Temple of the Winds (Sword of Truth 4)

Black sorcerer's sand was the counter to the white. They nullified each other. Even one grain of the black would contaminate a spell drawn with the white, even one drawn to invoke the Keeper. He had used it to defeat Darken Rahl’s spirit and send him back to the underworld.

Prelate Annalina had told him to guard the black sand with his life—that a spoonful of it was worth kingdoms. He possessed several kingdoms’ worth. He never let the little leather purse containing the black sand out of his sight or his reach.

Children, layered with ragged clothes for warmth against the cold spring day, played catch-the-fox in the tightly hemmed street, running from doorway to doorway, giggling with glee at the prospect of finding the fox, and more so at seeing the impressive procession coming up their very own street.

Even seeing happy children didn’t bring a smile to Richard’s face.

“This one, Lord Rahl,” General Kerson said.

The general lifted a thumb to a door on the right, set back a few feet into the clapboard face of a building. The faded red paint was flaking off the bottom of the door where the weather worked on it the most. A small sign said: “Latherton Rooming House.”

A big, stocky man inside didn’t look up from a chair behind a rickety table set with dry biscuits and a bottle. He stared at nothing with red-rimmed eyes. His hair was disheveled and his clothes rumpled. He seemed in a daze. Beyond him was a stairway, and beside that a narrow hall that ran back into darkness.

“Closed,” he murmured.

“Are you Silas Latherton?” Richard asked, his gaze sweeping the clutter of dirty clothes and bed sheets awaiting washing. A half dozen empty ewers sat against the wall, along with a stack of washrags.

The man peered up from behind a puzzled frown. “Yeah. Who are you? You look familiar.”

“I’m Richard Rahl. Perhaps you see a resemblance to my brother, Drefan.”

“Drefan.” The man’s eyes widened. “Lord Rahl.” His chair rasped noisily against the floor as he shoved it back and stood to bow. “Forgive me. I didn’t recognize you. I’ve never seen you before. I didn’t know that the healer was your brother. I beg the Lord Rahl’s forgiveness…”

For the first time, Silas noticed the dark-haired Mord-Sith at Richard’s side, the muscled general at the other side, Richard’s two huge bodyguards towering behind him, and the phalanx of soldiers spilling out the doorway and into the street. He raked his greasy hair back and stood up straighter.

“Show me the room where the… where the woman was murdered,” Richard said.

Silas Latherton bowed twice before hurrying to the stairs, tucking in his shirt as he went. Checking over his shoulder to make sure Richard was following, he climbed the stairs two at a time. They objected to his weight with creaks and groans.

He finally came to a halt before a door partway down a narrow hall. With the walls painted red, the candles at either end of the hall provided little illumination. The place stank.

“In here, Lord Rahl,” Silas said.

When he moved to open the door, Raina snatched his collar and pulled him back out of the way. She planted him in place with a sinister look. A look like that from Raina was enough to give an angry cloud pause.

She opened the door and, Agiel in hand, stepped into the room before Richard. Richard waited a moment while Raina checked the room for threat; it was easier than objecting. Silas stared at the floor while Richard and General Kerson went into the little room. Ulic and Egan took up posts beside the door and folded their massive arms.

There wasn’t much to see: a bed, a small pine chest beside it, and a washstand. A dark stain discolored the unfinished spruce floorboards. The bloodstain ran under the bed and covered nearly the entire floor.

The size of it didn’t surprise him. The general had told him what had been done to the woman.

The water in the washbasin looked to be at least half blood. The rag hanging over its side was red with it. The killer had washed the blood from himself before he left. He must either be neat or, more likely, didn’t want to walk out past Silas Latherton dripping blood.

Richard opened the pine chest. It contained orderly stacks of clothes, and nothing else. He let the lid drop back down.

Richard leaned a hand against the doorway. “No one heard anything?” Silas shook his head. “A woman is mutilated like that, has her breasts cut off, and is stabbed hundreds of times, and no one heard a thing?”

Richard realized that his exhaustion was putting an edge to his voice. His mood wasn’t helping, either, he guessed.

Silas swallowed. “She’d been gagged, Lord Rahl. Her hands were tied, too.”

Richard scowled. “She must have kicked her feet. No one heard her kicking? If someone was slicing me up, and I was gagged and my hands were tied, I’d have kicked the washstand over at least. She must have kicked her feet trying to get someone’s attention.”

“I didn’t hear it if she did. None of the other women heard it, either. Least, they never mentioned it, and I’d think they would have come got me if they’d heard anything like that. If there was trouble, they always came to me. They always did. They know I’m not shy about protecting them.”

Richard rubbed his eyes. The prophecy wouldn’t leave him be. He had a headache.

“Bring the other women here. I want to talk to them.”

“They left me, after—” Silas gestured vaguely. “Except Bridget.”

He hurried to the end of the hall and knocked on the last door. A woman with rumpled red hair peered out after he spoke quietly to her. She withdrew back into her room and in a moment emerged, pulling a cream-colored robe closed. She tossed a quick knot in the tie as she followed Silas up the hall to Richard.

Standing in the belly of a stinking whorehouse, Richard was getting more angry with himself by the moment. Despite trying to be objective, he had begun to let himself be happy about having a brother. He was beginning to like Drefan. Drefan was a healer. What could be more noble?

Silas and the woman bowed. They both looked the way Richard felt: dirty, tired, and distraught.

“Did you hear anything?” Bridget shook her head. Her eyes looked haunted. “Did you know the woman who died?”

“Rose,” Bridget said. “I only met her once, for a few minutes. She just came here yesterday.”

“Do either of you have any idea who murdered her?”

Silas and Bridget shared a look.

“We know who did it, Lord Rahl,

” Silas said, a smoldering tone welling in his voice. “Fat Harry.”

“Fat Harry? Who’s that? Where can we find him?”

For the first time, Silas Latherton’s features twisted in anger. “I shouldn’t have let him come here anymore. The women didn’t like him.”

“None of us girls would take him anymore,” Bridget said. “He drinks, and when he drinks, he gets mean. There’s no need to put up with that, not with the army…” Her words died out as she glanced to the general. She resumed with a different tack. “We have enough clients nowadays. We don’t have to put up with mean drunks like fat Harry.”

“The women all told me that they wouldn’t see Harry no more,” Silas said. “When he came last night, I knew that they would all say no. Harry was real insistent, and seemed sober enough, so I asked Rose if she’d see him, as she was new and…”

“And didn’t know she was in danger,” Richard finished.

“It wasn’t like that,” Silas said defensively. “Harry didn’t seem to be drunk. I knew the other women wouldn’t take him, though, sober or not, so I asked Rose if she was interested. She said she could use the money. Harry was the last one with her. She was found a little while later.”

“Where can we find this Harry?”

Silas’s eyes narrowed. “In the underworld, where he belongs.”

“You killed him?”

“No one saw who slit his fat throat. I wouldn’t know who done it.”

Richard glanced at the long knife tucked behind Silas’s belt. He didn’t blame the man. If they had captured fat Harry, he would get the same for his crime as had already been done. Although he would have had a trial first, and he could have confessed, just to be sure it was he who had done it.

That was why they used Confessors: to be sure they had convicted the guilty man. Once touched by her magic, a criminal would confess all that he had done. Richard wouldn’t want Kahlan to hear what had been done to this woman, Rose. Especially not from the beast who had done it.

It made him sick to his stomach to think of Kahlan having to touch a man like that, a man who had killed a woman in such a brutal fashion. He feared he would have killed Harry himself to keep Kahlan from having to touch the flesh of a man like that.