Soul of the Fire (Sword of Truth 5)

Richard stood with a sorrowful sigh. He stared down at the broken form that had once been a person, probably only a short time before. It looked like it must have been a terrible end.

If only he had been closer, sooner, he might have been able to stop it. Suddenly not having the stomach to look at the bloody body, or others nearby, Richard walked away.

He hadn’t gone more than a few paces when a thought brought him to a halt. He turned around and looked. He winced at the notion, but then thought: What if it had been someone he cared about? Wouldn’t he want somebody who was there to do whatever they could? He was the only one around to help, if he even could. He guessed it was worth a try—the person was already dead, there was nothing to lose.

He ran back and knelt beside the body. He couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman, except that there were pants, so he assumed it to be a man. He put a hand under the neck and wiped some of the mask of blood from the swollen, cut lips and then put his over them.

He remembered what Denna had done to him, when he was near death. He recalled Cara doing it to Du Chaillu.

He blew a breath of life into the lifeless corpse. He lifted his mouth and listened to the breath wheeze from the body. He blew another breath, and then another, and then another.

He knelt by the body for what seemed like ages but he knew could be only minutes, blowing in the breath of life, hoping against hope the poor unfortunate soul would still be with them. He prayed to the good spirits for help.

He wanted so much for something good to come of his experience at the hands of Denna, the Mord-Sith. He knew Denna would want life to be her legacy. Cara had already brought Du Chaillu back, proving that Mord-Sith could do more than take life.

He again prayed fervently to the good spirits to help him, to keep this soul here with this person, rather than take it now.

With a gasp, life returned.

Someone was coming. Richard looked up and saw two of the blade masters trotting back. Richard didn’t need to ask if they were successful. That gang of young men would murder no more people in the night.

Someone else was coming, too. It was an older gentleman in dark clothes. He rushed up with frightened urgency.

The man was staggered by the sight. “Oh, dear Creator, not another one.”

“Another one?” Richard asked.

The man fell to his knees, seeming not to hear Richard. He took up a bloody hand, pressing it to his cheek.

“Thank the Creator,” he whispered. He looked up at Richard. “I have a carriage.” He pointed. “Just there, on the road. Help me, get this poor wretch to my carriage and we can take him to my home.”

“Where?” Richard asked.

“Fairfield,” the man said, watching the blade masters carefully, tenderly, lift the unconscious but breathing person.

“Well,” Richard said, wiping the blood from his mouth. “I guess it’s a lot closer than the camp with my soldiers.”

Richard thought he might have to help the man, but the man refused the offer of a helping arm.

“Are you Lord Rahl, then?”

Richard nodded. The man stopped then, pulling Richard’s hand up to shake it.

“Lord Rahl, I’m honored to meet you, though not under such circumstances. My name is Edwin Winthrop.”

Richard pumped the man’s hand. “Master Winthrop.”

“Edwin, please.” Edwin grasped Richard’s shoulders. “Lord Rahl, this is just terrible. My beloved wife, Claudine—”

Edwin fell into tears. Richard gently took hold of his arms to be sure the man wouldn’t collapse.

“My beloved wife Claudine was murdered in just this fashion. Beaten to death out on this road.”

“I’m so sorry,” Richard said, now understanding Edwin’s reaction.

“Let me help this poor wretch. No one was there to help my Claudine as you’ve helped this person. Please, Lord Rahl, let me help.”

“It’s Richard, Edwin. I would like nothing better than for you to help.”

Richard watched as Jiaan and his blade masters helped to carefully load the person into the carriage.

“I’d like three of you to go with Edwin. We can’t tell if whoever is responsible for this will try again.”

“There will be no one to report their failure,” Jiaan said.

“They will realize it sooner or later.” Richard turned to Edwin. “You must not tell anyone of this, or you will be in danger. They might come to finish the job.”

Edwin was nodding as he climbed into his carriage. “I have a a healer, lifelong friend, I can trust.”

Richard and two of the blade masters walked the lonely road back to camp in silence. The had previously expressed their absolute faith that he would banish the chimes that had tried to kill their spirit woman. Richard didn’t have the heart to tell them he was no closer to doing so than he was back then.

When he got back, most of the camp was asleep. Richard wasn’t in the mood to talk with the officers or sentries. He was thinking about Joseph Ander and the chimes.

Kahlan wasn’t in their tent. She had probably gone to be with Du Chaillu and Du Chaillu had come to value Kahlan’s presence—the comfort of another woman. It was close to time for the baby to be born.

Richard took Joseph Ander’s journey book and a lamp and went to another tent used by officers for planning. He wanted to work on translating more of the journey book, but didn’t want to keep Kahlan from sleeping when she got back. Richard knew that if he worked in their tent, she would want to sit up with him. There was no need for that.

67

Richard was puzzling over an involved and confusing translation, trying to work through

the maze of possible meanings, when Jiaan slipped into the tent. The soldiers would have asked permission to enter; the blade masters just assumed they had permission to go wherever they wanted. After the constant formality with the soldiers, Richard found it refreshing.

“Caharin, you must come with me. Du Chaillu has sent me.”

Richard shot to his feet. “The baby? The baby is coming? I’ll get Kahlan. Let’s go.”

“No.” Jiaan put a restraining hand on Richard. “Not your child. She sent me to get you, and she said to come alone.”

“She doesn’t want me to get Kahlan?”

“No, Caharin. Please, you must do as our spirit woman, your wife, asks.”

Richard had never seen such a look of concern in Jiaan’s dark eyes. The man was always stone with a sword. Richard held out a hand, inviting Jiaan to lead the way.

To his surprise, it was near dawn. Richard had been working the entire night. He hoped Kahlan was asleep; if she wasn’t she would scold him for not getting any rest.

Jiaan had two horses saddled and waiting. Richard was surprised. The man would run rather than ride unless Du Chaillu told him to ride, and that was just about never.

“What’s going on?” Richard gestured off toward Du Chaillu’s tent. “I thought Du Chaillu wanted me.”

Jiaan swung into his saddle. “She is in the city.”

“What is she doing in Fairfield? I’m not sure it’s safe there for her, not after they’ve been turning everyone against us.”

“Please, Caharin. I beg you, come with me, and hurry.”

Richard sprang up onto his horse. “Of course. I’m sorry, Jiaan. Let’s go.”

Richard was beginning to worry that Du Chaillu had already come to trouble from people in Fairfield. They knew she was with Richard and Kahlan. For that matter, they knew she was Richard’s wife.

He urged his horse into a run. Anxiety twisted in his gut.

The door to a house set back among trees opened. Edwin peered out. Richard, by now in a state of deep concern, relaxed a bit. The person they saved was probably not making it, and they wanted him to see them before death came, since he had breathed the breath of life back into them.