Faith of the Fallen (78 page)

He had to.

Richard drew his sword and blocked Kahlan’s thrust.

And then he attacked her.

He drove into her with controlled violence, careful not to hurt her. He knew how she fought. He knew because he had taught her. He played the role of a clumsy, but lucky, opponent.

Nicci was getting closer.

Richard couldn’t drag it out. It had to be timed just right. He waited until Kahlan was slightly off balance and then with a powerful clash, caught her sword near the cross guard. She cried out with the shock as her sword flew from her hand and the blow spun her around, just as he had intended.

She didn’t hesitate for an instant. Without pause, still spinning, her hand reached up and pulled free the Sword of Truth. The air rang with the unique sound of steel he knew so well.

Kahlan whirled around, the blade leading. He saw for a split second the terrible violent rage in her eyes. It hurt him to see that in Kahlan’s beautiful eyes. He knew what it did to a person.

Richard entered a numb world all his own. He knew what he had to do. He felt no emotion. He blocked high, controlling her attack and where he wanted her to go with the blade. He had to get her to put it where he intended, if there was to be any chance.

Teeth gritted, Kahlan drove her sword for the opening he deliberately left her.

Kahlan was in the realm of uncontrollable rage. The instant she seized the hilt, the Sword of Truth had inundated her with pounding fury. Nothing in the world felt better than knowing she was going to kill with it. The weapon, too, demanded blood.

These people had Richard. These brothers had twisted their lives. These men had sent murderers to her homeland. These men had sent assassins to slaughter Warren.

Now, she had one of them.

She screamed as she spun, screamed with the rage, screamed with the demand for blood. It was glorious to have the object of such perfect rage within reach.

He made a mistake—leaving an opening. Without hesitation, she went for it with cold fury, the blade leading.

He was hers.

Richard felt the blade hit him. It was shocking. It felt unlike what he expected. It felt something like he imagined the mighty blow of the sledgehammer on the statue might feel.

His mouth opened. Now was the time; he had to stop her—keep her from doing any more. He had to do it now. If she wrenched the blade through him, ripped him open any more, Nicci would never be able to heal him. Her power could only heal so much.

Nicci would have to free Kahlan from the spell in order to regain the use of her sorceress’s magic—in order to heal him.

He reasoned that she cared enough for him to do that.

Richard’s mouth was open as he felt the blade still driving through him. It was a sickening shock. Even expecting it, as he had, it still seemed unreal. It still surprised him.

He needed to tell her it was him. To stop.

He needed at least to call out her name so she would stop without doing too much damage.

His mouth was still open.

He had no breath.

He couldn’t make himself say her name.

As she searched frantically for Richard, Nicci saw the two people battling. One was a brother. The other she didn’t recognize, yet there was something deeply unsettling about it all. Nicci felt a strange stirring. The feeling was oddly familiar, but in all the confusion of emotion, she just didn’t recognize it.

They were a good distance away.

The man in the cape lost his sword. It looked as if the brother had him. Nicci wanted to help—but how? She had to find Richard. Someone said they saw him go into the palace. She had to find him.

She ran toward the pair. The man pulled free another sword strapped over his shoulder. The strange feeling welled up in Nicci. Something was terribly wrong, but she didn’t know what.

And then she saw the brother make a mistake. Nicci halted.

With a cry of lethal fury, the man in the cape drove his sword through the brother.

When the force of the blow drove the brother back a step, a shaft of moonlight fell across his face under in the cowl of the hood.

And then the feeling slammed into her with full recognition.

Nicci’s eyes went wide. She screamed.

“Kahlan. Stop.”

Kahlan’s eyes twitched up in shock. She saw his face in the moonlight. In that same instant, he heard Nicci scream.

Kahlan recoiled, her hand flying from the hilt of the Sword of Truth as if she had been struck by lightning.

She fell back with a horrified shriek.

Richard seized the blade of the sword, his sword, to keep the weight from twisting it in him. She had driven it through him almost up to the cross guard. Warm blood ran down the blade onto his fingers.

“Richard!” Kahlan cried. “Nooo! Nooo!”

Richard felt his knees hit the stone floor. He was surprised it didn’t hurt more to have a sword through him. It was the shock of it, mostly, that had scrambled his mind. It was hard to think. He struggled not to fall forward, fall on the blade and wrench it through his insides. The room seemed to be moving.

“Pull it out,” he whispered.

He wanted it out. As if that would help. He wanted the awful thing out. He could feel the razor sharp edges all the way through him. He could feel it sticking out his back.

Kahlan, nearly hysterical, scrambled to do as he asked. Richard saw Cara limping up out of the darkness. She seized his shoulders as Kahlan drew out the blade in one swift, panicked yank, as if she hoped the action would somehow undo what she had done.

“What happened?” Cara cried. “What did you do?”

The world seemed to tip and whirl. Richard could feel the sickeningly wet warmth of his blood soaking down him. He could feel his weight against Cara. Kahlan hovered close.

“Richard! Oh, dear spirits, no. This can’t be happening. It can’t.” Panicked tears streamed down her beautiful face. He couldn’t understand what she was doing here. Why was she in the Old World? What was she doing in the emperor’s palace?

He couldn’t help smiling at seeing her.

He wondered if she had seen his statue before he destroyed it.

He wondered if he had made a terrible mistake.

No, it was Kahlan’s only chance at freedom. His only chance to break Nicci’s spell.

Nicci was still running toward them.

“Help me, Nicci,” Richard called. It came out as little more than a whisper. “I need you to save me, Nicci. Please.”

Even if it was no more than a whisper, Nicci heard his plea.

Nicci had never run so fast. Terror had her in its fierce grip. Kahlan had stabbed her sword through him. It was a terrible mistake. It was all such a terrible mistake. Nicci had brought such pain to them both. It was her fault.

Even in her shock, Nicci knew with clarity what she must do.

She could heal him. Kahlan was there. Nicci couldn’t begin to imagine why, or how, but she was. With Kahlan there, Nicci could break the spell. Once the spell was broken, Nicci could use her gift. She could heal Richard. It was all right. She could save him. It would be all right. She could fix it. She could.

She could do something right and help—really help—for once. She could help them both.

An arm swept out of the darkness and hooked her by the neck, taking her from her feet. She cried out as she was yanked into the blackness. She could feel the bulge of hard muscles as she clawed at the arm. The man stank. She could feel his lice ticking against her face as they sprang at her.

Terror seized her. Such sudden and intense terror was an unfamiliar sensation, smothering her mind.

She dug her heels into the stone as he drew her back into the black labyrinth. She kicked furiously at him. She tried to draw her dacra from her sleeve, but he seized her arm and twisted it behind her back.

His forearm crushed against her exposed throat, choking off her air as he lifted her from her feet.

Nicci couldn’t breathe. He chortled with glee as he dragged her into the darker recesses of the rooms beneath Jagang’s palace.

Their eyes met just when she had been abruptly and violently snatched into the darkness. Richard saw in those eyes something important, saw that Nicci intended to help him. But she was gone.

Cara desperately clutched his shoulders as he lay back against her. He was cold. She was warm.