Temple of the Winds (Sword of Truth 4)

“Will it get rid of all of them?” Egan asked as he scratched his head.

“All of them? Dear spirits, don’t tell me that there are more than a couple?”

“Seven. Six women who all look alike, and one man.”

Kahlan lost a stride. “I don’t believe it. That would be the Legate Rishi and his six wives, all sisters. The six sisters were all born of the same… litter.”

The Andolians believed that only a litter of six females were worthy to be the legate’s wives. Kahlan’s head spun as she tried to concentrate through the depression over Raina’s death, over all the deaths. She had to think of a place to send the Andolians, and a message for them to carry.

Maybe something about the plague. She could send them somewhere with a warning about the plague. Maybe down into the wilds. Most of the people of the wilds tolerated the Andolians better than most other people in the Midlands.

A throng of guards bristling with weapons filled the halls all around the reception room. Two guards with pikes opened the tall, mahogany-paneled doors as Kahlan and Egan approached.

The reception hall, where waited the Andolians, was one of the smaller ones, without windows. Sculptures of every sort, from rulers’ busts to a farmer and oxen, most done in pale marble, rested on square granite blocks placed back against the dark walls. Behind each sculpture, ornamental drapery of a rich maroon was swagged back to half-columns of dark violet marble set against the walls between each sculpture. It lent each piece the air of being displayed on a stage, with curtains opening for them.

Four separate clusters of ornate lamps with cut-glass chimneys hung on silver chains. Because of the dark decor, the dozens of lamps were unable to bring anything brighter than a somber atmosphere to the room. Three heavy, dark tables sat on the black marble floor.

The Andolians stood before one of these tables. The six sisters were tall and slender, and Kahlan couldn’t tell one from another. Their hair was dyed a bright orange with the berries of a hasset bush that grew in the Andolians’ homeland. Their homeland wasn’t close; they had made a long journey to get to Aydindril.

Their big, round black eyes watched Kahlan approach. Their orange hair, woven into hundreds of small braids, made the women look as if they wore wigs of orange yarn. Woven into the yarnlike hair were small, shiny things—buttons, pieces of metal, gold and silver coins, shards of glass, chips of obsidian—any scrap that they found shiny enough for their taste.

All six were dressed in simple but elegant white robes of a lustrous, satiny material. Despite what Kahlan knew about the Andolians—such as the way a simple storm could send them puling for protection under a bush or a hole in the ground—they had a noble air. Kahlan guessed that made sense; they were, after all, the wives of the legate, the leader of the Andolians.

The legate himself was shorter than his wives, and much older. Other than his round black eyes, he looked to be nothing more than a distinguished official, a bit on the stocky side. A bald pate shone above his fringe of white hair. Some kind of grease had been rubbed on it so as to make it glossy.

He wore robes similar to his wives’, but of gold material trimmed with rows of shiny objects sewn on. Each finger had at least one ring. From a distance, all the shiny objects made him look opulent. Closer up, he looked more like a crazy beggar who had dug through a midden heap to pluck out worthless items discarded by normal people.

Legate Rishi’s eyes were red-rimmed and leaden-looking. He wore a doltish grin and swayed on his feet. Kahlan saw him infrequently, but she didn’t remember him this way.

The six sisters formed into a line before him. They straightened, putting their shoulders back with pride.

“We share the moon,” one of the six said.

“We share the moon,” Kahlan said in their traditional greeting among females. Her waning cramps reminded her that the greeting had more than one meaning.

The rest spoke the greeting in turn. The way those big black eyes blinked as they watched her gave Kahlan shivers. When they had finished with the official greeting, the six split into two groups of three and backed to either side of their husband.

The legate lifted a hand, as if a king greeting a crowd. He grinned moronically. Kahlan frowned at his odd behavior, although she wasn’t at all sure that for an Andolian it was odd.

“We share the sun,” he said in a slur.

“We share the sun,” Kahlan answered, but he ignored her as his attention was diverted by something behind her.

Kahlan turned and saw Richard striding across the room, a glower heating his expression.

“What’s this about the moon?” Richard asked as he came up beside Kahlan.

She took his hand. “Richard,” she said in a tone of warning, “this is Legate Rishi and his wives. They are Andolians. I have just given them their traditional greeting, that’s all.”

His expression slackened. “Oh, I see. When they said something about the moon—I thought.”

The blood suddenly drained from Richard’s face.

“Andolians,” he whispered to himself. “Wizard Ricker was doing something with the Andolians…” He seemed lost in a confusion of thought.

“We share the sun,” Legate Rishi said through his grin. “The females share the moon. A female and a male share the sun, but not the moon.”

Richard rubbed his brow. He looked engrossed in recollection, or confusion. Kahlan squeezed his hand, hoping he would get the message to let her handle this. She turned back to the legate.

“Legate Rishi, I would like you to—”

“Our husband has been drinking things that make him happy,” one of the wives said, as if it were a fascinating bit of news. “He has been trading some of his prizes for this drink.” Her expression turned perplexed. “It makes him slow, too, or we would have been here sooner.”

“Thank you for telling me this,” Kahlan said. One had always to thank an Andolian for any information they offered about themselves. Information about themselves so given was considered a gift.

Kahlan turned her attention once more to the legate. “Legate Rishi, I would like you to carry an important message for me.”

“Sorry,” the legate said. “We can carry no message for you.”

Kahlan was dumbfounded. She had never heard of an Andolian refusing to carry a message.

“But, why not?”

One of the six leaned toward Kahlan. “Because we already carry a message of great importance.”

“You do?”

Her big black eyes blinked. “Yes. The greatest of all honors. Husband carries a message from the moon.”

“You what?” Richard whispered as his head came up.

“The moon sends a message from the winds,” the legate said in a drunken slur.

Kahlan felt as if the world had frozen.

“We would have been here sooner, but husband had to stop many times to have the drink of happiness.”

Kahlan felt her whole body tingle with icy dread.

“Been here sooner,” Richard repeated. “While all those people died, you’ve been drinking?” His voice boomed like thunder. “Raina died, because you’ve been out getting drunk!”

Richard exploded in a blur of movement, his fist striking Legate Rishi so hard that the man tumbled back over the table.

“People are dying, and you’re out getting drunk!” Richard roared as he vaulted over the table.

“Richard, no!” Kahlan shrieked. “He has magic!”

Kahlan saw a blur of red racing in from the side. Cara came at a dead run and dived over the table, knocking Richard sprawling across the floor.

Legate Rishi rose up in a rage. Blood frothed at his mouth. Strings of it whipped from his chin.

Wavering flares of light and undulating flutters of darkness radiated up his arms, gathering at his chest as he rose up. He was gathering his magic, preparing to unleash it against Richard. Richard went for his sword.

Cara shoved Richard again and rebounded back at the legat

e, backhanding him across his bloody mouth. The legate whirled, redirecting his rage at her.

Cat-quick, Cara spun past him, striking him again, turning his attention away from Richard as he followed her.

His magic already gathered, he unleashed it at her.

The air thumped and at the same time seemed to oscillate.

The legate went down with a grunt of pain. Cara was on him before he hit the ground. She pressed her Agiel to his throat.

“You are mine, now,” she sneered as he gagged in agony. “Your magic is mine, now.”

“Cara!” Kahlan yelled. “Don’t kill him!”

The six sisters were squatted down in a shivering clump, hugging one another in terror. Kahlan put a hand to the frightened sisters, reassuring them that they wouldn’t be harmed.

“Cara, don’t hurt him,” Kahlan said. “He carries a message from the Temple of the Winds.”

Cara’s head came up. She had a disturbing look in her eyes.

“I know. It came to him with magic. His magic is mine, now. The message he carries is embedded within his magic.”

Richard let his sword drop back into its scabbard. “You mean, you know the message?”

Cara nodded, her blue eyes filling with tears.

“I know it with him. I share his magic, his knowledge of the message.”

“Ulic, Egan,” Richard said, “clear the soldiers out. Shut the doors. Keep everyone out.”

As Ulic and Egan were ushering the soldiers out, Richard seized the legate by the robes at his throat and lifted him. He heaved him into a chair. Richard towered over the suddenly meek-looking, panting Andolian leader.

His chest heaving, Richard gripped the amulet and Raina’s Agiel in a fist. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he pointed at the legate’s face.

“Let’s have the message. And you had better tell it true. Thousands of people have already died while you delayed your arrival to get drunk.”

“The message from the winds is for two people.”

Richard looked up. The words had come not only from the legate, but also from Cara. She had spoken the words along with him.