Chainfire (Sword of Truth 9)

Not far off, leaning against a post, stood a brawny man wearing not a smile but a menacing glare that had set permanent creases in his brow. The man folded his powerful arms across his chest as he watched the rest of the men greeting Richard.

Richard hurried through the crowd of men, clasping hands as he went, toward the scowling blacksmith. “Victor!”

The scowl gave way to a helpless grin. The man gripped arms with Richard. “Nicci and Cara would only let me go in to see you twice. If they didn’t let me see you this morning, I was going to wrap iron bars around their necks.”

“Was that you—the first morning? You passed me on your way out and touched my shoulder?”

Victor grinned as he nodded. “It was. I helped carry you back here.” He put a powerful hand on Richard’s shoulder and gave him an experimental shake. “You look well mended even if a little pale. I have lardo—it will give you strength.”

“I’m fine. Maybe later. Thanks for helping bring me in here. Listen, Victor, have you seen Kahlan?”

Victor’s brow bunched back up with deep creases. “Kahlan?”

“My wife.”

Victor stared without reaction. His hair was cropped so close that his head almost appeared shaved. The rain beaded on his scalp. One brow arched.

“Richard, since you have been gone you took a wife?”

Richard anxiously looked over his shoulder to the other men watching him. “Have any of you seen Kahlan?”

He was greeted with blank expressions from many. Others shared a puzzled look with one another. The gray morning had fallen silent. They didn’t know who he was talking about. Many of these men knew Kahlan and should have remembered her. Now they were shaking their heads or shrugging their regrets.

Richard’s mood sank; the problem was worse than he thought. He had thought that maybe it was only something that had happened to Nicci and Cara’s memory.

He turned back to the master blacksmith’s frown. “Victor, I have trouble and I don’t have time to explain. I don’t even know how I would explain. I need help.”

“What can I do?”

“Take me to the place where we had the fight.”

Victor nodded. “Easy enough.”

The man turned and started out toward the dark woods.

Chapter 4

With two fingers, Nicci pushed a wet balsam bough out of her way as she followed several of the men through the dense woods. At the edge of a thickly forested ridge they headed down a trail that switched back and forth in order to negotiate the steep descent. Slippery rocks made the climb down treacherous. It was a shorter route than the one they had used to carry Richard back to the deserted farmhouse after he’d been hurt. At the bottom they picked their way over exposed fractured rock and boulders, skirting the fringe of a boggy area guarded by a towering cluster of silvered skeletons of cedars standing vigil in the stagnant water.

Runnels pouring down mossy banks carved deep cuts through the forest loam to expose speckled granite beneath. Several days of steady rain had left standing ponds in a number of low places. For the most part the rain filled the woods with the pleasing fragrance of damp soil, but in low places and crannies the damp, decomposing vegetation smelled of rot.

Even though she was warm from the short, arduous trek, the damp, cool air still left Nicci’s fingers and ears numb with cold. She knew that this far south in the Old World the heat and humidity would soon return with such vengeance that it would make her long for the unusual spell of cool weather.

Having grown up in a city, Nicci had spent little time outdoors. At the Palace of the Prophets, where she had lived most of her life, outdoors meant the manicured lawns and gardens of the grounds covering Halsband Island. The countryside had always seemed vaguely hostile to her, an obstacle between one city and another, something to be avoided. Cities and buildings were a refuge from the inscrutable dangers of the wilderness.

More than that, though, cities had been where she toiled for the betterment of mankind. That work had had no end. Forests and fields had not been any of her concern.

Nicci had never appreciated the beauty of hills, trees, streams, lakes, and mountains until she had come to know Richard. Even cities were new to her eyes after Richard. Richard made all of life a wonder.

Carefully making her way up the slippery, dark rock of a brief rise, she finally spotted the rest of the men quietly waiting under the outstretched limbs of an ancient maple. Farther away, Richard crouched, studying a patch of ground. He finally rose to stare off into the dark expanse of woods beyond. Cara, his ever-present shadow, waited near him. Under the dense vault of soothing green, the Mord-Sith’s red leather outfit stood out like a clot of blood on a tablecloth at tea.

Nicci understood Cara’s fierce and passionate protection of Richard. Cara, too, had once been his enemy. Richard had not simply gained Cara’s blind allegiance by virtue of becoming the Lord Rahl; he had, far more importantly, earned her respect, trust, and loyalty. Her red leather outfit was intimidating by design, a promise of violence should anyone even think of causing him harm. It was not an empty promise. Mord-Sith had been trained since they were young to be absolutely ruthless. While their primary purpose had been to capture the gifted and use their power against them, they were perfectly capable of using their ability against any opposition. Men who knew and trusted Cara, without realizing they were doing it, kept more distance from her when she wore her red leather.

Nicci knew how it felt for Cara to be brought back from the numb madness of mindless duty, to come to again value life.

Off in the distance, through the gloom and shadows and dripping leaves, the hoarse croak of ravens echoed through the forest. Nicci caught the sickening stench of rotting carrion. Looking around for landmarks as Richard had taught her, she spotted, at the base of a rocky outcropping, a pine that she remembered because it had a secondary trunk that curved out low to the ground almost like a seat. She recognized the spot; beyond the screen of vines and brush lay the scene of the battle.

Before Nicci could get to Richard, he ducked under low-hanging branches and started into the underbrush. Rising up on the far side, he waved his arms over his head and yelled like a lunatic. The deep shade among towering spruce erupted with the flapping of wings as, all at once, hundreds of the huge black birds bounded into the air, shrieking with indignation at having their feast interrupted. At first it looked as if the birds might contest the field of battle, but when the air sang with the unique sound of Richard’s sword being drawn, they fled into the darkness back among the trees almost as if they knew what a weapon was and feared this one in particular. Their deep, angry croaking receded into the hazy mist. Richard, the triumphant scarecrow, glowered after them for a time before sliding his sword back into its scabbard.

He finally turned to t

he men. “All of you, please stay out of this area for now.” His voice echoed off through the tall pines. “Just wait back there.”

Considering herself sovereign in matters of Richard’s safety, Cara paid no heed to his request. Instead, she followed him as he made his way into the small clearing beyond, staying close but out of his way. Nicci wove her way among the saplings and wet ferns, moving past silent men, until she reached a thin patch of white birch topping a hillock that edged one side of the clearing. Hundreds of black eyes set in the white bark watched as she made her way among them to finally halt at the brow of the bank. When she rested her hand on the peeling papery bark of one, she noticed the bolt from a crossbow stuck in the tree. Arrows jutted from other trees as well.

Beyond, dead soldiers lay sprawled everywhere. The stench staggered her. The ravens had been driven off, but the flies, fearing no sword, remained to feast and breed. The first hatch of blowfly maggots were already hard at work.

A good number of men were headless or were missing limbs. Some lay partly submerged in the stagnant pools of water. The ravens, along with other animals, had been at many of them, taking advantage of the opportunity afforded by gaping wounds. The thick leather armor, heavy hides, studded belts, chain mail, and wicked assortment of weapons no longer did these men any good. Here and there the clothes around bloated bodies strained to remain buttoned, as if trying to maintain dignity where there could be none.

Everything—from the men’s flesh and bone to their fanatical beliefs—would lie here and rot in this forgotten patch of forest.

Waiting in the trees, Nicci watched as Richard briefly inspected the corpses. That first morning he’d already killed a great many of the soldiers before Victor and his men arrived and charged in to help him. She didn’t know how long Richard had been fighting with that arrow in his chest, but it wasn’t the kind of injury that anyone could endure for long.