Temple of the Winds (Sword of Truth 4)

Kahlan pressed her forehead to Cara’s shoulder in relief, in wordless gratitude. With equally silent empathy, Cara stroked Kahlan’s back.

Richard blinked and scrunched his eyes, as if clearing his head. When he sat up, Kahlan leaned to hug him, but Cara held her back.

“Please, Mother Confessor, may I be first? I fear that once you start, I may never again get a chance.”

Kahlan grinned. “You’re right about that. Take all you want.”

As Cara threw her arms around Richard and squeezed for all she was worth, whispering private, heartfelt words in his ear. Kahlan stood and faced the sliph.

“I can’t thank you enough, sliph. You saved Richard. You are a friend, and I will honor you as long as I live.”

The silver face warped into a satisfied smile. She looked down at Drefan’s body.

“He had no magic, but he was using his talent to stop the flow of blood so that he might live long enough to kill master. It is death to breathe me if you have no magic. I am pleased I could take him on a journey, a journey to the world of the dead.”

Richard stood on wobbly legs and slipped an arm around Kahlan’s waist. “Sliph, you have my gratitude, too. I don’t know what it is I could ever do for you, but if it is within my power, it’s yours for the asking.”

The sliph smiled. “Thank you, master. I would be pleased to have you travel with me. You will be pleased.”

Even though he was unsteady on his feet, Richard’s eyes had the sparkle back. “Yes, we would like to travel. I need to rest for a time first, to finish recovering and get my strength back, and then we will travel, I promise you.”

Kahlan took up Cara’s hand. “Are you all right? I mean, are you really all right… everything?”

Cara nodded with a haunted look in her eyes. “I still have the ghosts of the past with me, but I am all right. Thank you, sister, for helping me. It is not often that a Mord-Sith can depend on anyone else for help, but with Richard as Lord Rahl, and you as Mother Confessor, all things seem possible.”

Cara glanced to Richard. “When you healed the Mother Confessor, you seemed to glow, as if a spirit was with you.”

“I believe the good spirits helped me. I do indeed.”

“I recognized the spirit. It was Raina.”

Richard nodded. “It felt like Raina. When I was in the spirit world, Denna told me that Raina was at peace, and knows that we love her.”

“I think we should tell this to Berdine,” Cara said.

Richard slipped his other arm around Cara’s waist, and started them all toward the door.

“I think we should, too.”

68

Several days later, when Richard was almost fully recovered, Tristan Bashkar’s uncle, King Jorin Bashkar, the king of Jara, rode into Aydindril at the head of his company of king’s lancers. On the point of each of the hundred lances was a head.

Kahlan watched from a window as the lances, under the watchful eye of D’Haran soldiers, were deployed in an arrow-straight double row along the entrance to the Confessors’ Palace. Flags of state flew from poles held by the first opposing pair of Jarian soldiers. Jorin Bashkar, with his star guide Javas Kedar behind him, waited until the lancers were lined up perfectly, their armor gleaming in the sun, before he strode regally, between the row of heads, toward the entrance.

As she peered out the window, Kahlan touched Cara’s arm. “Go get Richard. Have him meet me in the council chambers.”

Cara was out the door and on her way before Kahlan could turn to be on her way, too.

Kahlan Amnell, Mother Confessor, sitting in the first chair under the figures of Magda Searus, the first Mother Confessor, and her wizard, Merritt, painted across the expanse of the dome above the council chambers, waited for her wizard.

Her heart lifted when she saw him sweep into the room, golden cloak billowing out behind, dressed in the gold-trimmed black outfit of a war wizard, the gold and ruby amulet on his chest gleaming in the streamers of sunlight through which he strode, his silver wristbands burnished and bright. The Sword of Truth at his hip caught the light, sending out a starburst of sunlight to glitter across the polished marble.

“Good morning, my queen!” he called out, his voice echoing around the huge room. “How do you fare this, your last day of freedom?”

Kahlan rarely laughed in the council chambers. It had always seemed improper. She laughed, now, the lilting sound echoing around the cavernous room, bringing a smile to the guards.

“I fare well, Lord Rahl,” she said as he ascended the dais.

Cara and Berdine followed in his shadow, along with Ulic and Egan, taking up places to either side.

“What’s going on?” he asked, more seriously. “I heard that some king just rode in with a hundred heads on pikes.”

“The king of Jara. Remember? You sent him Tristan’s head, demanding his surrender?”

“Oh, that king.” Richard slid down into a chair beside her. “Whose heads are they?”

“I guess we’re about to find out.”

The guards pulled open the double doors. Light stabbed in through the doorway, silhouetting the two figures as they approached.

Once before the dais, the king spread his violet cape, trimmed in spotted white fox, and went to one knee in a deep bow. Behind him, the star guide went to both knees, in his bow.

“Rise, my children,” Kahlan said in formal response to the bow.

“Mother Confessor,” King Jorin said, “how good to see you again.”

His trim figure, his graying hair meticulously cut so that it swept back as if he were facing the wind, his elegant scabbard and sword, his ribbons, his sash, his red and blue and gold-embroidered coat, and his jeweled pins, made him look one of the most grand of kings, Kahlan had always thought.

“And you, King Jorin.” Kahlan lifted an introductory hand. “This is Lord Rahl, Master of the D’Haran empire, and my husband to be.”

The king lifted an eyebrow. “As I have heard it told. My congratulations.”

Richard leaned forward. “I sent you a message. What is your reply?”

Kahlan thought that she had a lot of work to do, teaching Richard proper diplomatic decorum.

The king let out a belly laugh. “It will be a pleasure being part of an empire led by a man who doesn’t gibber jabber me to death.” He lifted a thumb, indicating the star guide behind him. “Like some people.”

“And does that mean that you surrender?” Richard pressed.

“It does indeed, Lord Rahl, Mother Confessor.

“A large delegation from the Imperial Order came to Sandilar and invited us to join the Imperial Order. We had been waiting for a sign, as requested by Javas Kedar, here. Tristan thought to take matters into his own hands, and try to strike a favorable deal with the Order.

“When the plague came, we thought it showed the power of the Order, and we feared that, I must admit, but when you swept the plague from the land, that was sign enough for me. Javas, here, will no doubt soon find the appropriate sign in the sky to confirm my decision. If not, there are other star guides.”

A red-faced Javas Kedar bowed. “As I told you, Your Highness, as your star guide, I will be able to confirm your decision without difficulty.”

The king scowled over his shoulder. “Good!”

“And the heads?” Richard asked.

“The delegation from the Imperial Order. I brought you their heads to show you my sincerity. I wanted you to see that this is a choice I make with conviction. I thought it a fitting answer to the likes of people who would cast a plague into the land, to kill indiscriminately. It shows their true nature, putting the lie to all the things they say.”

Richard bowed his head to the king. “Thank you, King Jorin.”

“Who ordered the beheading of my nephew, Tristan?”

“I did,” Richard said. “As I stood on a balcony watching, with the Mother Confessor at my side, Tristan entered the Mother Confessor’s bedroom and stabbed a nightdre

ss stuffed with tow that we had placed there. He thought he was killing her.”

The king shrugged. “Justice befits all, no matter his station. I bear no grudge. Tristan did not serve our people well, either. I look forward to the day we can be rid of the threat from the Order.”

“As do we,” Richard said. “With your help, we are that much closer to that day.”

As the king went to see to the signing of papers, and to discuss logistics with the D’Haran command, Richard and Kahlan rose to leave, but were interrupted by a guard.

“What is it?” Kahlan asked.

“There are three men asking to see Lord Rahl.”

“Three men? Who are they?”

“They did not give their names, Mother Confessor, but they said they were Raug’Moss.”

Richard sat back down. “Send them in.”

Under the desk, Kahlan reached over and curled her fingers around his hand, giving him a reassuring squeeze as three figures in flaxen cloaks, with broad hoods pulled up onto their heads, and with their hands folded before them, glided up to the dais.

“I am Lord Rahl,” Richard said.

“Yes,” the one in front said, “we feel the bond.” He lifted a hand out to his side. “This is Brother Kerloff, and this is Brother Houck.” He pushed his hood back to reveal a heavily creased face and a head of thinning gray hair. “I am Marsden Taboor.”

Richard warily eyed the three men. “Welcome to Aydindril. I hear you wanted to see me. What is it I can do for you?”