Terry Goodkind - Sword of Truth 1 - Wizard's First Rule

Wizard's First Rule

By

Terry Goodkind

CHAPTER 1

IT WAS AN ODD-LOOKING vine. Dusky variegated leaves hunkered against a stem

that wound in a stranglehold around the smooth trunk of a balsam fir. Sap

drooled down the wounded bark, and dry limbs slumped, making it look as if the

tree were trying to voice a moan into the cool, damp morning air. Pods stuck

out from the vine here and there along its length, almost seeming to look

warily about for witnesses.

It was the smell that first had caught his attention, a smell like the

decomposition of something that had been wholly unsavory even in life. Richard

combed his fingers through his thick hair as his mind lifted out of the fog of

despair, coming into focus upon seeing the vine. He scanned for others, but

saw none. Everything else looked normal. The maples of the upper Ven Forest

were already tinged with crimson, proudly showing off their new mantle in the

light breeze. With nights getting colder, it wouldn't be long before their

cousins down in the Hartland Woods joined them. The oaks, being the last to

surrender to the season, still stoically wore their dark green coats.

Having spent most of his life in the woods, Richard knew all the plants-if not

by name, by sight. From when Richard was very small, his friend Zedd had taken

him along, hunting for special herbs. He had shown Richard which ones to look

for, where they grew and why, and put names to everything they saw. Many times

they just talked, the old man always treating him as an equal, asking as much

as he answered Zedd had sparked Richard's hunger to learn, to know.

This vine, though, he had seen only once before, and not in the woods. He had

found a sprig of it at his father's house, in the blue clay jar Richard had

made when he was a boy. His father had been a trader and had traveled often,

looking for the chance exotic or rare item. People of means had often sought

him out, interested in what he might have turned up. It seemed to be the

looking, more than the finding, that he had liked, as he had always been happy

to part with his latest discovery so he could be off after the next.

From a young age, Richard had liked to spend time with Zedd while his father

was away. Richard's brother, Michael, was a few years older, and having no

interest in the woods, or in Zedd's rambling lectures, preferred to spend his

time with people of means. About five years before, Richard had moved away to

live on his own, but he often stopped by his father's home, unlike Michael,

who was always busy and rarely had time to visit. Whenever his father went

away, he would leave Richard a message in the blue jar telling him the latest

news, some gossip, or of some sight he had seen.

On the day three weeks before when Michael had come to tell him their father

had been murdered, Richard had gone to his father's house, despite his

brother's insistence that there was no reason to go, nothing he could do.

Richard had long since passed the age when he did as his brother said. Wanting

to spare him, the people there didn't let him see the body. But still, he saw

the big, sickening splashes and puddles of blood, brown and dry across the

plank floor. When Richard came close, voices fell silent, except to offer

sympathy, which only deepened the riving pain. Yet he had heard them talking,

in hushed tones, of the stories and the wild rumors of things come out of the

boundary.

Of magic.

Richard was shocked at the way his father's small home had been torn apart, as

if a storm had been turned loose inside. Only a few things were left

untouched. The blue message jar still sat on the shelf, and inside he found

the sprig of vine. It was still in his pocket now. What his father meant him

to know from it, he couldn't guess.

Grief and depression overwhelmed him, and even though he still had his

brother, he felt abandoned. That he was grown into manhood offered him no

sanctuary from the forlorn feeling of being orphaned and alone in the world, a

feeling he had known before, when his mother died while he was still young.

Even though his father had often been away, sometimes for weeks, Richard had

always known he was somewhere, and would be back. Now he would never be back.

Michael wouldn't let him have anything to do with the search for the killer.

He said he had the best trackers in the army looking and he wanted Richard to

stay out of it, for his own good. So Richard simply didn't show the vine to

Michael, and went off alone every day, searching for it. For three weeks he

walked the trails of the Hartland Woods, every trail, even the ones few others

knew of, but he never saw it.

Finally, against his better judgment, he gave in to the whispers in his mind,

and went to the upper Ven Forest, close to the boundary. The whispers haunted

him with the feeling that he somehow knew something of why his father had been

murdered. They teased him, tantalized him with thoughts just out of reach, and

laughed at him for not seeing it. Richard lectured himself that it was his

grief playing tricks, not something real.

He had thought that when he found the vine it would give him some sort of

answer. Now that he had, he didn't know what to think. The whispers had

stopped teasing him, but now they brooded. He knew it was just his own mind

thinking, and he told himself to stop trying to give the whispers a life of

their own. Zedd had taught him better than that.

Richard looked up at the big fir tree in its agony of death. He thought again

of his father's death. The vine had been there. Now the vine was killing this

tree; it couldn't be anything good. Though he couldn't do anything for his

father, he didn't have to let the vine preside over another death. Gripping it

firmly, he pulled, and with powerful muscles ripped the sinewy tendrils away

from the tree.

That's when the vine bit him.

One of the pods struck out and hit the back of his left hand, causing him to

jump back in pain and surprise. Inspecting the small wound, he found something

like a thorn embedded in the meat of the gash. The matter was decided. The

vine was trouble. He reached for his knife to dig out the thorn, but the knife

wasn't there. At first surprised, he realized why and reprimanded himself for

allowing his depression to cause him to forget something as basic as taking

his knife with him into the woods. Using his fingernails, he tried to pull out

the thorn. To his rising concern, the thorn, as if alive, wriggled itself in

deeper. He dragged his thumbnail across the wound, trying to snag the thorn

out. The more he dug, the deeper it went. A hot wave of nausea swept through

him as he tore at the wound, making it bigger, so he stopped. The thorn had

disappeared into the oozing blood.

Looking about, Richard spotted the purplish red autumn leaves of a small

nannyberry tree, laden with its crop of dark blue berries. Beneath the tree,

nestled in the crook of a root, he found what he sought: an aum plant.

Relieved, he carefully snapped off the tender stem near its base, and gently

squeezed the sticky, clear liquid onto the bite. He smiled as he mentally

thanked old Zedd for teaching him how the aum plant made wounds heal faster.

The soft fuzzy leaves always made Richard think of Zedd. The juice of the aum

numbed the sting, but not his worry over being unable to remove the thorn. He

could feel it wriggling still deeper into his flesh.

Richard squatted down and poked a hole in the ground with his finger, placed

the aum in it, and fixed moss about the stem so it might regrow itself.

The sounds of the forest fell dead still. Richard looked up, flinching as a

dark shadow swept over the ground, leaping across limbs and leaves. There was

a rushing, whistling sound in the air overhead. The size of the shadow was

frightening. Birds burst from cover in the trees, giving alarm calls as they

scattered in all directions. Richard peered up, searching through the gaps in

the canopy of green and gold, trying to see the shadow's source. For an

instant, he saw something big. Big, and red. He couldn't imagine what it could

be, but the memory of the rumors and stories of things coming out of the

boundary flooded back into his mind, making him go cold to the bone.

The vine was trouble, he thought again; this thing in the sky could be no

less. He remembered what people always said, "Trouble sires three children,"

and knew immediately that he didn't want to meet the third child.

Discounting his fears, he started running. Just idle talk of superstitious

people, he told himself. He tried to think of what could be that big, that big

and red. It was impossible; there was nothing that flew that was that large.

Maybe it was a cloud, or a trick of the light. But he couldn't fool himself:

it was no cloud.

Looking up as he ran, trying for another glimpse, he headed for the path that

skirted the hillside. Richard knew that the ground dropped off sharply on the

other side of the trail, and he would be able to get an unobstructed view of

the sky. Tree branches wet with rain from the night before slapped at his face

as he ran through the forest, jumping fallen trees and small rocky streams.

Brush snatched at his pant legs. Dappled swatches of sunlight teased him -to

look up but denied him the view he needed. His breath was fast, ragged, sweat

ran cold against his face, and he could feel his heart pounding as he ran

carelessly down the hillside. At last he stumbled out of the trees onto the

path, almost falling.

Searching the sky, he spotted the thing, far away and too small for him to

tell what it was, but he thought it had wings. He squinted against the blue

brightness of the sky, shielded his eyes with his hand, trying to see for sure

if there were wings moving. It slipped behind a hill and was gone. He hadn't

even been able to tell if it really was red.

Winded, Richard slumped down on a granite boulder at the side of the trail,

absently snapping off dead twigs from a sapling beside him while he stared

down at Trunt Lake below. Maybe he should go tell Michael what had happened,

tell him about the vine and the red thing in the sky. He knew Michael would

laugh at the last part. He had laughed at the same stories himself.

No, Michael would only be angry with him for being up near the boundary, and

for going against his orders to stay out of the search for the murderer. He

knew his brother cared about him or he wouldn't always be nagging him. Now

that he was grown, he could laugh off his brother's constant instructions,

though he still had to endure the looks of displeasure.

Richard snapped off another twig and in frustration threw it at a flat rock.

He decided he shouldn't feel singled out. After all, Michael was always

telling everyone what to do, even their father.

He pushed aside his harsh judgments of his brother; today was a big day for

Michael. Today he was accepting the position of First Councilor. He would be

in charge of everything now, not just the town of Hartland anymore, but all

the towns and villages of Westland, even the country people. Responsible for

everything and everyone. Michael deserved Richard's support, he needed it;

Michael had lost a father, too.

That afternoon there was to be a ceremony and big celebration at Michael's

house. Important people were going to be there, come from the farthest reaches

of Westland. Richard was supposed to be there, too., At least there would be

plenty of good food. He realized he was famished:

While he sat and thought, he scanned the opposite side of Trunt Lake, far

below. From this height the clear water revealed alternating patches of rocky

bottom and green weed around the deep holes. At the edge of the water, Hawkers

Trail knitted in and out of the trees, in some places open to view, in some

places hidden. Richard had been on that part of the trail many times. In the

spring it was wet and soggy down by the lake, but this late in the year it

would be dry. In areas farther north and south, as the trail wound its way

through the high Ven Forests, it passed uncomfortably close to the boundary.

Because of that, most travelers avoided it, choosing instead the trails of the

Hartland Woods. Richard was a woods guide, and led travelers safely through

the Hartland forests. Most were traveling dignitaries wanting the prestige of

a local guide more than they wanted direction.

His eyes locked on something. There was movement. Unsure what it had been, he

stared hard at the spot on the far side of the lake. When he saw it again, on

the path, where it passed behind a thin veil of trees, there was no doubt; it

was a person. Maybe it was his friend Chase. Who else but a boundary warden

would be wandering around up here?

He hopped down off the rock, tossing the twigs aside, and took a few steps

forward. The figure followed the path into the open, at the edge of the lake.

It wasn't Chase; it was a woman, a woman in a dress. What woman would be

walking around this far out in the Ven Forest, in a dress? Richard watched her

making her way along the lakeshore, disappearing and reappearing with the

path. She didn't seem to be in a hurry, but she wasn't strolling slowly

either. Rather, she moved at the measured pace of an experienced traveler.

That made sense; no one lived anywhere near Trunt Lake.

Other movement snatched his attention. Richard's eyes searched the shade and

shadows. Behind her, there were others. Three, no, four men, in hooded forest

cloaks, following her, but hanging back some distance. They moved with

stealth, from tree to rock to tree. Looking. Waiting. Moving. Richard

straightened, his eyes wide, his attention riveted.

They were stalking her.

He knew immediately: this was the third child of trouble

CHAPTER 2

AT FIRST, RICHARD STOOD frozen, not knowing what to do. He couldn't be sure

the four men really were stalking the woman, at least not until it was too

late. What business was it of his anyway? And besides, he didn't even have his

knife with him. What chance did one man with no weapon have against four? He

watched the woman making her way along the path. He watched the men follow.

What chance did the woman have?

He crouched, muscles tight and hard. His heart raced as he tried to think of

what he could do. The morning sun was hot on his face, his breathing was

shallow. Richard knew there was a small cutoff from Hawkers Trail somewhere

ahead of the woman. Hurriedly, he tried to remember exactly where. The main

fork to her left continued around the lake and up the hill to his left, to

where he stood and watched. If she stayed on the main trail he could wait for

her, then tell her about the men. Then what? Besides, that was too long. The

men would be on her before then. An idea began to take shape. He sprang up and

started running down the trail

If he could reach her before the men caught her, and before the cutoff, he

could take her up the right fork. That trail led up out of the trees onto open

ledges, away from the boundary, and toward the town of Hartland, toward help.

If they were quick, he could hide their tracks. The men wouldn't know that the

two of them had taken the side trail. They would think she was still on the

main trail, at least for a while, long enough to fool them and lead her to

safety.

Still winded from the earlier run, Richard panted in labored breaths, running

down the trail as fast as he could go. The path had quickly turned back in to

the trees, so at least he didn't have to worry about the men being able to see

him. Shafts of sunlight flashed by as he raced along. Old pine trees lined the

path, leaving a soft mat of needles to cushion his footfalls.

After a time, driving himself headlong down the path, he started looking for

the side trail. He couldn't be sure how far he had gone; the forest offered no

view for a fix, and he didn't remember exactly where the cutoff was. It was

small and would be easy to miss. With every bend bringing new hope that this

would be the place he found the cutoff, he pushed himself on. He tried to

think of what he would say to the woman when he finally reached her. His mind

raced as fast as his legs. She might think he was with her pursuers, or be

frightened by him, or not believe him. He wouldn't have much time to convince

her to go with him, that he wanted to help.

Coming over the top of a small rise, he looked anew for the fork, but didn't

see it and kept running. Now his breath came in ragged gasps. He knew that if

he didn't reach the split before she did, they would be trapped, and their

only options would be to outrun the men, or to fight. He was too winded for

either. That thought drove him on harder. Sweat ran down his back, making his

shirt stick to his skin. The coolness of the morning had turned to choking

heat, though he knew it was only his exertion that made it seem that way. The

forest passed in a blur to each side as he ran.

Just before a sharp bend to the right, he came at last to the cutoff, almost

missing it. He made a quick search for tracks to --if she had been there and

taken the small path. There were none. Relief washed over him. He dropped to

his knees and sat back on his heels in exhaustion, trying to catch his breath.

The first part had worked. He had beaten her here. Now he had to make her

believe him before it was too late.

Holding his right hand over a painful stitch in his side and still trying to

catch his breath, he started to worry that he was going to look silly. What if

it was just a girl and her brothers playing a game? He would be the fool.

Everyone but him would have a good laugh.

He looked down at the bite on the back of his hand.-It was red and throbbed

painfully. He remembered the thing in the sky. He thought about the way she

had been walking, with a sense of purpose, not like a child at play. It was a

woman, not a girl. He remembered the cold fear he had felt when he saw the

four men. Four men warily shadowing a woman: the third strange thing to happen

this morning. The third child of trouble. No-he shook his head-this was no

game, he knew what he had seen. It was no game. They were stalking her.

Richard came partway to his feet. Waves of heat rolled from his body. Bent

over at the waist with his hands braced on his knees, he took a few deep

breaths before straightening to his full height.

His eyes fell on the young woman as she came around the bend in front of him.

His breath caught for an instant. Her brown hair was full, lush, and long,

complementing the contours of her body. She was tall, almost as tall as he,

and about the same age. The dress she wore was like none he had ever seen:

almost white, cut square at the neck, interrupted only by a small, tan leather

waist pouch. The weave of the fabric was fine and smooth, almost glistening,

and bore none of the lace or frills he was used to seeing, no prints or colors

to distract from the way it caressed her form. The dress was elegant in its

simplicity. She halted, and long graceful folds regally trailing her gathered

about her legs.

Richard approached and stopped three strides away so as not to appear a

threat. She stood straight and still, her arms at her side. Her eyebrows had

the graceful arch of a raptor's wings in flight. Her green eyes came unafraid

to his. The connection was so intense that it threatened to drain his sense of

self. He felt that he had always known her, that she had always been a part of

him, . that her needs were his needs. She held him with her gaze as surely as

a grip of iron would, searching his eyes as if searching his soul, seeking an

answer to something. I am here to help you, he said in his mind. He meant it

more than any thought he had ever had.

The intensity of her gaze relaxed, loosening its hold on him. In her eyes he

saw something that attracted him more than anything else. Intelligence. He saw

it flaring there, burning in her, and through it all he felt an overriding

sense of her integrity. Richard felt safe.

A warning flashed in his mind, making him remember why he was there, that time

was dear.

"I was up there"-he pointed toward the hill he had been on "and I saw you."

She looked where he pointed. He looked, too, and realized he was pointing to a

tangle of tree limbs. They couldn't see the hill, because the trees blocked

the view. He dropped his arm dumbly, trying to ignore the miscue. Her eyes

returned to his, waiting.

Richard started over, keeping his voice low. "I was up there on a hill, above

the lake. I saw you walking on the path by the shore. There are some men

following you."

She betrayed no emotion, but continued to hold his gaze. "How many?"

He thought her question strange, but answered it. "Four."

The color drained from her face.

She turned her head, surveying the woods behind her, scanning the shadows

briefly, then looked back to him once more, her green eyes searching his.

"Do you choose to help me?" Except for her color, her exquisite features gave

no hint as to her emotions.

Before his mind could form a thought, he heard himself say, "Yes."

Her countenance softened. "What would you have us do?"

"There's a small trail that turns off here. If we take it, and they stay on

this one, we can be away."

"And if they don't? If they follow our trail?"

"I'll hide our tracks." He was shaking his head, trying to reassure her. "They

won't follow. Look, there's no time . . . ."

"If they do?" she cut him off. "Then what is your plan?" He studied her face a

moment. "Are they very dangerous?"

She stiffened. "Very."

The way she spoke the word made him have to force himself to breathe again.

For an instant, he saw a look of blind terror pass across her eyes.

Richard ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, the small trail is narrow and

sheer. They won't be able to surround us."

"Do you have a weapon?" '

He answered by shaking his head no, too angry with himself for forgetting his

knife to voice it out loud.

She nodded. "Let's be quick then."

-|----

They didn't talk once the decision had been made, not wanting to give away

their location. Richard hurriedly concealed their tracks and motioned her to

go first so he would be between her and the men. She didn't hesitate. The

folds of her dress flowed behind as she moved quickly at his direction. The

lush, young evergreens of the Ven pressed tight at their sides, making the

path a narrow, dark, green, walled route cut through the brush and branches.

They could see nothing around them. Richard checked behind as they went,

though he couldn't see far. At least what he could see was clear. She went

swiftly without any encouragement from him.

After a time, the ground started rising and becoming rockier, and the trees

thinned, offering a more open view. The trail twisted along deeply shaded cuts

in the terrain and across leafstrewn ravines. Dry leaves scattered at their

passing. Pines and spruce gave way to hardwood trees, mostly white birch, and

as the limbs swayed overhead, little patches of sunlight danced on the forest

floor. The birches' white trunks with black spots made it look as if hundreds

of eyes were watching the two pass. Other than the raucous racket of some

ravens, it was a very quiet, peaceful place.

At the base of a granite wall that the path followed, he motioned to her,

putting a finger over his lips, letting her know they had to step carefully to

avoid making sounds that would echo him, . that her needs were his needs. She

held him with her gaze as surely as a grip of iron would, searching his eyes

as if searching his soul, seeking an answer to something. I am here to help

you, he said in his mind. He meant it more than any thought he had ever had.

The intensity of her gaze relaxed, loosening its hold on him. In her eyes he

saw something that attracted him more than anything else. Intelligence. He saw

it flaring there, burning in her, and through it all he felt an overriding

sense of her integrity. Richard felt safe.

A warning flashed in his mind, making him remember why he was there, that time

was dear.

"I was up there"-he pointed toward the hill he had been on "and I saw you."

She looked where he pointed. He looked, too, and realized he was pointing to a

tangle of tree limbs. They couldn't see the hill, because the trees blocked

the view. He dropped his arm dumbly, trying to ignore the miscue. Her eyes

returned to his, waiting.

Richard started over, keeping his voice low. "I was up there on a hill, above

the lake. I saw you walking on the path by the shore. There are some men

following you."

She betrayed no emotion, but continued to hold his gaze. "How many?"

He thought her question strange, but answered it. "Four."

The color drained from her face.

She turned her head, surveying the woods behind her, scanning the shadows

briefly, then looked back to him once more, her green eyes searching his.

"Do you choose to help me?" Except for her color, her exquisite features gave

no hint as to her emotions.

Before his mind could form a thought, he heard himself say, "Yes."

Her countenance softened. "What would you have us do?"

"There's a small trail that turns off here. If we take it, and they stay on

this one, we can be away."

"And if they don't? If they follow our trail?"

"I'll hide our tracks." He was shaking his head, trying to reassure her. "They

won't follow. Look, there's no time . . . ."

"If they do?" she cut him off. "Then what is your plan?"

to hide. He saw nothing, and started to feel better. They weren't being

followed; the men were nowhere to be seen, and were probably miles down

Hawkers Trail by now. The farther from the boundary and the closer to town

they got, the better he felt. His plan had worked.

Seeing no sign that they were being followed, Richard wished they could stop

for a rest, as his hand was throbbing, but she gave no sign that she needed or

wanted a break. She kept pushing on. as if the men were right on their heels.

Richard remembered the look on her face when he had asked if they were

dangerous, and quickly rejected any thought of stopping.

As morning wore on, the day became warm for this late in the year. The sky was

a bright, clear blue, with only a few white, wispy clouds drifting by. One of

the clouds had taken on the undulating form of a snake, with its head down and

tail up. Because it was so unusual, Richard remembered seeing the same cloud

earlier in the day-or was it yesterday? He would have to remember to mention

it to Zedd the next time he saw him. Zedd was a cloud reader, and if Richard

failed to report his sighting he would have to endure an hour-long lecture on

the significance of clouds. Zedd was probably watching it this very moment,

fretting over whether or not Richard was paying attention.

The path took them to the south face of small Blunt Mountain, where it crossed

a sheer cliff face for which the mountain was named. Crossing the cliff near

midheight, the trail offered a panoramic view of the southern Ven Forest and,

to their left, in cloud and mist, almost hidden behind the cliff wall, the

high, rugged peaks belonging to the boundary. Richard saw brown, dying trees

standing out against the carpet of green. Up closer to the boundary the dead

trees were thick. It was the vine, he realized.

The two of them advanced quickly across the cliff trail. They were so clearly

in the open, with no chance to hide, that anyone could spot them easily, but

across the cliff the trail would begin to head down into the Hartland Woods

and then into town. Even if the men did figure out their mistake and follow,

Richard and the woman had a safe lead.

As it neared the far side of the cliff face, the path started to broaden from

its treacherous, narrow width to a space wide enough for two to walk side by

side. Richard trailed his right hand along the rock wall for reassurance while

looking over the side to the boulder fields several hundred feet below. He

turned and checked behind. Still clear.

As he turned back, she froze in midstride, the folds of her dress swirling

around her legs.

In the trail ahead, that only a moment earlier had been empty, stood two of

the men. Richard was bigger than most men; these men were much bigger than

him. Their dark green hooded cloaks shaded their faces but couldn't conceal

their heavily muscled bulk. Richard's mind raced, trying to conceive of how

the men could have gotten ahead of them.

Richard and the woman spun, prepared to run. From the rock above, two ropes

dropped down. The other two men plummeted to the path, landing on their feet

with heavy thuds, blocking any retreat. They were as big as the first two.

Buckles and leather straps beneath their cloaks held an arsenal of weapons

that glinted in the sunlight.

Richard wheeled back to the first two. They calmly pushed their hoods back.

Each had thick blond hair and a thick neck; their faces were rugged, handsome.

"You may pass, boy. Our business is with the girl." The man's voice was deep,

almost friendly. Nonetheless, the threat was as sharp as a blade. He removed

his leather gloves and tucked them in his belt as he spoke, not bothering to

look at Richard. He obviously didn't consider Richard an obstacle. He appeared

to be the one in charge, as the other three waited silently while he spoke.

Richard had never been in a situation like this before. He never allowed

himself to lose his temper, and could usually turn scowls to smiles with his

easy manner. If talk didn't work, he was quick enough and strong enough to

stop threats before anyone was hurt, and if need be he would simply walk away.

He knew these men weren't interested in talking, and they clearly weren't

afraid of him. He wished he could walk away now.

Richard glanced to her green eyes and saw the visage of a proud woman

beseeching his help.

He leaned closer, and kept his voice low, but firm. "I won't leave you."

Relief washed over her face.

She gave a slight nod as she settled her hand lightly on his forearm. "Keep

between them, don't let them all come at me at once," she whispered. "And be

sure you aren't touching me when they come." Her hand tightened on his arm and

her eyes held his, waiting for confirmation that he understood her

instructions. He nodded his agreement. "May the good spirits be with us," she

said. She let her hands drop to her sides, turning to the two behind them, her

face dead calm, devoid of emotion.

"Be on your way, boy." The leader's voice was harder. His fierce blue eyes

glared. He gritted his teeth. "Last time offered." . j'

Richard swallowed hard.

He tried to sound sure of himself. "We will both be passing." He heart felt as

if it were coming up into his throat.

"Not this day," the leader said with finality. He pulled free a wicked-looking

curved knife.

The man to his side pulled a short sword clear of the scabbard . strapped

across his back. With a depraved grin, he drew it across the inside of his

muscled forearm, staining the blade red. From behind, Richard could hear the

ring of steel being drawn. He was paralyzed with fear. This was all happening

too fast. They had no chance. None.

For a brief moment no one moved. Richard flinched when the four gave the

howling battle cries of men prepared to die in mortal combat. They charged in

a frightening rush. The one with the short sword swung it high, coming at

Richard. He could hear one of the men behind him grab the woman as the man

with the sword raced toward him.

And then, just before the man reached him, there was a hard impact to the air,

Terry Goodkind - Sword of Truth 1 - Wizard's First Rule

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