Chainfire (Sword of Truth 9)

There were also other books in the small, shielded room, but he had not had the time or inclination to search through them. He had decided that devoting himself to the books before he had a true understanding of what was going on would only waste yet more time. He had to approach the problem in a logical manner, not in random, frantic attempts to somehow pluck an answer out of thin air.

Whatever the cause of Kahlan’s disappearance, it had all started that morning just before the fight when he’d been shot with the arrow. When Richard had climbed into his bedroll the night before the battle, Kahlan had been with him. He knew she had. He remembered holding her in his arms. He remembered her kiss, her smile in the dark. He was not imagining it.

No one would believe him, but he was not dreaming up Kahlan.

He put that part of the problem aside as well. He couldn’t concern himself anymore with trying to convince others. Doing so was only diverting his attention from the real nature of the problem.

Nor could he afford to give in to fear that others might be right that he was only imagining her; that, too, was a dangerous distraction. He reminded himself of the very real evidence: the issue of her tracks.

Even if he couldn’t make others understand the lifetime of learning that went into understanding the meaning of what he saw when he looked at tracks, he knew for certain what the evidence on the ground had revealed to him. There was a language to tracks. Others may not understand that language, but Richard did. Kahlan’s tracks had been swept away, undoubtedly with magic, leaving behind a forest floor too artificially perfect and, more importantly, the rock that he’d discovered kicked out of place. That rock told him he was right. Told him that he was not imagining things.

He had to reason out what had happened to Kahlan—and that meant how had she been taken. Whoever had done it had magic, that much he knew. He at least knew that much because of the way their tracks had been altered. Knowing that narrowed the possibilities of who could be responsible. It had to be someone with magic sent by Jagang.

Richard remembered waking from a dead sleep that morning and laying there on his side. He remembered not being able to open his eyes for more than a brief moment at a time and not being able to lift his head. Why? He didn’t think it was because he was groggy from still being half asleep; it had been more overwhelming than that. It had felt like sleepiness, yet stronger.

But the part of the memory that had him at the tantalizing, frustrating brink of near understanding was what he remembered seeing in the murky darkness of false dawn as he had laid there trying to fully wake. That part of the memory was where he now put all his attention, all his mental effort, all his concentration.

He remembered shadowy tree limbs that appeared to move about, as if carried to and fro in the wind.

But there had been no wind that morning. Everyone had been sure about that point. Richard himself remembered how dead still it had been. But the dark shapes of the tree limbs had been moving.

It seemed a contradiction.

But, as Zedd had pointed out with the Wizard’s Ninth Rule, contradictions can’t exist. Reality is what it is. If something contradicted itself then it wouldn’t be what it is. It was a fundamental law of existence. Contradictions can’t exist in reality.

Tree limbs could not wave around by themselves and there had been no wind to move them.

That meant he was looking at the problem all wrong. He was always stumped by how the tree limbs could move about in the wind when there was no wind. The simple fact was that they couldn’t. Maybe someone had been moving them.

Pacing across the little room, Richard halted.

Or maybe it wasn’t the tree limbs that had been moving.

He’d seen the shadowy movement and had assumed it was the tree limbs. Maybe it wasn’t.

With that single insight, Richard gasped with sudden realization.

He understood.

He stood frozen, eyes wide, unable to move, as the sequence of events and scraps of information from that morning tumbled together in his mind, forming a framework of comprehension of what had happened. They had been taking Kahlan, probably using a spell of some sort on her, as they did to keep Richard asleep, then collected her things and tidied up the camp to erase evidence of her having been there. That was the movement he remembered. It hadn’t been tree limbs moving back and forth in the near darkness, it had been people. Gifted people.

Richard saw a red glow. When he looked up, Nicci was coming into the small room.

“Richard, I need to talk to you.”

He stared at her. “I understand. I know what the viper with four heads means.”

Nicci’s gaze turned away, as if she couldn’t bear to look into his eyes. He knew that she thought he was merely adding another layer to his delusion.

“Richard, listen to me. This is important.”

He frowned at her. “Have you been crying?”

Her eyes were red and puffy. Nicci was not the sort of woman given to tears. He had seen her cry, but only for very good reason.

“Never mind that,” she said. “You have to listen to me.”

“Nicci, I’m telling you, I’ve figured out—”

“Listen to me!” Fists at her sides, she looked as if she might again burst into tears. He realized that he had never seen her looking quite this distraught.

He didn’t want to waste any more time, but he decided that it might hurry things along if he let her have her say.

“All right, I’m listening.”

Nicci stepped close and gripped him by both shoulders. With an intent expression, she peered into his eyes. Her brow wrinkled with conviction.

“Richard, you have to get out of here.”

“What?”

“I’ve already told Cara to collect your things. She’s bringing them now. She said she knows her way down here, down into the tower, anyway, without having to go through shields.”

“I know, I taught her before.” Richard’s sense of alarm began to rise. “What’s going on? Is the Keep under attack? Is Zedd all right?”

Nicci cupped one hand to the side of his face. “Richard, they are determined to heal you of your delusion.”

“Kahlan is no delusion. I just now figured out what happened.”

She seemed not to notice what he said, or maybe she was ignoring what she thought was no more than yet another in a long series of attempts to prove the impossible. This time, though, he wasn’t really interested in proving it to her.

“Richard, I’m telling you, you have to get out of here. They wanted me to use Subtractive Magic to eliminate your memory of Kahlan.”

Richard blinked in surprise. “You mean Ann and Nathan want to do that. Zedd never would.”

“Zedd too. They convinced him that you’re sick and the only way to heal you is to excise what they consider to be the diseased portion of your thoughts responsible for your false memories. They convinced Zedd that time is running out and this is the only way to save you. Zedd is so heartbroken to see you like this that he has snatched at what he thinks may be the only chance to make you well again.”

“And you agreed to this?”

She indignantly smacked the side of his shoulder. “Are you crazy? Do you really think I would do that to you? Even if I thought they were right, do you seriously think I would ever consider taking away part of who you are? After what you’ve shown me about life? After what you have done to bring me back to embracing life? Do you really think that I would do that to you, Richard?”

“No, I guess you wouldn’t do such a thing. But why would Zedd? He loves me.”

“He is also terrified for you, terrified that you are being taken over by this delusion, or bewitchment, or whatever is causing this sickness that is leaving you alive but not really yourself, turning you into a stranger they don’t know.