Terry Goodkind - Confessor - Chainfire Trilogy Part 3

Samuel had come into the Imperial Order camp not to rescue her but—for reasons she would know before this was finished—to capture her.

This was not her savior.

This was the enemy.

The inner violence of her power’s cold coiled force slipping its bounds was breathtaking. It surged up from that deep dark core within, obediently inundating every fiber of her being.

Time was hers.

She could have counted every whisker on his frozen face had she wanted to and he still would not have moved an inch in his headlong rush to hit her.

Her fear was gone; the calm of purpose and control had replaced it. There was no hate; the cold appraisal of justice had taken over.

In a state of profound peace born of the command of her own ability, and through it her own destiny, she contained no hate, no rage, no horror . . . nor any sorrow. She saw the truth of what was. This man had condemned himself. He had made the choice; now he would have to encounter the immutable consequence of his choices. In that infinitesimal spark of existence, her mind was in a void where the all-consuming rush of time seemed suspended.

He had no chance. He was hers.

Even though she had all the time she could want, doubt did not exist.

Kahlan unleashed her power.

From her innermost being, that power became all.

Thunder without sound jolted the air—exquisite, violent, and for that pristine instant, sovereign.

The memory of that instant of effect was an island of sanity for her in the dark river of her unknown self.

Samuel’s face was frozen in twisted hate for that which he had hoped to possess.

Kahlan stared up into his golden-yellow eyes, knowing that he saw only her merciless eyes.

In the twist of that instant, his mind, who he was, who he had been, was already gone.

Trees all around in the frigid early-morning air shook from the violent blow of the concussion. Small twigs and dry bark dropped from branches and boughs. The profound shock to the air lifted a ring of dust and dirt all around that raced away in an ever-expanding circle.

Samuel’s strange eyes went wide. “Mistress,” he whispered, “command me.”

“Get off me.”

He immediately rolled away to end up on his knees, his hands pressed together in supplication as his gaze remained fixed on her.

As Kahlan sat up, she realized that the sword was still gripped in her right hand. She let go of it. She needed no sword to deal with Samuel.

Deeply distressed as he waited, Samuel looked on the verge of tears. “Please . . . how may I serve you?”

Kahlan tossed the blanket aside. “Who am I?”

“Kahlan Amnell, the Mother Confessor,” he answered immediately.

Kahlan already knew that much. She thought a moment.

“Where did you get that sword?”

“I stole it.”

“Who does it rightfully belong to?”

“Before, or now?”

She was a bit confused by the response. “Before.”

Samuel became distraught by the question. He began to cry in earnest as he wrung his hands.

“I don’t know his name, Mistress. I swear, I don’t know his name. I never knew his name.” He fell to sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Mistress, I don’t know, I don’t, I swear I don’t know—”

“How did you get it away from him?”

“I snuck up and cut his throat while he was asleep—but I swear I don’t know his name.”

Those touched by a Confessor confessed without the slightest hesitation anything they had done—anything. Their only concern was their constant, torturous dread that they might not please the woman who had touched them with her power. Their mind’s only remaining purpose was to do her bidding.

“Have you murdered other people?”

Samuel looked up sharply with the sudden joy of having a question he could fully answer. His face beamed with a smile.

“Oh, yes, Mistress. Many. Please, may I kill someone for you? Anyone. Just name them. Just tell me who I am to kill. I will do it as quickly as possible. Please, Mistress, tell me who and I will do your bidding and dispatch them for you.”

“Who does the sword belong to now?”

He paused at the change of subject. “It belongs to Richard Rahl.”

Kahlan was not surprised.

“How does Richard Rahl know me?”

“He is your husband.”

Kahlan froze with the shock of what she thought she had just heard. She blinked, her thoughts suddenly scattered in every direction at once.

“What?”

“Richard Rahl is your husband.”

She stood staring for a long moment, unable to reconcile it all in her mind. In one way it was a stunning shock. At the same time, it made sense in a way she couldn’t begin to fathom.

Kahlan stood struck speechless.

Finding that she was married to Richard Rahl was a terrifying revelation. In another way . . . it made her heart swell with profound joy. She thought of his gray eyes, thought of the way he looked at her, and the frightening aspect of it seemed to evaporate. It was if all the dreams she had not dared to dream had just come true.

She felt a tear roll down her cheek. With her fingers she wiped it away, but it was quickly followed by another. She almost let out a jubilant laugh.

“My husband?”

Samuel nodded furiously. “Yes, Mistress. You are the Mother Confessor. He is the Lord Rahl. He is married to you. He is your husband.”

Feeling herself trembling, Kahlan tried to think, but her mind just didn’t respond, as if it had so many thoughts all at once that they simply jumbled together in a tangled mess.

She suddenly remembered Richard lying on the ground in the Order’s camp, crying out for her to get away.

Richard was a captive of the Order at best, but more likely, he was dead.

She had only just learned her connection to him, and now he was lost to her.

She felt a tear roll down her cheek, but this time there was no joy behind it, only horror.

She finally collected herself and focused her attention on the man on his knees before her. “Where were you taking me?”

“To Tamarang. To my . . . my other mistress.”

“Other mistress?”

He nodded hurriedly. “Six.”

She recalled Jagang talking about her. Kahlan frowned. “The witch woman?”

Samuel looked terrified to answer, but he did. “Yes, Mistress. I was told to bring you and to give you over to her.”

She gestured to where she had been sleeping. “Did she tell you to do that?”

Even more reluctantly, Samuel licked his lips. Confessing to murder was one thing, but this was entirely different.

“I asked if I could have you,” he whined. “She said that if I wanted to take you I could, as my reward for my service, but that I was to bring you to her alive.”

“And what did she want with me?”

“I believe she wanted you as a bargaining tool.”

“With who?”

“Emperor Jagang.”

“But I was already with Jagang.”

“Jagang wants you very badly. She knows how valuable you are to him. She wanted to take possession of you and then trade you back to Jagang in return for favors for herself.”

“How far are we from Tamarang, from the witch woman?”

“Not far.” Samuel pointed southwest. “If we don’t delay, we can get there by the end of tomorrow, Mistress.”

Kahlan suddenly felt very vulnerable being this close to a woman as powerful as that. She knew without doubt that she had to get out of the area or she might be located without the benefit of Samuel dragging her right up to Six’s feet.

“And since you were to turn me over tomorrow, you knew that your time with me was running out. You were going to rape me.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.

Samuel wrung his hands, tears streaming down his red face. “Yes, Mistress.” In the terrible silence he became even more distraught as she stood staring down at him. Kahlan knew that a person touched was no longer who they were, no longer had all the mind they once had. Once taken, they were completely devoted to the Confessor.