Terry Goodkind - The Pillars of Creation

Jennsen drew the crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and handed it past her mother to Sebastian. “I found this in that D’Haran soldier’s pocket.” She swallowed at the ghastly memory of seeing a dead person. “Just before you showed up.”

Sebastian pulled the crumpled paper open, smoothing it between a thumb and finger as he cast them both a suspicious look. He turned the paper toward the firelight so he could see the two words.

“Jennsen Lindie,” he said, reading it from the piece of paper. “I don’t get it. Who’s Jennsen Lindie?”

“Me,” Jennsen said. “At least it was for a while.”

“For a while? I don’t understand.”

“That was my name,” Jennsen said. “The name I used, anyway, a few years back, when we lived far to the north. We move around often—to keep from being caught. We change our name each time so it will be harder to track us.”

“Then . . . Daggett is not a real name, either?”

“No.”

“Well, what is your real name, then?”

“That, too, is part of the story for another night.” Her mother’s tone said that she didn’t mean to discuss it. “What matters is that the soldier today had that name. That can only mean the worst.”

“But you said it’s a name you no longer use. You use a different name, here: Daggett. No one here knows you by that name, Lindie.”

Her mother leaned toward Sebastian. Jennsen knew her mother was giving him a look that he would find uncomfortable. Her mother had a way of making people nervous when she fixed them with that intent, penetrating gaze of hers.

“It may no longer be our name, a name we used only far to the north, but he had that name written down, and he was here, mere miles from where we are now. That means he has somehow connected that name with us—with two women somewhere up in this remote place. Somehow, he connected it, or, more precisely, the man who hunts us connected it, and sent him after us. Now, they search for us here.”

Sebastian broke her gaze and took a thoughtful breath. “I see what you mean.” He went back to eating the piece of fish skewered on the point of his knife.

“That dead soldier would have others with him,” her mother said. “By burying him, you bought us time. They won’t know what happened to him. We have that much luck. We are still a few steps ahead of them. We must use our advantage to get away before they tighten the noose. We will have to leave in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” He gestured around with his knife. “You have a life here. Your lives are remote, hidden—I would never have found you had I not seen Jennsen with that dead soldier. How could they find you? You have a house, a good place.”

“ ‘Life’ is the word that matters in all that you said. I know the man who hunts us. He has thousands of years of bloody heritage as guidance in hunting us. He will not rest. If we stay, sooner or later he will find us here. We must escape while we can.”

She pulled from her belt the exquisite knife Jennsen had brought her from the dead D’Haran soldier. Still in its sheath, she spun it in her fingers, presenting it, hilt first, to Sebastian.

“This letter ‘R’ on the hilt stands for the House of Rahl. Our hunter. He would only have presented a weapon this fine to a very special soldier. I don’t want a weapon which has been presented by that evil man.”

Sebastian glanced down at the knife tendered, but didn’t take it. He gave them both a look that unexpectedly chilled Jennsen to the bone. It was a look that burned with ruthless determination.

“Where I come from, we believe in using what is closest to an enemy, or what comes from him, as a weapon against him.”

Jennsen had never heard such a sentiment. Her mother didn’t move. The knife still lay in her hand. “I don’t.”

“Do you choose to use what he has inadvertently given you, and turn it against him? Or do you choose instead to be a victim?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you kill him?”

Jennsen’s jaw dropped. Her mother seemed less astonished. “We can’t,” she insisted. “He’s a powerful man. He is protected by countless people, from simple soldiers to soldiers of great skill at killing—like the one you buried today—to people with the gift who can call upon magic. We are but two simple women.”

Sebastian was not moved by her plea. “He won’t stop until he kills you.” He lifted the piece of paper, watching her eyes take it in. “This proves it. He will never stop. Why don’t you kill him before he kills you—kills your daughter? Or will you choose to be corpses he has yet to collect?”

Her mother’s voice heated. “And how do you propose we kill the Lord Rahl?”

Sebastian stabbed another piece of fish. “For starters, you should keep the knife. It’s a weapon superior to the one you carry. Use what is his to fight him. Your sentimental objection to taking it only serves him, not you—or Jennsen.”

Her mother sat still as stone. Jennsen had never heard anyone talk like this. His words had a way of making her see things differently than she ever had before.

“I must admit that what you say makes sense,” her mother said. Her voice came softly and laced with pain, or perhaps regret. “You have opened my eyes. A little, anyway. I don’t agree with you that we should try to kill him, for I know him all too well. Such an attempt would be simple suicide at best, or accomplish his goal, at worst. But I will keep the knife and use it to defend myself and my daughter. Thank you, Sebastian, for speaking sense when I didn’t want to hear it.”

“I’m glad you’re keeping the knife, at least.” Sebastian pulled the bite of fish off his own knife. “I hope it can help you.” With the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow. “If you don’t want to try to kill him in order to save yourself, then what do you propose to do? Keep running?”

“You say the barriers are down. I propose to leave D’Hara. We will try to make it to another land, where Darken Rahl cannot hunt us.”

Sebastian looked up as he stabbed another piece of fish. “Darken Rahl? Darken Rahl is dead.”

Jennsen, having run from the man since she was little, having awakened countless times from nightmares of his blue eyes watching her from every shadow or of him leaping out to snatch her when her feet wouldn’t move fast enough, having lived every day wondering if this was the day he would finally catch her, having imagined a thousand times and then another thousand what terrible brutal torturous things he would do to her, having prayed to the good spirits every day for deliverance from her merciless hunter and his implacable minions, was thunderstruck. She realized only then that she had always thought of the man as next to immortal. As immortal as evil itself.

“Darken Rahl . . . dead? . . . It can’t be,” Jennsen said as tears of deliverance welled up and ran down her cheeks. She was filled with a wild, heart-pounding sense of expectant hope . . . and at the same time an inexplicable shadow of dark dread.

Sebastian nodded. “It’s true. About two years ago, from what I heard.”

Jennsen gave voice to the hope. “Then, he is no longer the threat we thought.” She paused. “But, if Darken Rahl is dead—”

“Darken Rahl’s son is Lord Rahl, now,” Sebastian said.

“His son?” Jennsen felt her hope being eclipsed by that dark dread.

“The Lord Rahl hunts us,” her mother said, her voice, calm and enduring, betraying no evidence of even a moment of exalted hope. “The Lord Rahl is the Lord Rahl. It is now, as it has always been. As it will always be.”

As immortal as evil itself.

“Richard Rahl,” Sebastian put in. “He’s the Lord Rahl, now.”