Wizard's First Rule (Sword of Truth 1)

“Mostly, I miss my brother,” she said to her doll. She looked away. “They said he died,” she confided softly.

Rachel had been telling her doll her troubles for most of the day. All her troubles she could think of. When she got tears, the doll said she loved her, and it made her feel good. Sometimes it made her laugh.

Rachel put another small stick in the fire. It felt so good to be able to get warm, and have light. But she kept the fire small, just like Giller had told her. The fire kept her from being so afraid in the woods, especially at night. It would be night again soon. Sometimes there were noises in the woods at night that made her scared, made her cry. But being out here in the lonely woods was still better than being locked in the box.

“That was when I lived in that place I told you about. With the other children, before the Queen came and picked me. I liked it there a lot better than living with the Princess. They were nice to me there.” She looked over at the doll to see if she was listening. “There was a man, Brophy, who came sometimes. People said mean things about him, but he was nice to us children. He was nice, like Giller. He gave me a doll, too, but the Queen wouldn’t let me take it with me when I went to live at the castle. I didn’t care, though, because I was so sad my brother died. I heard some people say he got murdered. I know that means he got killed. Why do people kill children?”

The doll just smiled. Rachel smiled back.

She thought about the new little boy she had seen the Queen having locked up. He talked funny, and looked funny, but his presence still had reminded her of her brother. That was because he seemed so afraid. Her brother was always getting afraid, too. Rachel could always tell when her brother was getting afraid because he would fidget and squirm. She felt so sorry for the new boy; she wished she was important so she could help him.

Rachel put her hands toward the fire to warm them for a minute, then stuck one in her pocket. She was hungry. A few berries were all she had been able to find to eat. She held a big one out, offering it to her doll. The doll didn’t seem hungry, so she ate it herself, then a handful more, until they were gone. She was still hungry, but she didn’t want to look for more. The place where they grew wasn’t close, and it was getting dark. She didn’t want to be out in the woods when it was dark. She wanted to be in her wayward pine with her doll. By the warm fire; by the light.

“Maybe the Queen will be nicer when she gets her alliance, whatever that is. That’s all she talks about, how she wants her alliance. Maybe she’ll be happier then, and won’t say to chop off people’s heads. The Princess makes me go with her, you know, but I don’t like to watch, I close my eyes. Now even Princess Violet says to chop off people’s heads. She gets meaner every day. Now I’m afraid that she’ll say to chop off my head. I wish I could run away.” She looked over at her doll. “I wish I could run away and never come back. And I’d take you with me.”

The doll smiled. “I love you, Rachel.”

She picked up the doll and gave it a long hug, then kissed it on its head.

“But if we run away, Princess Violet would send the guards to find me, and then she would throw you in the fire. I don’t want her to throw you in the fire. I love you.”

“I love you, Rachel.”

Rachel hugged her doll tight, and crawled into the hay, with the doll next to her. Tomorrow she had to go back, and the Princess would be mean to her some more. She had to leave her doll when she went back, she knew, or it would get thrown in the fire.

“You’re the bestest friend I ever had. You and Giller.”

“I love you, Rachel.”

She started to worry, to worry what would happen to her doll, all alone here in the wayward pine. The doll would be lonely. What if the Princess never sent her out again; what if she somehow found out that she wanted to be sent out, and kept her in the castle just to be mean?

“Do you know what I should do?” she asked the doll as she looked up at the firelight flickering on the dark branches inside the tree.

“Help Giller,” the doll said.

She rolled over on one elbow and looked at the doll. “Help Giller?”

The doll nodded. “Help Giller.”

Rays from the setting sun ahead reflected off the layer of leaves, making the path bright and shiny between the dark mass of woods to each side. Richard could hear Kahlan’s boots scuffing across rocks hidden under the colorful mat. A light scent of rot was in the air: fallen leaves beginning to decompose in the low damp places and the thick piles in the laps of rocks, where the wind had collected them.

Even though it was getting cold, neither Richard nor Kahlan wore their cloaks, being warm from the exertion of the pace Old John was setting. Richard kept trying to think about Zedd, but his train of thought was constantly being interrupted by having to lope to keep up. The realization that he was getting winded finally made him push Zedd from his mind. But one thought wouldn’t leave him: something didn’t feel right.

At last, he allowed that caution to blossom in his mind. How could an old man be out walking him like this, yet look fresh and relaxed? Richard felt his forehead, wondering if he was sick, or had a fever. He did feel hot. Maybe he wasn’t well; maybe there was something wrong with him. They had been pushing hard for days, but not this hard. No, he felt fine, simply winded.

For a while, he watched Kahlan walking ahead of him. She, too, was having difficulty keeping up. She pulled another spiderweb off her face, then trotted to keep up. He could see that, like him, she was breathing hard. For some reason, Richard’s caution was igniting into foreboding.

He caught a brief glimpse of something off to the left, in the woods, keeping pace. Just a small animal, he thought. But it looked like something with long arms, skittering along the ground; then it was gone. His mouth felt dry. It must just be his imagination, he told himself.

He turned his attention back to Old John. The path was wide in some places, narrow in others with branches that reached in tight. When Kahlan and Richard went past, they both sometimes brushed against them, or simply pushed them out of the way. Not the old man. He stayed to the center of the trail, avoiding any errant limb, his arms clutching his cloak tightly to him.

Richard’s eye was caught by the strands of a spiderweb, glistening golden in the setting sun, stretched across the path in front of Kahlan. The web parted against her upper leg when she walked through it.

The sweat on his face instantly turned ice cold against his skin.

How could Old John not have broken the web?

He looked up and saw a branch, its tip sticking out in the path. The old man skirted it. But not the tip. The tip passed through his arm as it would pass through smoke.

Breathing faster, he glanced down at the footprints Kahlan made through an open patch of soft ground. There were none from Old John.

Richard’s left hand shot forward, seized a fistful of Kahlan’s shirt, and yanked her behind him, causing her to cry out in surprise. He tossed her backward as his right hand pulled the sword free.

Old John stopped and half turned at the sound of the sword’s ringing.

“What is it, my boy? See something?” His voice came like the hiss of a snake.

“Indeed.” Richard gripped the sword in both hands, his legs set in a defensive stance, his chest heaving. He felt the anger flooding his fear. “How is it that you don’t break spiderwebs when you walk through them, or leave footprints?”

Old John gave a slow, sly smile, appraising him with one eye. “Did you not expect that an old friend of a wizard would have special talents?”

“Maybe,” Richard said, his eyes darting left and right, checking. “But tell me, Old John, what is your old friend’s name?”

“Why, it’s Zedd.” His eyebrows lifted. “How else would I know, if he weren’t my old friend.” His cloak was pulled tightly around him. His head had sunken into his shoulders.

“I’m the one who foolishly told you his name was Zedd. Now, you tell me your old friend’s last name.”

Old John watched him with a dark frown, his eyes moving slowly, appraising, measuring. Eyes of an animal.

With a sudden roar that made Richard flinch, the old man turned, his cloak flinging open. In the time it took to complete the turn, he mushroomed to twice his previous size.

An impossible nightmare came to life: fur and claws and fangs, where an old man had been an instant before.

A creature of snarl and snap.

Richard gasped as he looked up at the gaping maw of the beast. It roared and abruptly took a giant step forward. Richard took three back. He gripped the sword so hard it hurt. The woods echoed with the earsplitting cry of the thing, deep, savage, vicious. The mouth stretched wide with each roar. It leaned over him, deepset red eyes glowing, snapping its huge teeth. Richard urgently backed up, retreating behind the sword. He took a quick glance, but didn’t see Kahlan behind him.

All at once, it came for him. Richard didn’t have a chance to swing the sword. He tripped on a root, falling backward, sprawling across the ground. He couldn’t get his breath. Instinctively, he brought the sword up to impale the thing, expecting it to fall on him.

Sharp, wet teeth reached over the sword, snapping viciously at his face. He drove the sword up, but the beast stayed clear. Furious red eyes glared at the sword. It backed away and looked toward the woods to its right. Its ears laid back as it snarled at something.

It picked up a rock twice the size of Richard’s head, put its blunt snout high in the air, took a deep breath, and with a roar squeezed the rock in its claw. Corded muscles tightened. The rock split with a loud crack that reverberated through the forest. Dust and flakes of rock filled the air. The beast looked about, turned, and swiftly slipped into the trees.

Richard lay on his back, panting, watching the woods with wide eyes, expecting the beast to reappear. He called out Kahlan’s name. She didn’t answer.

Before he could scramble fully to his feet, something ashen, with long arms, leapt on him, knocking him to his back again. It screamed with rage. Powerful gnarled hands gripped his, trying to pry the sword from his grip. One of the arms backhanded him across the jaw, nearly slamming him senseless. Bloodless white lips curled back, exposing sharp teeth, as it howled. Bulging yellow eyes snatched glances back at him. It tried desperately to kick his face. Richard held on to the sword with all his strength, trying to twist away from the painful grip of the long fingers.

“My sword,” it snarled. “Gimme. Gimme my sword.”