Wizard's First Rule (Sword of Truth 1)

“Maybe you men would like to greet my big friend, and have him show you his respect for your strength.”

They all held their hands out in front of themselves and shook their heads vigorously.

“No,” one of them said between fits of laughter, “he has already shown you enough respect for all of us.”

He turned back to Kahlan. “As always. Confessor Kahlan is welcome among the Mud People.” Without looking over, he gave a nod of his head, indicating Richard. “Is he your mate?”

“No!”

Savidlin tensed. “Then you have come here to choose one of our men?”

“No,” she said, her voice regaining its calmness.

Savidlin looked greatly relieved. “The Confessor chooses dangerous traveling companions.”

“Not dangerous to me, only to those who would think to harm me.”

Savidlin smiled and nodded, then looked Kahlan up and down. “You wear odd things. Different from before.”

“Underneath, I am the same as before,” Kahlan said as she leaned a little closer to make her point. “That is what you need to know.”

Savidlin backed away a little from her intense expression and gave a nod. His eyes narrowed. “And why are you here?”

“So that we might help each other. There is a man who would rule your people. The Seeker and I would have you rule yourselves. We came seeking your people’s strength and wisdom to aid us in our fight.”

“Father Rahl,” Savidlin announced knowingly.

“You know of him?”

Savidlin nodded. “A man came. He called himself a missionary, said he wanted to teach us of the goodness of one called Father Rahl. He talked to our people for three days, until we became tired of him.”

It was Kahlan’s turn to stiffen, she glanced to the other men, who had started smiling at the mention of the missionary. She looked back to the elder’s mud streaked face. “And what happened to him after the three days?”

“He was a good man.” Savidlin smiled meaningfully.

Kahlan straightened herself. Richard leaned closer to her.

“What are they saying?”

“They want to know why we are here. They said they have heard of Darken Rahl.”

“Tell them I want to talk to their people, that I need them to call a gathering.”

She looked up at him from under her eyebrows. “I am getting to that. Adie was right, you are not a patient person.”

Richard smiled. “No, she was wrong. I am very patient, but I am not very tolerant. There is a difference.”

Kahlan smiled at Savidlin as she spoke to Richard. “Well, please do not become intolerant just now, or show them any more respect for the moment. I know what I am doing, and it is going well. Let me do it my way, all right?”

He agreed, folding his arms in frustration. She turned once more to the elder. He peered at her sharply and asked something that surprised her.

“Did Richard With The Temper bring us the rains?”

Kahlan frowned. “Well, I guess you could say that.” She was confused by the question and didn’t know what to say, so told him the truth. “The clouds follow him.”

The elder studied her face intently and nodded. She didn’t feel comfortable under his gaze, and sought to bring the conversation back to the reason for her visit.

“Savidlin, the Seeker has come to see your people on my advice. He is not here to harm or interfere with your people. You know me. I have been among you before. You know of my respect for the Mud People. I would not bring another to you unless it was important. Right now, time is our enemy.”

Savidlin considered what she had said for a while, then at last spoke.

“As I said before, you are welcome among us.” He looked up with a grin at the Seeker, then back to her. “Richard With The Temper is most welcome in our village too.”

The other men were pleased with the decision; they all seemed to like Richard. They gathered up their things, including two deer and a wild boar, each tied to a carrying pole. Kahlan hadn’t seen the result of their hunt before because it had been hidden in the tall grass. As they all started off down the path, the men gathered about Richard, touching him cautiously and jabbering questions he couldn’t understand. Savidlin clapped him on the shoulders, looking forward to showing off his big new friend to the village. Kahlan went along beside him, for the most part ignored, and happy that so far they liked Richard. She understood the feeling—it was hard to dislike him—but there was some other reason for their ready acceptance of him. She worried about what that reason could be.

“I told you I would win them over,” Richard said with a grin as he looked at her over their heads. “I just never thought I would do it by laying one of them out.”

23

Chickens scattered at their feet as the hunting party surrounding Kahlan and Richard led them into the Mud People’s village. Set on a slight rise that passed for a hill in the grasslands of the Wilds, the village was a collection of buildings constructed of a kind of mud brick, surfaced with a tan clay plaster and topped with grass roofs that leaked as they became dry, and had to be replaced constantly to keep the rain at bay. There were wood doors, but no glass in the windows of the thick walls, only cloth hanging in some to keep out the weather.

Set in a rough circle around an open area, the buildings were one-room family homes clustered tightly on the south side, most sharing at least one common wall, narrow walkways passing between the homes here and there, and communal buildings grouped together on the north. A variety of structures placed loosely on the east and west separated them. Some of these were nothing more than four poles with grass roofs, used as places to eat, or as work areas for making weapons and pottery, or as food preparation and cooking areas. In dry times the whole village was shrouded in a fog of dust that clogged the eyes, nose, and tongue, but now its buildings were washed clean by the rain, and on the ground a thousand footprints were turned to puddles that reflected the drab buildings above.

Women wrapped in simple dresses of brightly colored cloth sat in the work areas, grinding tava root, from which they made the flat bread that was the staple of the Mud People. Sweet-smelling smoke rose from the cooking fires. Adolescent girls with short-cropped hair smoothed down by sticky mud sat by the women, helping.

Kahlan felt their shy eyes on her. She knew from being here before that she was the object of great interest among the young girls, a traveler who had been to strange places and seen all sorts of things. A woman whom men feared and respected. The older women abided the distraction with understanding indulgence.

Children ran from every corner of the village to see what manner of strangers Savidlin’s hunting party had brought back. They crowded around the hunters, squealing with excitement, stomping their bare feet in the mud, and splashing the men. Ordinarily, they would be interested in the deer and boar, but now those were ignored in favor of the strangers. The men tolerated them with good-natured smiles; little children were never scolded. When they were older, they would be put into strict training where they would be taught the disciplines of the Mud People—of hunting, food gathering, and the ways of spirits—but for now they were allowe

d to be children, with almost free rein to play.

The knot of children offered up scraps of food as bribes for stories of who the strangers might be. The men laughed, declining the offerings in favor of saving the tale for the elders. Only slightly disappointed, the children continued to dance about, this being the most exciting thing that had happened in their young lives; something very much out of the ordinary, with a distinct tinge of danger.

Six elders stood under the leaky protection of one of the open pole structures, waiting for Savidlin to bring the strangers to them. They wore deerskin pants, and were bare-chested; each had a coyote hide draped around his shoulders. Despite their grim faces, Kahlan knew them to be more friendly than they appeared. Mud People never smiled at outsiders until greetings had been exchanged, lest their souls be stolen.

The children stayed back from the pole building, sitting in the mud to watch as the hunting party brought the outsiders to the elders. The women had halted their work at the cooking fires, as had the young men their weapons making, and all fell silent, including the children sitting in the mud. Business among the Mud People was conducted in the open, for all to see.

Kahlan stepped up to the six elders, Richard to her right but back a pace, Savidlin to his right. The six surveyed the two outsiders.

“Strength to Confessor Kahlan,” said the eldest.

“Strength to Toffalar,” she answered.

He gave her face a gentle slap, hardly more than a pat. It was their custom to give only small slaps in the village proper. Heartier ones like Savidlin had delivered were reserved for chance meetings out on the plain, away from the village. The gentler custom helped preserve order, and teeth. Surin, Caldus, Arbrin, Breginderin, and Hajanlet each in turn offered strength and a small slap. Kahlan returned the greetings and the gentle slaps. They turned to Richard. Savidlin stepped forward, pulling his new friend with him. He proudly displayed his swollen lip to the elders.