Terry Goodkind - Faith of the Fallen

He could hear her choking.

“Mother Confessor! Mother Confessor! What’s wrong?”

Richard reached up and seized Cara behind her head. He pulled her face close.

“Someone has Nicci. They’re choking her. Cara—you have to go save Nicci, or Kahlan will die. And Nicci is the only one who can heal me. Go. Hurry.”

He felt Cara nodding before he released her head.

“I understand” was all she said as she gently, but swiftly, laid him back on the cold stone.

And then she was gone.

It was wet. He didn’t know if it was blood, or water. They were underground, in the nether reaches of the Retreat. Through open beams where the flooring above hadn’t been laid, moonlight flooded down to light Kahlan struggling not far away. He could see, then, as she fought an invisible foe, that it was water. That’s what it was. Not blood. Water. The palace was next to the river. It was wet in the little rooms and halls down in the bottom.

“Kahlan,” he murmured. She didn’t respond. “Hold on . . .”

Gripping his abdomen, holding the wound closed lest his insides burst out, he inched his way through the water, across the cold stone. The pain had finally and firmly arrived. He could feel the terrible damage inside. He tried to blink away the tears of hot agony. He had to hold on. Icy sweat drenched his face. Kahlan had to hold on.

His hand, covered in blood, reached out to her. His fingers found hers.

She hardly responded, but at least her fingers moved. He was thankful beyond words that her fingers moved.

It had been a good plan. He was sure it was. It would have worked, if only someone hadn’t snatched Nicci. Would have worked.

It seemed a stupid way to die, really. He thought it should be somehow more . . . grand.

Not in a dark, cold, wet palace underground.

He wished he could tell Kahlan that he loved her, and that she hadn’t killed him but that he had done it. It was his doing, not hers. He’d just used her in his plan. It would have worked.

“Kahlan,” he whispered, not knowing if in her stillness she could hear him any longer. “I love you. No one else. Just you. I’m glad we had our time together. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Richard opened his eyes and groaned in agony. He wanted it to end. It hurt too much. Now, he just wanted it to end. It hadn’t worked. He would have to pay the price. But he wanted the sickening, ripping, terrifying pain to end.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. He looked and saw Kahlan sprawled on the wet floor. She wasn’t moving.

A shadow fell across him.

“Well, well. Richard Cypher.” Neal chuckled. “Imagine that.” He chuckled again as he glanced at Kahlan. “Who’s the woman?”

Richard could sense the Sword of Truth, sense its magic. It wasn’t far from his fingers.

“Don’t know. She’s killed me. Must be one of yours.”

Richard’s fingers found the sword. They curled around the wire-wound hilt.

Neal stepped on the blade. “Can’t have any of that. You’ve caused enough trouble.”

A glow ignited around Neal’s fingers. He was conjuring magic. Lethal magic. Richard, in his barely conscious condition, despite his need, could not focus his mind, could not call forth his own ability to do anything to stop Neal. At least, the pain would end. At least, Kahlan wouldn’t think it was she who had killed him.

Richard heard a sudden, terrible, bone-snapping crack. Neal dropped heavily to his knees.

Richard, his hand already around the hilt, pulled the sword from underneath the man’s legs and in one mighty lunge, ran it through Neal’s heart.

Neal looked up in surprise, his eyes glassy. Richard saw then that the man was as good as dead before the blade had run him through. Neal’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the side as Richard yanked the sword free.

Standing behind Neal was the woman Richard had helped. She had bandaged her leg. In both hands, she held the marble hand of the woman Richard had carved. She had crushed Neal’s skull with her keepsake of the statue.

Richard heard footfalls splashing toward him down the wet hallway. The woman had gone to find help. Maybe she had found it.

In the rooms and hallways in the distance, Richard could hear occasional screams as blasts of magic exploded through the night, as people were injured and killed.

A woman appeared in the moonlight. “Richard? Richard?”

Richard squinted in the darkness. “Who are you?” he managed to whisper.

She rushed to his side and fell to her knees. She gasped at seeing Kahlan sprawled on the floor close to him.

“What happened to the Mother Confessor?”

Richard frowned. She knew Kahlan.

“Who are you?”

She looked back at him. “I’m a Sister. Sister Alessandra. I’ve been in the city for a while, looking for Nicci, and—never mind. A woman found me just down the hall—and said you were hurt. The man who carved the statue. I was trying desperately to get to you earlier, but I couldn’t get near—there I go again. Tell me where you’re hurt. I can try to heal you.”

“I was run through with a sword.”

She was still and silent for a moment.

“Under my hands.”

She looked then, and spoke a prayer under her breath. “I think I can help. I feared—”

“I need Nicci to do it.”

Sister Alessandra glanced about. “Nicci? Where is she, then? I’ve been searching for her. Ann sent me to find her.”

Richard’s eyes fell on the still form of Kahlan. “Can you help her?”

He could see the woman’s eyes look away from his. “No, I can’t. She’s linked by magic to Nicci. I met her before, and she told me about it. I can do nothing through the shield of Nicci’s link.”

“Is she . . . is she still . . .”

The woman looked and then leaned back over him. “She’s alive, Richard.”

He closed his eyes in relief, and in pain.

“Lie still,” she said.

“But I need Nicci to—”

“You’re bleeding. This is bad, Richard. In a short time more, you will have lost too much blood. If I wait, no one will be able to heal you. You will have slipped too far beyond this world for any gift to help you. I can’t wait.

“Besides, I came to try to stop Nicci. I know her better than anyone. You can’t put your life in her hands. You can’t put your faith in her.”

“It’s not faith. I know—”

“She’s a Sister of the Dark. I’m the one who led her down that dark road. I came to try to lead her back. Until and unless that time comes, you can’t trust her. Now, you’ve not much time. Do you want to live, or not?”

It had all gone for nothing. He felt a tear run from the corner of his eye and across his cheek.

“I choose life,” he said.

“I know,” she whispered with a smile. “I saw the statue. Now, move your hands for me. I need to have mine there.”

Richard let his hands slip to his sides as hers covered his wound. He felt helpless. He could focus on nothing but the searing pain.

He felt magic tingle into him, following the damage down deep inside him. He clenched his teeth as he held in a cry.

“Hold on,” she whispered. “This is bad. It will hurt, but then in a while it will be all right.”

“I understand,” he said. He gasped sharply. “Do it, then.”

The pain of her magic seared into him like white-hot coals thrown on bare flesh. He almost cried out, but then the pain abruptly ceased. Richard lay with his eyes closed, panting, waiting for it to start again. He felt her hands slip from him.

Richard opened his eyes and saw that Sister Alessandra’s eyes were opened wide. For an instant, he wondered why.

And then he saw a foot of steel jutting from her chest. Her fingers went to her throat as blood gushed from her open mouth. A silent scream formed on her lips.