Wizard's First Rule (Sword of Truth 1)

She started to leave, but turned back. “And if you have any thoughts of simply pulling the chain off the peg and letting the pain make you pass out, I wouldn’t try it if I were you. I changed the magic. It will not allow you to pass out anymore. If you pull the chain off, or fall down accidentally, and that pulls it off, I will not be here to help you. You will be all alone, for the night, with the pain. Think about that, if you get sleepy.”

She turned on her heels and left, taking the torch with her.

Richard stood in the dark, crying. After a time, he forced himself to stop, and thought of Kahlan. That was something pleasant Denna couldn’t take away from him. At least not tonight. He made himself feel good by thinking of how she was safe, and had people to protect her. Zedd, and Chase, and soon Michael’s army. He envisioned her where she must be, at a camp somewhere, right now, with Siddin and Rachel, taking care of them, telling them stories, making them laugh.

He smiled at the vision of her in his mind. He savored the memory of her kiss, the feel of her against him. Even if he wasn’t with her, she could still make him smile, make him happy. What happened to him didn’t matter. She was safe. That was all that counted. Kahlan, and Zedd, and Chase, were safe, and they had the last box. Darken Rahl was going to die, and Kahlan was going to live.

After it was over, what did it matter what happened to him? He might as well be dead. Denna, or Darken Rahl, would see to that. He had only to endure the pain until then. He could do that. What did it matter? Nothing Denna could do could match the pain of knowing that he couldn’t be with Kahlan. The woman he loved. The woman he loved, who would choose another.

He was glad he was going to be dead before then. Maybe he could do something to hurry it along; it certainly didn’t take much to make Denna angry. If he moved the next time she put the Agiel in his ear, he would be permanently impaired; then maybe he would be of no use to her. Maybe she would kill him then. He had never felt so alone in his life.

“I love you, Kahlan,” he whispered into the dark.

As Denna had promised, the next day was worse. She seemed well rested, and anxious to work off some of her energy at the task of breaking him. He knew there was one thing he had control over, a choice in. He waited for her to use the Agiel in his ear again, so he could jerk his head with all his strength, and cause serious damage, but she never did, as if she sensed what he might do. That gave him a shred of hope; it was something he had made her do. He had made her not use the Agiel in that way. She didn’t have all the control she thought she did; he still was able to force her to do something by his own choice. The thought heartened him. The thought of how he had locked his self-respect, his dignity, away in his secret room gave him the ability to do what was necessary. He let himself do as she wished, when she wished it.

The only time Denna paused was a few times to sit at the table to eat. She would watch him while she slowly ate fruit, smile to herself when he moaned. He was given nothing to eat, only water from a cup she held for him after she was finished with her meal.

At the end of the day she hooked his chain to the beam again and made him stand for the night. He didn’t bother to ask why; it didn’t matter. She was going to do as she wished and there was nothing he could do to change it.

In the morning when she returned with the torch, he was still standing, but barely. She seemed in a good mood.

“I want a good-morning kiss.” She smiled. “I expect you to return it. Show me how happy you are to see your mistress.”

He did his best, but had to concentrate on how pretty her braid was. The embrace ignited the flames of pain in the wounds she pressed against. When she was finished, and the hurt left him shaking, she pulled the chain off the peg and tossed it on the floor.

“You are learning to be a good pet. You have earned two hours of sleep.”

He collapsed to the floor, asleep before the sound of her footsteps faded.

He discovered that being awakened by the Agiel was a terror all its own. The brief sleep had done little to revive him. He needed much more than he had been allowed. He vowed to himself that he would struggle with all his might to get through the entire day without making a single mistake, to do exactly as she wished, and maybe she would grant him a whole night’s sleep.

He put all his effort into doing everything she wished, hoping he would please her. He was hoping, too, that he would be given something to eat. He hadn’t eaten since she had captured him. He wondered which he wanted more—sleep, or food. He decided that what he wanted the most was for the pain to stop. Or for him to be allowed to die.

He was at the end of his strength, felt his life slipping away from him, and awaited the end with longing. Denna seemed to sense his waning endurance, and eased up, giving him more time to recover, taking longer breaks. He didn’t care; he knew it was never going to end, he was lost. He surrendered his will to live, to go on, to hold out. She cooed to him soothingly, stroked his face, as he hung in the shackles, resting. She spoke encouragingly to him, told him not to give up, and promised that when he was broken, it would be better. He just listened, not even able to cry.

When at last she unhooked the shackles from the beam, he thought it must be night again; he had no sense of time anymore. He waited for her to hook up the chain, or throw it on the floor and tell him he could sleep. She did neither. She instead hooked it over the chair, told him to stand, and left. When she returned, she was carrying a bucket.

“On your knees, my pet.” She sat in the chair next to him, took a brush from the hot soapy water, and started scrubbing him. The stiff bristles brought a pain all of their own as they worked into his wounds. “We have a dinner invitation. I have to get you cleaned up. I rather like the smell of your sweat, your fear, but I’m afraid it would offend the guests.”

She worked with an odd sort of tenderness. It reminded him of the way a person would care for a dog. He fell against her, unable to hold himself up. He wouldn’t lean against her for support if he had the strength not to, but he didn’t. She let him stay where he was as she scrubbed. He wondered who the dinner invitation was from, but didn’t ask.

Denna told him anyway. “Queen Milena herself has asked us to join her and her guests for dinner. Quite an honor, for someone as low as you, wouldn’t you say?”

He only nodded, not having enough strength to speak.

Queen Milena. So they were in her castle. He guessed that didn’t surprise him. Where else would she have had time to take him? When she was finished, she allowed him one hour of sleep, to rest for dinner. He slept at her feet.

She woke him with her boot instead of the Agiel. He almost cried at her mercy and heard himself thanking her profusely for her kindness to him. She gave him instructions as to his behavior. He would have his chain hooked to her belt, and was to keep his eyes to her, speak to no one unless they spoke to him first, and then only if he looked to her first for permission to answer. He would not be allowed to sit at the table, but would sit on the floor, and if he behaved himself, he would be given something to eat.

He promised to do as she wished. The idea of sitting on the floor sounded wonderful to him: to be able to rest, and not have to stand, or be hurt. And to be allowed something to eat, at last. He would make sure he did nothing to displease her, or to keep her from giving him food.

Richard’s brain was in a fog as he followed behind Denna, attached to her by the chain on his collar, concentrating on keeping the proper amount of slack. The manacles were off his wrists, but the cuts from them were red and swollen, and throbbed painfully. He vaguely remembered some of the rooms they passed through.

In the room with other people, Denna stopped as she strode around, talking briefly with finely dressed people. Richard kept his eyes on her braid. The braid had obviously been done over for the dinner; the vigorous use of the Agiel caused it to loosen, and freed stray wisps of hair. She must have done it over while she had let him sleep.

He found himself thinking about how beautiful her ha

ir really was, how much finer she looked than any of the other women at the dinner. He knew people were staring at him, at his sword, as he was led around the room by his collar and chain. He reminded himself that his pride was locked away for the time being. This was about getting a chance to rest, to eat, and about having her not hurt him for a while.

Richard bowed and stayed bowed while Denna spoke to the Queen. The Queen and the Mord-Sith gave only a bow of the head to each other. The Princess was at the Queen’s side. Richard thought about how Princess Violet had treated Rachel, and had to return his thoughts to Denna’s braid.

As she sat at the table, Denna snapped her fingers and pointed at the floor behind her chair. He knew what she wanted and sat on the floor, crossing his legs. Denna sat to the left of the Queen, to the right of Princess Violet, who eyed him coldly. Richard recognized some of the Queen’s advisors. He smiled to himself. The court artist wasn’t among them. The head table was higher than the others, but sitting on the floor, Richard couldn’t see many of the gathered guests.

“Since you don’t eat meat,” the Queen said to Denna, “I had the cooks prepare a special dinner I know you will enjoy. Some wonderful soups and vegetables, and some rare fruits.”

Denna smiled and thanked her. While she was eating, a server brought her a plain bowl on a tray.

“For my pet,” she told him, interrupting her conversation only briefly.

The man took the bowl from the tray and handed it down to Richard. It was some sort of gruel, but to Richard, as he held the bowl in his trembling hands, preparing to drink it down, it looked like the best meal he had ever seen.

“If he’s your pet,” Princess Violet said, “why do you allow him to eat like that?”

Denna looked over to the Princess. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if he’s your pet”—the Princess smiled—“he should eat off the floor, without his hands.”

Denna grinned, a glint in her eye. “Do as she says.”

“Put it on the floor,” Princess Violet said, “and eat it like a dog, for us all to see. Let everyone see that the Seeker is no better than a dog.”

Richard was too hungry to do anything to lose his meal. He concentrated on a mental image of Denna’s braid and set the bowl carefully on the floor as he glanced into Princess Violet’s eyes, to her smirk, and ate the gruel to the sound of laughter. He licked the bowl clean, telling himself it was because he needed the strength, in case he ever got the chance to use it.

After the Queen and her guests had finished eating, a man in chains was brought in and made to stand in the center of the room. Richard recognized him. He was one of the men Kahlan had freed from the dungeon. They exchanged a brief look of understanding, despair.

There was talk of crimes and foul deeds done. Richard did his best to ignore it; he knew it was merely a pretext. The Queen gave a short lecture on the man’s crimes, then turned to the Princess.

“Perhaps the Princess would like to pronounce this man’s punishment?”