Terry Goodkind - Chainfire - Chainfire Trilogy Part 1

Despite how smoothly she covered it, panic lurked in her voice. Despite her reassuring smile, her eyes glistened with tears. He knew then that his wound might very well be beyond her ability to heal.

That only made it all the more important that he get her to listen.

Richard opened his mouth, trying to speak. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. He shivered with cold, each breath a struggle that produced little more than a wet rattle. He couldn’t die, not here, not now. Tears stung his eyes.

Nicci gently pressed him back down.

“Lord Rahl,” Cara said, “lie still. Please.” She took his hand from its hold on Nicci’s dress and held it against herself in a tight grip. “Nicci will take care of you. You’ll be fine. Just lie still and let her do what she needs to do to heal you.”

Where Nicci’s blond hair was loose and flowing, Cara’s was woven into a single braid. Despite how concerned he knew her to be, Richard could see in Cara’s posture only her powerful presence, and in her features and her iron blue eyes her strength of will. Right then, that strength, that self-assurance, was solid ground for him in the quicksand of terror.

“The arrow doesn’t go all the way through,” Nicci told Cara as she pulled her hand out from under his back.

“I told you so. He managed to at least deflect it with his sword. That’s good, isn’t it? It’s better that it didn’t pierce his back as well, isn’t it?”

“No,” Nicci said under her breath.

“No?” Cara leaned closer to Nicci. “But how can it be worse that it didn’t rip through his back as well?”

Nicci glanced up at Cara. “It’s a crossbow bolt. If it were sticking out his back, or close enough to need only to be pushed just a little more, we could break off the barbed head and pull the shaft back out.”

She left unsaid what they would now have to do.

“His bleeding isn’t as bad,” Cara offered. “We’ve stopped that, at least.”

“Maybe on the outside,” Nicci said in a confidential tone. “But he is bleeding into his chest—blood is filling his left lung.”

This time it was Cara who snatched a fistful of Nicci’s dress. “But you’re going to do something. You’re going to . . .”

“Of course,” Nicci growled as she pulled her shoulder free of Cara’s grip.

Richard gasped in pain. The rising waters of panic threatened to overwhelm him.

Nicci laid her other hand on his chest to hold him still as well as to offer comfort.

“Cara,” Nicci said, “why don’t you wait outside with the others.”

“That isn’t going to happen. You’d best just get on with it.”

Nicci appraised Cara’s eyes briefly, then leaned in and again grasped the shaft jutting from Richard’s chest. He felt the probing tingle of magic follow the course of the arrow down deep inside him. Richard recognized the unique feel of Nicci’s power, much as he could recognize her singular silken voice.

He knew that there was no time to delay in what he had to do. Once she started, there was no telling how long it would be until he woke—if he woke.

With all his effort, Richard lunged, seizing her dress at the collar. He pulled himself close to her face, pulled her down toward him so she could hear him.

He had to ask if they knew where Kahlan was. If they didn’t, then he had to ask Nicci to help him find her.

The only thing he could get out was the single word.

“Kahlan,” he whispered with all his strength.

“All right, Richard. All right.” Nicci gripped his wrists and pulled his hands off her dress. “Listen to me.” She pressed him back down against the table. “Listen. There’s no time. You have to calm down. Be still. Just relax and let me do the work.”

She brushed back his hair and laid a gentle, caring hand to his forehead as her other hand again grasped the cursed arrow.

Richard desperately struggled to say no, struggled to tell them that they needed to find Kahlan, but already the tingle of magic was intensifying into paralyzing pain.

Richard went rigid with the agony of the power lancing into his chest.

He could see Nicci and Cara’s faces above him.

And then a deadly darkness ignited within the room.

He had been healed by Nicci before. Richard knew the feel of her power. This time, something was different. Dangerously different.

Cara gasped. “What are you doing!”

“What I must if I’m to save him. It’s the only way.”

“But you can’t . . .”

“If you’d rather I let him slip into the arms of death, then say so. Otherwise, let me do as I must to keep him among us.”

Cara studied Nicci’s heated expression for only a moment before letting out a noisy breath and nodding.

Richard reached for Nicci’s wrist, but Cara caught his first and pressed it back to the table. His fingers came to rest on the woven gold wire spelling out the word TRUTH on the hilt of his sword. He spoke Kahlan’s name again, but this time no sound would cross his lips.

Cara frowned as she leaned toward Nicci. “Did you hear what it was he said?”

“I don’t know. Some name. Kahlan, I think.”

Richard tried to cry “Yes,” but it came out as little more than a hoarse moan.

“Kahlan?” Cara asked. “Who’s Kahlan?”

“I have no idea,” Nicci murmured as her concentration returned to the task at hand. “He’s obviously in delirium from loss of blood.”

Richard truly couldn’t draw a breath against the pain that suddenly screamed through him.

Lightning flashed and thunder pealed again, this time unleashing a torrent of rain that began to drum against the roof.

Against his will, hazy darkness drew in around the faces.

Richard managed only to whisper Kahlan’s name one last time before Nicci opened into him the full flood of magic.

The world dissolved into nothingness.

The distant howl of a wolf woke Richard from a dead sleep. The forlorn cry echoed through the mountains, but went unanswered. Richard lay on his side, in the surreal light of false dawn, idly listening, waiting, for a return cry that never came.

Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to open his eyes for longer than the span of a single, slow heartbeat, much less gather the energy to lift his head. Shadowy tree limbs appeared to move about in the murky darkness. It was odd that such an ordinary sound as the distant howl of a wolf should wake him.

He remembered that Cara had third watch. She would no doubt come to wake them soon enough. With great effort, he summoned the strength to roll over. He needed to touch Kahlan, to embrace her, to go back to sleep with her in his protective arms for a few more delicious minutes. His hand found only an expanse of empty ground.

Kahlan wasn’t there.

Where was she? Where had she gone off to? Perhaps she’d awakened early and gone to talk to Cara.

Richard sat up. He instinctively checked to make sure that his sword was at hand. The reassuring feel of the polished scabbard and wire-wound hilt greeted his fingers. The sword lay on the ground beside him.

Richard heard the soft whisper of a slow, steady rain. He remembered that for some reason he needed it not to rain.

But if it was raining, then why didn’t he feel it? Why was his face dry? Why was the ground dry?

He sat up rubbing his eyes, trying to get his bearings, trying to clear his foggy mind as he fought to herd together scattered thoughts. He peered into the darkness and realized that he wasn’t outside. In the faint gray light of dawn coming in through a single small window he saw that he was in a derelict room. The place smelled of wet wood and damp decay. Dying embers glowed deep within the ash in a hearth set into a plastered wall rising up before him. A blackened wooden spoon hung to one side of the hearth, a mostly bald broom leaned against the other side, but other than that he saw no personal items to distinguish the people who lived there.