Temple of the Winds (Sword of Truth 4)

With comprehension, and the resulting, sickening realization of his only choice, he made the mental leap off the rim of sanity and into the madness, where dwelt part of this woman’s mind and, he feared, part of his.

As irretrievable as a heartbeat, the decision had been made.

Muscles flexing with the call, he drew his sword. It sent the soft, matchless ring of steel through the room, through his bones.

With that seemingly simple act, the wrath of the sword’s magic was loosed. The lock on the door to death was slipped free. It took his breath like a wall of an acid wind. Storms of rage lifted on that biting wind.

“Magic, then,” he told her, “will be your judge, and executioner.”

Her eyes squeezed shut.

“Look at me!”

The sword’s rage twisted through him, trying to carry him away with it. He fought to maintain his grip of control, as he always had to do when he held the fury unleashed.

“You will look into my eyes when I kill you!”

Her eyes opened. Her brow wrinkled together, tears streaming down her cheeks. Any good she had done, any bravery in the face of danger, any sacrifice to her duty, had been stripped away in the face of her disgrace. She had been denied the honor of a death by her Agiel. For that, and that alone, she cried.

Richard pressed the razor-sharp edge to his forearm, drawing for the blade its taste of blood. He brought the Sword of Truth to his forehead, touching the cold steel, the warm blood, to his flesh.

He whispered his invocation. “Blade, be true this day.”

This was the person who, for her presumption, and but for luck, would have cost him Kahlan. Cost him everything.

She watched as the blade rose above him. She saw the fury, the righteous rage, in his eyes. She saw the magic dancing there.

She saw death, dancing there.

The knuckles of both fists were white as he gripped the hilt.

He knew he couldn’t deny the magic its will—if he was to have a chance. He loosed his wrath at this woman for abandoning her responsibility to protect Kahlan. Her arrogance could have ended Kahlan’s life, ended his future, ended his reason for living. He had entrusted his dearest love to her care, and she had failed in her duty to honor his faith.

He could have returned to find Kahlan dead because of this woman on her knees before him. For no other reason.

Their eyes shared the madness of what they were doing, of what they each had become, of knowing that there was no other way —for either of them.

He committed to cleave her in two.

The sword’s wrath demanded it.

He would accept no less.

He envisioned it.

He would have it.

Her blood.

With a scream of rage, with all his strength, with all his fury and anger, he swung the blade down toward her face.

The sword’s tip whistled.

In every detail, he could see the light glint off the polished blade as it swept through a streamer of sunlight. He could see drops of his sweat sparkle in the sunlight, as if frozen in space. He could have counted them. He could see where the blade would hit her. She could see where the blade was going to hit her. His muscles screamed with the effort as his lungs screamed with rage.

Between her eyes, an inch from her flesh, the blade stopped as solidly as if it had thunked into an impenetrable wall.

Sweat rolled down his face. His arms shook. The room echoed with the lingering sound of his cry of fury.

At last, he withdrew the blade from over Cara.

She stared up with big, round, unblinking eyes. She was panting in rapid, short breaths through her mouth. A long, low whine came from her throat.

“There will be no execution,” Richard said in a hoarse voice.

“How…” she whispered, “how… could it do that? How could it stop like that?”

“I’m sorry, Cara, but the sword’s magic has made the choice. It has chosen that you live. You will have to abide by its decision.”

Her eyes finally turned to look into his. “You were going to do it. You were going to execute me.”

He slid the sword slowly into its scabbard.

“Yes.”

“Then why am I not dead?”

“Because the magic decided otherwise. We can’t question its judgment. We must abide by it.”

Richard had been reasonably sure that the sword’s magic wouldn’t harm Cara. The magic wouldn’t let him harm one who was an ally. He had been counting on that.

But there had been doubt. Cara had brought Kahlan within danger’s grasp, though not intentionally. He wasn’t entirely sure that doubt wouldn’t cause the blade to take her. That was the way with the Sword of Truth’s magic—one wasn’t always entirely sure.

Zedd had told Richard when he had given him the sword that therein lay the danger. The sword destroyed an enemy, and spared a friend, but the sword’s magic worked as a result of the view of its holder, not the truth. Zedd had told him that doubt could possibly cause the death of a friend, or allow the escape of a foe.

But he did know that if it was to work, he had to commit his entire being to the effort, otherwise Cara wouldn’t believe the magic had spared her, and she would have credited it to him. Then she would have been obligated to do as she had promised.

His insides felt as if they were twisted into knots. His knees trembled. He had been sucked into a world of dread; he hadn’t been positive that it would work as he had planned.

Worse, he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t made a mistake by sparing her.

Richard cupped Cara’s chin. “The Sword of Truth has made its choice. It chose for you to live, for you to have another chance. You must accept its decision.”

Cara nodded in his hand. “Yes, Lord Rahl.”

He reached under her arm and helped her to her feet. He could hardly stand himself, and wondered if he had been in her place if he would be able to get to his feet as steadily as she.

“I will do better in the future, Lord Rahl.”

Richard pulled her head to his shoulder and held her tight for a moment, something he had been aching to do. Her arms slipped around him in grateful surrender.

“That’s all I ask, Cara.”

As she headed for the door, Richard called her name. She turned back.

“You still must be punished.”

Her eyes turned down. “Yes, Lord Rahl.”

“Tomorrow afternoon. You will have to learn to feed chipmunks.”

Her gaze came back up. “Lord Rahl?”

“Do you wish to feed chipmunks?”

“No, Lord Rahl.”

“Then that’s your punishment. Bring Berdine and Raina. They, too, are due some punishment.”

Richard closed the door after her, leaned against it, and shut his eyes. The inferno of the sword’s rage had consumed his anger. He was left empty and weak. He shook so badly he could hardly stand.

He was almost si

ck at the vivid memory of looking into her eyes as he brought the sword down with all his strength, expecting that he was going to kill her. He had been prepared for the spray of blood and bone. Cara’s blood and bone. A person he cared about.

He had done what he had to, to save her life, but at what cost?

The prophecy reeled through his head, and the nausea took him to his knees in a flash of cold sweat and dread.

15

The soldiers he had stationed in the halls around the Mother Confessor’s rooms stepped aside, each clapping a fist to the chain mail over his heart as Richard went by. He absently returned the salute as he swept past them, his gold cape billowing out behind. The soldiers crossed their pikes before the three Mord-Sith and two big bodyguards trailing him at a distance. When he had previously stationed the soldiers, he had given them a very short list of who was to be allowed through their positions. His five guards weren’t on the list.

He glanced back to see Agiel come up into fists. He met Cara’s eyes. The three Mord-Sith reluctantly released their weapons.

His five guards backed away from the challenge and set up their own guard post beyond the soldiers. With a hand signal from Cara, Raina and Ulic swiftly disappeared back down the hall. No doubt she had sent them to find another way around to guard the opposite end of the hall.

When he rounded the next to last corner before Kahlan’s room, he saw Nadine sitting on a gilt-legged chair to the side of the hall. She was swinging her legs like a bored child waiting to go outside and play. When she saw him coming, she bounded up out of the chair.

She looked scrubbed and fresh. Her thick hair glistened. His brow twitched; her dress looked tighter than it had the day before. It seemed to fit closer to her ribs and hips, showing her alluring shape more than he remembered. He knew it was the same dress; he thought he must be imagining things. Seeing her figure displayed to such advantage reminded him that there had been a time…

She schooled her enthusiasm, twisting a strand of hair with a finger as she affected a smile. Her delight at seeing him faltered as he approached. She took a step back toward the wall as he stopped before her.

Nadine’s gaze left his eyes. “Richard. Good morning. I thought I heard someone say you were back already. I was”— she gestured toward Kahlan’s room for an excuse to look away—“I came… to see how Kahlan was doing this morning. I, well, I need to put on a new poultice. I was just waiting until I was sure she was up, and—”