post tighten until her fingers stood out white and

bloodless against the dark wood.

The girl finally answered in a meek voice. "Three."

Sister Armina, looking like bottled thunder, leaned close. "Ulicia, what's going on? This isn't

supposed to be possible. Not possible at all. We cast the verification webs."

"Exterior," Sister Cecilia corrected.

Sister Armina blinked at the older woman. "What?"

"We only cast exterior verification webs. We didn't do an interior review."

"Are you out of your mind?" Sister Armina snapped. "In the first place it isn't necessary and in

the second place who would be fool enough to be the one to do an aspect analysis of a

verification web from an interior perspective! No one ever does such a thing! It isn't necessary!"

"I'm only saying52;"

With a withering look, Sister Ulicia silenced them both. Sister Cecilia, her wet curls plastered to

her scalp, looked like she was about to finish her complaint, but then decided instead to remain

mute.

Orlan seemed to recover his senses as he pulled away from his wife's embrace and began to

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stagger to his feet. Blood ran down his forehead and to either side of his broad nose.

"Were I you, innkeeper," Sister Ulicia said, turning her attention back to him, "I'd remain on my

knees."

The menace in her voice gave him pause for only a moment. He was clearly angry as he rose up

to his full height, letting his bloody hand drop away from his head. His back straightened, his

chest expanded, and his fists tightened. Kahlan could clearly tell that his temper was outpacing

his sense of caution.

Sister Ulicia indicated with her rod that she wanted Kahlan to back away. Kahlan, ignoring the

direction, instead stepped closer to Sister Ulicia, hoping to change the rush of events before it

ended up being too late.

"Please, Sister Ulicia, he will answer your questions52;I know he will. Let him be."

The three Sisters turned unpleasantly surprised looks on Kahlan. She had not been spoken to, or

asked to speak. Such insolence would cost her dearly, she knew, but she also knew what was

liable to happen to the man if something didn't change, and right then it seemed to her that she

was the only one who could effect a change.

Resides, Kahlan knew that this was her only chance to find out something about herself52;to

perhaps find out who she really was and maybe even why she could remember only the most

recent parts of her life. This man had clearly recognized her. He very well might be the key that

could unlock her lost past. She dared not let the chance slip away52;even if she had to risk the

Sisters' wrath.

Before the Sisters had a chance to say anything, Kahlan addressed the man. "Please, Master

Orlan, listen for a moment. We're looking for an older woman named Tovi. She was to meet

these women here. We were delayed, so she should already be here, waiting for us. Please,

answer their questions about their friend. This could all be quickly resolved if you would hurry

upstairs and get Tovi for them. Then, like this passing storm, we will all soon be out of your

lives."

The man reverently dipped his head, as if a queen had asked his help. Kahlan was not only

surprised, but completely bewildered by such an act of deference.

"But we have no guest named Tovi here, Mot52;"

The room lit with a blinding flash52;lightning that was the match of anything out in the raging

storm. The twisting rope of liquid heat and light that ignited from between Sister Ulicia's hands

blasted across Orlan's chest before he could finish the appellation he had been about to use. The

jarring concussion from being so close to the explosive detonation of such thunderous power

hammered deep into the core of Kahlan's chest. The impact threw Orlan back, sending him

crashing through a table and both benches, slamming him against the wall. The deadly contact

with such power had nearly cut the man in half. Smoke curled up from what was left of his shirt.

A glistening red splatter of gore marked the wall where he'd tut before slumping to the ground.

In the aftermath of the deafening blast, Kahlan's ears rang in what seemed the sudden silence.

Emmy, her eyes wide with the shock of an event that had in an instant forever altered the course

of her life, wailed the single word "No!"

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Kahlan pressed a hand over her mouth and nose, not just in revulsion, but to mask the smell of

blood and the stench of burned flesh. The lantern that had been on the table had been thrown to

the floor and extinguished, leaving the room mostly to the wavering shadows cast by the fire in

the hearth and the sporadic flashes of lightning coming in the slender windows.

Had it not been a night already filled with thunder and lightning, such a blast would surely have

awakened the entire town.

The wooden bowls Emmy had been holding cluttered down onto the floor and rolled drunkenly

away. She screamed in horror and ran toward her husband.

Sister Ulicia came unhinged. In a fury she intercepted Emmy before she could reach her dead

husband.

Sister Ulicia slammed the woman against the wall. "Where's Tovi! I want answers and I want

them right now!"

Kahlan saw that the Sister had brought her dacra to hand. The simple weapon looked like nothing

more than a knife handle with a sharpened metal rod in place of a blade. All three Sisters carried

a dacra. Kahlan had seen them use the weapons when they had encountered Imperial Order

scouts. She knew that once the dacra had pierced a victim, no matter how minor the penetration,

it took only a thought on the Sister's part to kill. With the dacra it was not the wound itself that

killed, but rather the Sister who, through the dacra, extinguished the spark of life. If the Sister

didn't withdraw the weapon, along with her intent to kill, there was no defense, and no chance of

salvation.

A confusing, faltering flash of lightning lit the room through the narrow windows beside the

door, throwing long spikes of shadows across the floor and against the walls as two Sisters

together snatched the panicked woman, struggling to control her. As the fit of lighting ended and

a dark pall again descended over the room, the third Sister raced up the stairwell.

Kahlan went for the girl.

As she ran toward her mother, Kahlan intercepted the girl, hooking her around her middle,

holding her back. Her eyes went wide in panic, her mind unable to maintain the memory of

seeing Kahlan even long enough for her to be aware of who or what had grabbed her52;

seemingly out of'thin air. Far worse, though, she had just seen her father killed. Kahlan knew that

the girl would never be able to forget such a terrible sight.

Over the steady drumbeat of rain and wind, Kahlan heard the footfalls of the Sister upstairs as she

rushed down the hallway. She paused intermittently, stopping at each room to throw open a door.

Any guests who had been awakened by the commotion and shouting, and dared to come out of

their room into the dark hall, were about to face a Sister of the Dark on a rampage. Those still

asleep behind their doors would face no less.

Emmy cried out in pain. Kahlan knew why.

"Where is she!" Sister Ulicia yelled at the woman. "Where's Tovi!"

Emmy screamed, begging that her daughter not be harmed.

Kahlan knew that it was a grave tactical mistake to betray to an enemy what you feared most.

In this case, however, she supposed that such information was irrelevant; not only was it pretty

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Terry Goodkind - Sword Of Truth 10 - Phantom

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