CHAPTER ONE
"The Free City"
Damark worked his way down through a gully, following a narrow deer trail. He had stripped off his tabard and now wore his chainmail unadorned. He was simply a warrior, no longer a soldier of D'hara. As he walked he hummed a lullaby to himself, something his mother had sung to him as a child, something he could not recall the words to. It was of no matter though, because he was writing new words to the melody. Words that celebrated his new mother, the Mother Confessor.
He imagined her face, smiling down on him as she caressed his neck. The memory brought with a pang of guilt. To think only a moment before she touched his heart, he had planned to drive a sword through this beautiful angel. Thankfully the grace and kindness of his beloved Mother Confessor had saved him. Of that corrupt and rotten Damark there was nothing left. His thoughts were clear now, ordered.
So he would make the long and dangerous trip to Brennidon, and he would offer his services to the Resistance, and if they asked him to perform some form of suicide mission, he would do so gladly. Nothing would be greater than to die in service of his beloved Mother Confessor.
From across the gully, under the shadows of a copse of willows, eyes clouded by cataracts watched Damark.
* * *
Zedd poked the fire and watched as embers took flight into the warm summer night. The sun would set soon, and the forest would grow cold. Richard had not yet returned from his foraging, and given that he'd promised Kahlan rabbit for dinner, would likely be awhile longer. Kahlan had left Zedd here only a few minutes ago, looking for water. He starred at the growing fire. It would be simplicity itself to turn the stack of logs and kindling into a roaring bonfire with the judicious application of wizard's fire, but Zedd found he enjoyed the simple pleasure of tending a fire.
The sound of loud gong broke his reverie, and Zedd jumped to his feet. His thoughts had been distracted by the fire, and he couldn't place the direction of the sound. Immediately he dropped his stick and stood, looking about frantically.
"Richard!" he called. "Richard, where are you?"
Zedd grabbed his staff and began running off into the forest, calling out Richard's name. With no real idea in which Richard lay, he ran back and forth and to and fro, tromping recklessly through underbrush. He had gone perhaps a hundred meters from the camp when he heard Richard's voice in the distance. He called out for the boy, and Richard's responses drew closer. A moment later Richard came crashing through the underbrush, a freshly cleaned pair of rabbits in one hand, the Sword of Truth in the other.
"Zedd!" he cried out. "What's wrong? Where's Kahlan?"
Zedd stopped in his tracks and bent over, breathing hard and heavy. When he caught his breath, he looked up at Richard, who was casting about frantically for sign of Kahlan.
"She's not with you?"
"No!" Richard replied anxiously. "Where is she, what's happened?"
"Nothing boy, nothing." replied the wizard, as he started to laugh. "I was afraid for moment that all was lost, but it's a false alarm."
Zedd and Richard began walking towards the camp, but Richard remained anxious. "But where's Kahlan?"
"She's about, I'm sure." said Zedd, as he waved away Richard's worry. "Probably taking a bath."
Later, at the camp, Richard began preparing a spit for the rabbits, but his eyes were constantly searching the perimeter. "It's grown dark Zedd, perhaps we should go search for Kahlan."
"No need for that," came Kahlan's voice from the darkness. She entered the camp, her green dress rustling through the underbrush. She was drawing a brush through her hair, and from the way the light of the fire played off it, Richard could tell it was wet.
"Where have you been?" Richard asked.
"I found a hot spring just over the ridge, and decided to take a bath. Is something wrong?"
"No, not at all. See Richard," said Zedd. "I told you she was just taking a bath."
Kahlan looked quizzically at Zedd, who studiously ignored her, and then at Richard, who could only shrug, not understanding himself.
* * *
Damark poked the fire with his stick, and it crackled angrily in response, spitting embers at him. His thoughts were on his beloved Mother Confessor when he heard the distinctive snap of a twig. He tensed and listened carefully, but continued to prod the fire, allowing whomever was sneaking upon him think they retained the element of surprise. There was nothing but the hiss and crackle of the fire and the gentle rustle of the wind high in the trees. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, and a chill run up his spine.
"Who's there?" he called as he turned about, grabbing a partially flaming log as a torch and holding it up. Hot coals rained down on his hands, but his thick leather gauntlets protected him. He peered into the dark woods, but saw nothing.
Wait no, there he thought, discerning a manlike shape in the darkness. The figure stepped forward, but his features were hidden entirely by the dark hooded cloak he wore. Raising a withered and liver-spotted hand, the cloaked figure spat a magical invocation and a crackling sphere of purple energy sprung from the tips of his finger and slammed into Damark, hurtling him end over end through the air. He collided forcefully with an old oak, and unsurprisingly the tree did not give way. Damark collapsed in a heap beneath the tree, unconscious.
The cloaked figure raised his hand and snapped his bony fingers. A quad of D'haran soldiers rushed out from deeper in the forest and gathered up Damark's inert form.
* * *
Richard eyes lit up as the trio entered through Gyrfalcon's city gate. Gyrfalcon was a free city, or as free as any city in the Midlands could be, and granted some degree of autonomy in exchange for hefty tributes to Darken Rahl. But it wasn't the sight of (moderately) free people that brought joy to Richard's heart, but rather the sight of horses.
"Horses!" he exclaimed, pointing excitedly and grabbing Kahlan's hand. Despite herself, she let out a squeal of glee as he dragged her racing along through the crowd to a large pen where several fine horses stamped about. "Horses!"
"Yes Richard, those are horses." she laughed, and cast a quizzical glance at Zedd, who only smiled his broad dopey smile as he caught up with the pair. It warmed his heart to see Richard so clearly happy after all they'd been through in Grimhaven.
"Zedd, how much money do we have left?"
"We have enough to get by, Richard, and no more. Why?"
"We've walked half the length of the Midlands, and it's high time we bought ourselves some horses. I've had my eyes open for a set of decent mounts since we left the Tower of Ebon, but so far I've seen nothing but old farm nags." Richard paused for a moment to admire the horses. Near the gate two young men who were busy brushing down the horses took note of Richard's interest. "These are high quality riding horses. These are better than anything I've seen in the Midlands."
"You have a good eye for animals, my friend," came a booming voice from inside the corral. A broad shoulder man in a red jacket and blue turban, with dark skin and big toothy smile, reached out a hand for Richard to shake. "I'm Abbazar, and these are my horses."
Richard returned Abbazar's handshake and complimented his horses. The merchant laughed and agreed as he sized Richard up.
"Ha, friend, I have heard of that sword." chuckled the horse trader as he eyed the blade hanging from Richard's belt. "You are the Seeker?"
"I am the Seeker, yes." he replied. Kahlan shot Richard a deadly look, but Richard brushed it off, sensing no threat. "I'm interested in horses, three of them. For my friends and I."
"You may have my three best horses my friend." said the horse trader, without a hint of joviality in his voice. Suddenly somber, he spoke quietly. "I travel all over these lands, selling my horses. In every town Rahl's thugs steal a horse, steal my profits, all so I can do my duty, show my loyalty."
He spit on the ground to demonstrate his loyalty.
"No merchant can live under these conditions, and if I can aid you in your quest, then I am proud to do so," he proclaimed, and Richard believed he meant it. Abbazar gestured to his herd, saying "Please, take your pick of any of these animals. It is the least I can do for you, who have done so much for the Midlands."
Richard turned to Kahlan and waggled his eyebrows at her. "You should trust people more often."
Kahlan only sniffed the air, and decided she didn't like what she smelled.
After the deal was done, the trio sought out an inn. Richard lead all three horses, and cooed at them as they walked. He smiled at Kahlan, but she continued to seem tense. Richard gave her a gentle poke and teased, "Come on Kahlan, don't look gift horses in the mouth."
Zedd snorted at the terribleness of the gibe, but Kahlan cast a glance back at the horse trader's corral. "He was hiding something from you Richard. I don't like it."
* * *
Damark awoke with a shock. Someone was emptying a bucket of cold water on his head. He was lying on his back, on cold hard wood. He tried to sit up, but his arms were pinned. He struggled and felt the bite of leather straps crossing his wrists and chest, around his neck, and cried out in rage.
Suddenly a face loomed over him, an ancient and weathered face that was little more than flesh pulled over a skull. Eyes darkened with cataracts starred down at him, and suddenly the dreadful face's thin lips split revealing gnarled and rotten teeth set loosely in diseased gums.
"He is awake, my lord."
Darken Rahl stepped out from the shadows of the darkened amphitheater, his arms crossed over his chest, his fingers stroking the stubble on his chin. He considered the soldier carefully. "And you're sure he has been confessed?"
The withered old wizard starred down into Damark's eyes as he spat out the words "The Mother Confessor is a witch."
Damark reacted as if he'd been slapped, suddenly raging against his bonds and cursing the old wizard.
"Oh yes, my master," cackled the old wizard. "Most definitely."
"Excellent." Darken circled the table, clutching his wrist behind his back, squeezing tight, fighting the urge to join the old wizard in his laughter. But the thought of the deeds the wizard had promised him, those thoughts made him giddy. "This had best work, Melchior."
Melchior turned to his table of instruments and selected a long gleaming silver needle from the table. A sphere of copper was set in the needle, at it's midpoint, and square of copper was affixed to the head. Each was stamped with strange characters and heirogylphs. Melchior pricked his finger with the tip of the needle.
"Fortunately I was able to study the Sharkiya before Giller and the Keep of Ebon were lost, and create these pale imitations." He set the needle down with its brothers and picked up a second needle, there were a dozen of the wicked instruments in all. "While these tools are not nearly powerful enough to create powers like those of a Confessor, I am certain they will work for our current purposes."
Damark twisted and struggled against his bonds, trying to get a look at the tools the wizard was discussing. When he caught glimpse of the long, thick needle, his heart sank.
So it would be death by torture then, he thought. Resolve settled in, and his jaw tightened. I will be strong for my beloved Mother Confessor.
"I hope so, for your sake Melchior," said Darken. "I've suffered too many disappointments from wizards of late."
The necromancer only smirked as he positioned the tip of the needle over Damark's neck, sliding it through a wide copper rivet set in the collar. When Melchior pressed the needle in and Damark screamed with agony, Rahl found himself smiling.
* * *
Zedd waved his hands through the air, drawing smoke and flame from the inn's fireplace, making them dance through the air. The smoke formed into the shape of a gar, while the flame became a tiny Seeker wielding a tiny Sword of Truth.
The children seated at his feet laughed in delight and amazement, and though they might pretend to pay attention to their ale and cards, Zedd could see he had the attention of even the cynical men of Gyrfalcon. It amazed Zedd that these simple parlor tricks and a well-told story could very well do more to bring down Darken Rahl than any amount of wizard's fire. Tales of the Seeker were tales of hope, and hope was their most powerful weapon.
The sound of loud gong banished these idle thoughts, and with a wave he dismissed his illusions. He searched the inn's common room for Richard but found no sign of him. Immediately he stood and with one great stride stepped over the heads of the children and began running towards the stair.
Bounding up the steps, taking them two at a time, he reached the second floor in a flash. He ran past the first door, and then the second, and upon reaching the third intoned arcane words and the door before him burst open.
Burst open to reveal a half-nude Kahlan, corset in hand. She shrieked in surprise and lifted the corset up to cover herself while turning from the door. Zedd yelped, and quickly shut the door. He slapped his palm to his forehead, and yelled an apology through the door. Kahlan's curt reply sent him scurrying back down the stairs.
As he reached the common room, Richard was entering through the door that lead to the stables, and Zedd slapped himself again. He actually recalled Richard saying he would tend to the horses. Richard walked past him, heading towards the stairs, and took note of Zedd's pained expression.
"Something the matter, Zedd?"
"That damn girl takes her corset off too often."
Richard responded with a puzzled look.
"What?"
"Nothing," muttered Zedd as he took Richard's arm. "Come, join me, the people wish to meet the Seeker."
As Zedd lead Richard into the common room they were greeted with much fanfare, but Zedd's mind was preoccupied.
* * *
Richard shook hands with the last of the inn's patrons, wishing them a good night as they filed out of the tavern, and then returned to his seat, leaned back in the chair and let out a contented sigh. He looked around and saw Zedd slouched in a large backed chair, softly snoring, and decided to let the wizard rest. The barmaid dropped a mug off at Richard's table, then made a final sweep of the room, gathering up plates and empty cups. Richard thanked her for the mug, and rescued a half-eaten plate of fruit and cheese from her tray.
Smiling and feeling quite proud of himself -- an evening of receiving adoration as a hero will do that to you -- Richard stepped lightly as he bounded up the stairs. He walked past the first door, and reached the second, his room. He didn't stop, simply smiled to himself, and walked down to the third door.
Balancing the plate of fruit and cheese precariously on the mug, he rapped sharply on the door.
Inside Kahlan was drifting off to sleep, happy to finally be resting in a bed and not cold, hard earth, when the sharp knock at the door startled her to wakefulness.
"Thank you for remembering to knock Zedd," she yawned, "but I'm sure it can wait till the morning, whatever it is."
"Kahlan?" came Richard's puzzled voice from the other side of the door.
Kahlan sat up in her bed, as a uncertain rush of emotion overcame her. Longing and trepidation battled for control, and finally-- clutching her blanket to her chest -- she responded quietly "Richard?"
He didn't respond immediately, and she knew he hadn't heard her when he knocked again a moment later and called her name again. Gingerly she slid out from the covers and quietly padded across the room. She reached the door and grasped the handle, but couldn't bring herself to open the door.
"Richard, is that you?"
On the other side of the door Richard's eyes lit up.
"Kahlan?" he asked.
"Yes Richard, it's me." She prayed he couldn't hear the longing in her voice. "What do you want?"
On the other side of the door Richard held up the mug and plate, feeling foolish even as he did so.
"I have a mug of warm milk, and some fruit and soft cheese. I thought you might like something a snack before you go to sleep. Can...can I come in?"
Kahlan turned her back to the door and fell against it. She ran her hands down her sheer slip, imagined Richard's reaction to seeing her in such a state, and swallowed hard as she realized how much she wanted Richard to see her like this. A knot of trepidation formed in her stomach.
"I don't think that would be a good idea Richard."
"Oh," he replied, crestfallen.
"I'm sorry," she offered. She desperately wanted to open the door, but feared that if she gave in to that desire, it would be a short and slippery slope to giving in to other, stronger desires.
"No, I wasn't thinking," he suggested. "I'll just leave it here then."
They stood in silence for a moment. Kahlan heard Richard set the plate and mug down, and then after an unbearably long silence, the click-clack of Richard's boots receding as he retreated to his room. She sunk to the floor, tears streaming down her face.
She didn't know how much longer she could bear rejecting him.
* * *
Lightning flashed as storm clouds gathered around the topmost battlements of the Tower of Baran Kur. Melchior and Darken Rahl stood on a balcony, surveying the land below. The chill winds bit into their flesh, and Melchior shivered as he drew his cloak around him. Darken Rahl simply enjoyed the wind in his hair, and the cold rain on his face.
Far below them the large double door gate of the tower swung open, casting light out into the dark night. A single rider launched from the maw of the tower, and sped off into the storm.
"Will he be able to find her?" Darken asked the old wizard.
"Eventually." was Melchior's response. "The Confessed have no special knowledge of their Confessor's whereabouts, but Damark will pursue her relentlessly. He should be able to pick up her trail from where she left him."
"And you're certain he'll kill her?"
"Most certainly," Melchior replied proudly. "Where once there was only love, now there is only hate. Unending, undying, limitless hatred and torment that can only be ended with the death of the Confessor."
"Excellent, excellent. The power of the Confessors is almost broken. When this new Mother Confessor dies, those few that remain will be cast into despair."
"And the Seeker my lord?"
"Without his Confessor, the Seeker will be lost. She is the only thing that prevented me from destroying him before, and once she has been eliminated, that fool will meet his end, and the prophecy will be averted."
Melchior only smiled.
Below them, along the dark road, Damark drove his horse as if he did not care if came up lame -- and he did not, so single-minded was his passion. Gripping the reins so tightly his knuckles were white, he cursed the name of Kahlan the Confessor and imagined the countless tortures he would visit upon her. The thought of her screams brought a feral grin to his lips.