Soul of the Fire (Sword of Truth 5)

In that flawless instant when her lips were just touching his, she saw through him, just beyond him, the merciless unyielding valley floor hurtling up toward her, and she knew at last his name.

Death.

26

“There,” Richard said, leaning close so Kahlan could sight down his arm as he pointed off toward the horizon. “See that really dark fleck of cloud in front of the lighter part?” He waited for her nod. “Under that, and just a bit to the right.”

Standing amid a seemingly endless sea of nearly waist-high grass, Kahlan straightened and held a hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the morning light.

“I still can’t see him.” Her frustration came out as a sigh. “But I’ve never been able to see distant things as well as you.”

“I don’t see him, either,” Cara said.

Richard again checked over his shoulder, scanning the empty grassland all around to make sure they weren’t about to be surprised by someone sneaking up while they watched the approach of this one man. He saw no other threat.

“You will, soon enough.”

He reached over to check that his sword was clear in its scabbard, only realizing he was doing so when he found the sword absent from his left hip. He instead pulled his bow from his shoulder and nocked an arrow.

There had been countless times he had wished to be rid of the Sword of Truth and its attendant magic, inasmuch as it brought forth from within himself things he abhorred. The sword’s magic could fuse with those feelings into a lethal wrath. Zedd, when he first gave Richard the sword, told him it was only a tool. Over time, he had come to comprehend Zedd’s advice.

Still, it was a horrifying tool to have to use.

It was up to the one wielding the sword to govern not simply the weapon, but himself. Understanding that part of it, among other things, was essential to using the weapon as it was intended. And it was intended for none but a true Seeker of Truth.

Richard shuddered to think of that contrivance of magic in the wrong hands. He thanked the good spirits that, if he couldn’t have it with him, it was at least safe.

Below distant billowing clouds, their interiors glowing in the morning light colors from a deep yellow to an unsettling violet that marked the violence of the storms contained within, the man continued to approach. Lightning, silent at this distance, flashed and flickered inside the colossal clouds, illuminating hidden canyons, valley walls, and seething peaks.

Compared with other places he had been, the sky and clouds above the flat plains somehow appeared impossibly grand. He guessed it was because from horizon to horizon there was nothing—no mountains, no trees, nothing—to interrupt the drama of the vast vault of stage overhead.

The departing storm clouds had only finally moved on eastward before dawn, taking with them the rain that had so vexed them when with the Mud People, their first day of traveling, and their first miserable cold night without a fire. Traveling in the rain was unpleasant. In its wake the rain had left the three of them irritable.

Like him, Kahlan was worried about Zedd and Ann and troubled by what the Lurk might bring next. It was also frustrating to have to undertake a long journey, when they were in such a rush and it was so vitally important, rather than return to Aydindril in short order through the sliph.

Richard was almost willing to take the risk. Almost.

With Cara, though, it seemed something more was disturbing her. She was as disagreeable as a cat in a sack. He wasn’t eager to reach in and get scratched. He figured that if it was truly important, she would tell them.

Added to all that, Richard was unsettled by not having his sword with him when there was trouble about. He feared the Lurk trying to harm Kahlan, while he was unable to protect her. Even without the trouble caused by the Sisters of the Dark, there were any number of ordinary dangers for a Confessor, any number of people who would, were she defenseless, like to settle what they viewed as injustices.

With the spell eroding magic, sooner or later her Confessor’s power would be gone, and she would be without its ability to protect her. He needed to be able to protect her, but without the sword he feared being inadequate to the task.

Every time he reached for his sword and it wasn’t there, he felt an emptiness he couldn’t express in words. It was as if part of him was missing.

Even so, Richard was for some reason uneasy about going to Aydindril. Something about it felt wrong. He rationalized it as worry about leaving Zedd when he was so weak and vulnerable. But Zedd had made it clear there was no choice.

Up until he had spotted the approaching stranger, their second day had been looking sunny, dry, and more agreeable. Richard put some tension to the bowstring. After their encounter with the chicken thing, or rather the Lurk, and with so much at stake, he didn’t intend to let anyone get close unless he knew them to be a friend.

Richard frowned over at Kahlan. “You know, I think my mother once told me a story or something about a cat named ‘Lurk.’”

Holding a fistful of hair to keep the breeze from blowing it across her face, Kahlan frowned back. “That’s odd. Are you sure?”

“No. She died when I was young. It’s hard to remember if I’m really remembering, or just fooling myself into thinking I am.”

“What do you think you remember?” Kahlan asked.

Richard stretched the bowstring to test it, and then relaxed it partway. “I think I fell down and skinned a knee, or something, and she was trying to make me laugh—you know, to make me forget my hurt. I think she just that one time told me how when she was little, her mother told her a story of a cat that lurked about pouncing on things, and so earned the name Lurk. I’d swear I remember her laughing and asking if I didn’t think that was a funny name.”

“Yes, very funny,” Cara said, making clear she thought it wasn’t.

With a finger, she lifted the point of his arrow, and thus his bow, in the direction of the danger she seemed to think he was ignoring.

“What made you think of that, now?” Kahlan asked.

Richard pointed with his chin toward the approaching man. “I was considering a man being out here—you know, thinking of what other dangers might be lurking about.”

“And when you thought of all these dangers lurking about,” Cara said, “did you also decide to just stand around and let them all come to attack you as they wish?

Ignoring Cara, Richard tilted his head toward the man. “You must see him now.”

“No, I still don’t see where it is you… wait…” Hand to her brow, Kahlan rose up onto her tiptoes, as if that would help her see better. “There he is. I see him now.”

“I think we should conceal ourselves in the grass, and then pounce on him,” Cara said.

“He saw us at the same time I saw him,” Richard said. “He knows we’re here. We couldn’t surprise him.”

“At least there is only one.” Cara yawned. “We will have no trouble.”

Cara, standing the middle watch, hadn’t wakened him as early as she was supposed to for his turn at watch. She had left him sleeping an extra hour, at least. Middle watch, too, usually got less sleep.

Richard checked over his shoulder again. “You may see only one, but there are a number more. A dozen, at least.”

Kahlan put her hand back to her forehead to shield her eyes. “I don’t see any more.” She looked to the sides and behind. “I only see the one. Are you sure?”

“Yes. When I first saw him, and he saw me, he left the others and came alone toward us. They still wait.”

Cara snatched up a pack. She shoved Kahlan’s shoulder, then Richard’s. “Let’s go. We can outdistance them until we’re out of sight and then hide. If they follow we will take them by surprise and put a quick end to the pursuit.”

Richard returned the shove. “Would you just settle down? He’s coming alone so as not to draw any arrows. If it was an attack he would have brought all his men at once. We will wait.”

Cara folded her arms and pressed

her lips together in a bit of ire. She seemed to be beyond her usual protective self. Whether or not she was ready to tell him, they were going to have to talk to her and find out what her problem was. Maybe Kahlan would have some luck.

The man lifted his arms, waving at them in a friendly gesture.

Suddenly recognizing the man, Richard took his hand from the bowstring and returned the greeting.

“It’s Chandalen.”

It wasn’t long until Kahlan waved her arm, too. “You’re right, it is Chandalen.”

Richard returned his arrow to the quiver hung on his belt. “I wonder what he’s doing out here.”

“When you were still searching the chickens gathered together in the buildings,” Kahlan said, “he went to check on some of his men on far patrol. He said they had encountered some heavily armed people. His men were worried about the behavior of the strangers.”

“They were hostile?”

“No.” Kahlan pushed her damp hair back over her shoulder. “But Chandalen’s men said they had a calm about them when approached. That troubled him.”