Terry Goodkind: Chainfire: Chainfire Trilogy Part 1

And yet, they were.

Although he couldn’t conceive of the cause, something was obviously and dreadfully wrong. A suffocating sense of foreboding settled over him. It felt as if the whole world had been turned upside down and now he couldn’t make the pieces fit back together.

He had to do something—what he had been about to do just before the soldiers had attacked them. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Richard knelt beside his bedroll and started jamming clothes into his pack. The cold drizzle he could see through the small window didn’t look like it would be ending anytime soon, so he left his cloak out.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Nicci asked.

He spotted a cake of soap lying nearby and snatched it up. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

He had already lost far too much time; he’d lost days. There was no time to waste. He shoved the cake of soap, packets of dried herbs and spices, and a pouch of dried apricots down into the pack before quickly furling his bedroll. Cara abandoned questioning or objecting and instead set about packing her own things.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Nicci squatted down beside him and took hold of his arm, pulling him around to look at her. “Richard, you can’t leave. You need to rest. I told you, you lost a lot of blood. You aren’t strong enough yet to go running off chasing phantoms.”

He stifled an indignant reply and yanked tight a leather thong around his bedroll. “I feel fine.” He didn’t, of course, but he felt good enough.

Nicci had just spent days of intense effort saving his life. Besides being worried for him, she was exhausted and probably wasn’t thinking clearly. All of those things likely contributed to her believing he was acting irresponsibly.

Still, he bristled that she didn’t give him more credit.

Nicci insistently gripped a fistful of his shirt as he cinched the second thong tight. “You don’t yet realize how weak you really are, Richard. You’re jeopardizing your life. You need to rest in order for your body to be able to recover. You haven’t had nearly enough time to build your strength.”

“And how much time does Kahlan have?” He seized Nicci’s upper arm and in heated frustration pulled her close. “She’s out there, somewhere, in trouble. You don’t realize it, Cara doesn’t realize it, but I do. Do you think I can just lie around here when the person I love more than anything in the world is in peril?

“If it were you in trouble, Nicci, would you wish me to so easily give up on you? Wouldn’t you want me to try? I don’t know what’s gone wrong, but something has. If I’m right—and I am—then I can’t even begin to guess at the implications or imagine the consequences.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you’re right then I’m just imagining things out of my dreams. But if I’m right—and since it’s pretty obvious that you and Cara can’t both be sharing the same mental disorder—that would have to mean that whatever is happening has a cause that isn’t benevolent. I can’t afford to delay and risk everything while I try to convince you of the seriousness of the situation. Too much time has already been lost. Too much is at stake.”

Nicci looked too startled by the notion to speak. Richard released her and turned back to fasten down the flap on his pack. He didn’t have the time to try to solve the puzzle of whatever was going on with Nicci and Cara.

Nicci finally found her voice. “Richard, don’t you see what you’re doing? You’re beginning to invent absurd notions in order to justify what you want to believe. You said it yourself—Cara and I can’t both be sharing the same disorder of the mind. Stay and rest. We can try to discover the nature of this dream that has taken such strong root in your mind and hopefully set it right. I probably caused it with something I did when I was trying to heal you. If so, I’m sorry. Please, Richard, stay for now.”

She was focused only on what she saw as the problem. Zedd, his grandfather, the man who had helped raise him, had often said as Richard was growing up, Don’t think of the problem, think of the solution. The solution he needed to concentrate on, now, was how to find Kahlan before it was too late. He wished he had Zedd’s help to find the solution to where she was.

“You aren’t out of serious danger yet,” Nicci insisted as she dodged drips of rainwater trickling through holes in the roof. “Pushing yourself too hard could be fatal.”

“I understand—I really do.” Richard checked the knife he wore at his belt and then slipped it back into its sheath. “I don’t intend to ignore your advice. I’ll take it as easy as I can.”

“Richard, listen to me,” Nicci said, rubbing her fingers against her temple as if her head was aching, “it’s more than that alone.”

She paused to run her hand back over her hair as she searched for the words. “You aren’t invincible. You may carry that sword, but it can’t always protect you. Your ancestors, every Lord Rahl before you, despite their mastery of the gift, still kept bodyguards close at hand. You may have been born with the gift but even if you were competent in its use such power is no assurance of protection—especially not now.

“That arrow only served to show how vulnerable you really are. You may be an important man, Richard, but you are just a man. We all need you. We all so desperately need you.”

Richard looked away from the anguish in Nicci’s blue eyes. He knew very well how vulnerable he was. Life was his highest value; he didn’t take it for granted. He almost never objected to Cara being close at hand. She and the rest of the Mord-Sith as well as other bodyguards he seemed to have inherited had proven their worth more than once. But that didn’t mean that he was helpless or that he could allow caution to prevent him from doing what was necessary.

More than that, though, he grasped Nicci’s larger meaning. He had learned while at the Palace of the Prophets that the Sisters of the Light believed that he was deeply enmeshed in ancient prophecy—that he was a central figure around whom events revolved.

According to the Sisters, if their side was to prevail over the dark forces arrayed against them, it would only be if Richard led them to victory. Prophecy said that without him all would be lost. Their prelate, Annalina, had spent a great deal of her life manipulating events to make sure that he survived to grow up and lead them in this war. Ann’s hopes for everything they held dear, to hear her tell it, rested on his shoulders. At least Kahlan had thankfully taken the fire out of Ann in that regard. He knew, though, that many others still held the same view. He knew, too, that his leadership had galvanized a great many people who longed to simply live free.

Richard had been down in the vaults at the Palace of the Prophets and had seen some of the most important and well-guarded books of prophecy in existence. He had to admit that some of it was pretty uncanny. Nevertheless, his experience had been that prophecy seemed to say whatever it was people wanted it to say.

He had personal experience with prophecy involving Kahlan and himself, especially those prophecies of Shota, the witch woman. As far as he was concerned, prophecy had proven itself to be of little value and great trouble.

Richard forced a smile. “Nicci, you’re sounding like a Sister of the Light.” She didn’t look to be amused. “Cara will be with me,” he said, trying to ease her mind.

He realized, after he’d said it, that having Cara with him hadn’t stopped the arrow that had taken him down. Come to think of it, where had she been during the battle? He didn’t remember her being there with him. Cara didn’t fear a fight; a team of horses couldn’t drag her away from protecting him. Surely, she must have been close beside him, but he just didn’t recall seeing her.