Terry Goodkind - Faith of the Fallen

A bony hand shoved her aside.

She had been impaled on the sword Richard had used to fight Kahlan. His hand blindly went for the hilt he knew was there, but a foot kicked the Sword of Truth aside.

Death’s own skull grinned down at him.

“You are a troublesome man, Richard Cypher,” came the grating voice from the darkness above. “But at last, that trouble is ended.”

The tall angular figure in robes and a creased cap towered above him as he lay helpless on the cold wet floor.

“This little rebellion of yours will be crushed, I can promise you that much, before you die. Their foolish little tantrum will be brought to an end. The people will soon come to their senses. Your kind appeals only to the extremist fringe. Most people see their duty to their fellow man. Your efforts have been for nothing.”

Brother Narev swept his arm around, as if in introduction.

“An appropriate place for you to die, don’t you think, Richard? These rooms are the future questioning chambers. You eluded the chambers once, but not this time. You will die in one as you should have died in one before.

“I, on the other hand, will live here a long, long time, and see the Order bring morality to the world. Down here, in these chambers, radicals like you will confess their wickedness. I just wanted you to know, before you are embraced in the Keeper’s cold arms for all eternity.”

Brother Narev’s skeletal hands clawed as he called forth his magic.

Richard saw white-hot light blossom around the high priest’s hands and expand downward. Richard squeezed Kahlan’s hand as he watched the white light of death come for him.

The bloom of light turned a honey color. As if the air had thickened, the light slumped off to the sides.

A howl of fury grew in Narev’s throat. His shook his fists in rage.

“You have the gift of a wizard! Who are you?”

“I am your worst nightmare. I am a thinking man who can’t be deluded by your lies, any more than I can be burned by your foul magic.”

Brother Narev tried to smash his foot down on Richard’s face, but Richard was able to deflect the blow. He seized Narev’s ankle. The man caught his balance and pulled madly to get free. The effort of holding on felt as if it ripped the wound through Richard’s insides. He tried to hold on, but his fingers slipped from the wet leather.

Once free, and out of Richard’s reach, Narev bent and seized the hilt of the sword lodged in the Sister’s back. He tugged but it didn’t come completely out. He growled in fury, his boots slipping on the slimy floor, as he yanked on the sword.

Richard knew that, once armed, Narev would be a swift executioner.

With all his strength, Richard lunged at the man’s legs. Brother Narev toppled back onto the wet floor. Richard, his middle wrenched in torture, threw himself atop Narev’s legs to hold him down. Bony fingers clawed at Richard’s face, trying to gouge his eyes. Richard turned his head away. With fierce effort, he clutched at the heavy robes, dragging himself up the man’s body, ignoring the blows to his face as he did so.

He seized Brother Narev by the throat. Brother Narev’s bony fingers closed savagely around Richard’s throat. Both men growled with the effort of trying to strangle each other to death. Richard twisted his head, trying to prevent Narev from getting a death grip, while at the same time trying to get his own thumbs over Narev’s windpipe so he could choke off his air.

Narev tried to roll, to throw Richard off. Richard spread his legs to make it harder for Narev to flip him over, and held tight as the man twisted and fought. He could feel his insides tearing.

Richard had wielded a chisel and hammer for the Order for months. He was stronger, but he was also losing a lot of blood, and that strength was fading. He squeezed with all his might. The fingers at his throat loosened a little.

The man’s eyes bulged as Richard finally managed to start to choke the life out of him. Bony hands thumped at Richard’s shoulders.

The hands suddenly and fiercely seized Richard by his hair.

Narev freed a leg and brought his knee up into Richard’s wound.

The world went white with pain.

Nicci woke, dazed, to the sound of a low, wicked laugh. She knew the voice. She knew the smell. Kadar Kardeef.

She heard a snapping, popping, hissing sound. A torch, she realized. He whipped it around in front of her face, so close she could feel the terrible heat against her flesh. Burning pitch dripped off, falling on her leg.

Nicci screamed in pain as the pitch burned into the flesh of her thigh.

“What goes around, comes around,” Kadar said in her ear.

“I don’t care what you do to me,” Nicci cried in rage. “I’m glad I burned you. I’m glad you’ve had to beg.”

“Oh you’ll be begging, too, before long. You may not think so, but you’ll be surprised what fire makes a person do. You will yet know what it was like. You will yet beg.”

With all her might, Nicci struggled against him. She could undo the spell, if only Kahlan were closer. So near, but so far.

The fire before her eyes sent terror scorching through her. She had only to snip the cord linking her to Kahlan. She could break the link. She didn’t have to undo it in order to have her power back. Nicci could escape, then. It would cost Kahlan her life, but Nicci would have her power, and she could escape the flames.

But she would have to kill Kahlan to do it.

“Shall I burn your face, first, Nicci? Your lovely face? Or maybe I should start with your legs. Which shall it be? You pick.”

Nicci panted as she struggled, trying to back away from the heat on her flesh. The hissing torch waved in front of her face. She knew she deserved such a fate; but she was driven to wild panic by the fear of it.

She didn’t want to snip the link, to kill Kahlan, but she didn’t want to die this way. She didn’t want her flesh to burn.

“I say we start at the bottom, so we can hear your screams.”

Kadar brought the torch down and touched it to the hem of her dress.

Nicci screamed as the black cloth caught flame. Such fear was a new sensation for her; for the first time since she was very small, she had something she cared about, and didn’t want to lose: life.

In a moment of stark terror, Nicci knew that no matter how much it was to hurt, no matter how frightening it was to be, she would not take Kahlan’s life. Richard had given her the answer she had sought. She had taken too much already. In return for that lesson, she could not now violate it.

Even though Kahlan, linked to Nicci, was to suffer the same fate, would die the same agonizing death, Nicci would not be the one who inflicted it.

She would not take Kahlan’s life from her. Kadar would be bringing their death, but Nicci would not. She would not kill Kahlan to save herself.

Kadar Kardeef laughed as he watched her dress ignite. He held her in a firm grip Nicci could not escape.

Just then, a dark shape flew at her from midair, crashing into them both. They tumbled back, the air all around filled with fire. As Nicci rolled, it put the flaming dress out in the water.

The one who had crashed into them was just getting up, shaking her head as if to clear it. Nicci recognized her. It was the Mord-Sith, Cara.

Kadar sat up, saw the woman, and lunged at her with the torch.

Nicci threw herself at Kadar, grabbing the torch in both hands as she pushed it into the big man’s face. The pitch splashed against his mask of rags. The cloth on his chest and around his head ignited with a loud whoosh.

Kadar screamed as the flames burned into his already melted flesh.

Nicci had heard that heat to previously burned flesh was worse than the first burning. By the sound of his screams, it appeared to be true.