Wizard's First Rule (Sword of Truth 1)

Her smile widened. “I’m glad.” She seemed genuinely proud. “You love this woman, Kahlan?”

He frowned a little. “How do you know that?”

“Sometimes, when I hurt men enough, and they don’t know what they’re saying, they cry for their mothers, or their wives. You cried for one named Kahlan. You will choose her for your mate?”

“I cannot,” he said past the lump in his throat. “She is a Confessor. Her power would destroy me.”

“I’m sorry. This hurts you?”

He nodded slowly. “More than anything you have done to me.”

“Good.” Denna smiled sadly. “I’m glad the one you love is able to give you more pain than was I.”

Richard knew that in her twisted way, Denna meant this as a comfort to him; that for her to be happy that he would get more pain from another was a giving of her love. He knew that Denna sometimes gave him pain to show that she cared for him. In her eyes, at least, if this other woman could give him more pain, that was a demonstration of love.

A tear ran down his face. What had they done to this poor child?

“It is a different kind of pain. None could be your equal in the things you have done.”

A tear of pride rolled down her cheek. “Thank you, my love,” she breathed. She took the Agiel from her neck and held it up hopefully. “Would you wear this, to remember me by? It will not hurt you around your neck, or if you hold the chain, only if you hold the Agiel itself in your hand.”

Richard held her face in the white glow. “It would be my honor, my mate.” He bent, letting her put it over his head, letting her give his cheek a kiss.

“How will you do it?” she asked.

He knew what she meant. He swallowed back the lump in his throat. His hand went smoothly to the hilt of the sword.

Slowly, he drew the Sword of Truth. It didn’t ring, the way it always had in the past.

It hissed. A white-hot hiss.

Richard didn’t look, but he knew, knew the blade had turned white. He held her wet eyes. The power flooded through him. He was at peace. All anger, all hate, all malice, was gone. Where he had felt these things from the sword before, he now felt only love for this child, this vessel into whom others had poured pain, this receptacle of cruelty, this innocent, tortured soul, who had been trained to do the things she hated above all else: hurting others. His empathy with her made him ache with sorrow for her; with love for her.

“Denna,” he whispered. “You could just let me go; there is no need to do this. Please. Let me go. Don’t make me have to do this.”

She held her chin up. “If you try to leave, I will stop you with the pain of the magic, and make you sorry you have been trouble to me. I am Mord-Sith. I am your mistress. I can be no more than who I am. You can be no less, my mate.”

He nodded sadly, and put the tip of the sword between her breasts, the tears in his eyes and the white glow making it difficult to see.

Denna gently took the tip of the sword and moved it up a few inches. “My heart is here, my love.”

Holding the sword against her, he bent and put his left arm tenderly around her soft shoulders. He held the power with all his strength as he kissed her cheek.

“Richard,” she whispered, “I have never had a mate like you before. I’m glad I will have no other. You are a very rare person. You are the only person since I was chosen who has cared that I was in pain, or done anything to stop it. Thank you for last night, for teaching me what it could be like.”

Tears dripped from his face. He held her close. “Forgive me, my love.”

She smiled. “Everything. Thank you for calling me ‘my love.’ It is good to hear it once in truth before I die. Twist the sword, to be sure it is finished. And Richard, please, take my last breath? As I have taught you? I wish you to have my last breath of life.”

In a daze, he put his mouth over hers, kissing her, and didn’t even feel his right hand moving. There was no resistance. The sword went through her as if she were gossamer. He felt his hand twist the sword, and he took her last breath of life.

He laid her gently back on the bed, lay down next to her, and wept uncontrollably as he stroked her ashen face.

He grieved to undo what he had done.

44

It was deep in the night when he left Denna’s quarters. The halls were empty except for flickering shadows. Richard’s footsteps echoed from the polished stone floors and walls as he walked in a mournful daze, watching his shadow rotate around himself as he passed torches, feeling comfort only at having his pack on his back once more, and to be leaving the People’s Palace. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he was going to go away from here.

The pain of an Agiel in the small of his back slammed him to a halt, brought sweat instantly to his face as he tried to take a breath, but couldn’t. Fire seared through his hips and legs.

“Going somewhere?” came a ruthless whisper.

Constance.

His shaking hand struggled to reach his sword. She laughed as she watched him. A vision of giving her control of the magic, of the whole nightmare starting over again, flashed through his mind. His hand backed away from the sword and kept the anger of the magic in check. She came around to stand before him, her arm around him, holding the Agiel against his back, keeping his legs paralyzed. She was wearing her red leather.

“No? Not ready to try to use the magic on me yet? You will. You will try before long; you will try to save yourself with it.” She smiled. “Save yourself the extra pain, use it now. Maybe I will have mercy on you if you try it now.”

Richard thought about all the ways Denna had given him pain, and how she had taught him to tolerate it, so she could give him more. He brought to bear everything he had learned. He controlled the pain, blocking it enough to draw a deep breath.

He swept his left arm around C

onstance, forcing her body tight against himself. He grabbed the Agiel in his fist, Denna’s Agiel, hanging from his neck. Pain shot up his arm. He endured it, dismissed it. Constance gave a grunt as he lifted her off her feet, pulling her up his body. She tried to press her Agiel harder into his back, but she didn’t have the leverage, and he had her arm pinned, so she couldn’t move it.

When he had her lifted high enough, her contorted face in front of his, he pressed Denna’s Agiel to her chest. Her eyes widened. Her expression slackened. Richard remembered Denna holding her Agiel against Queen Milena in this manner. It had the same effect on Constance. She shook, easing the pressure against his back. Still, it was hurting him, as was the Agiel in his hand.

Richard gritted his teeth against the pain. “I’m not going to kill you with the sword. To do that, I would have to forgive you everything. I could never bring myself to forgive you for betraying a friend. I could forgive your deeds against me, but not those against your friend, Denna. That is the one thing I could never forgive.”

Constance gasped with the agony. “Please…”

“Promise made…” he sneered.

“No… please… don’t.”

Richard twisted the Agiel as he had seen Denna do to the Queen. Constance flinched, and went limp in his grip. Blood ran from her ears. He let her lifeless body slip to the ground.

“Promise kept.”

Richard stared a long time at the Agiel held tightly in his fist, before he realized it was causing pain, and released it at last to hang from its chain around his neck.

He looked down at the dead Mord-Sith as he caught his breath. Thank you, Denna, he thought, for teaching me to endure the pain. You have saved my life.

It took him the better part of an hour to find his way out of the labyrinth of halls, out into the frigid night, to the expanse of grounds. He kept a tight grip on the hilt of the sword as he went past two big guards at the open gate through the outer wall, but they only gave a polite nod of their heads, as if he were an invited guest departing after a royal dinner.