Terry Goodkind - Temple of the Winds

Darken Rahl did indeed know Richard’s heart. Darken Rahl, after all, was the one who had almost destroyed it.

“Name the price or be gone.”

“First, the knowledge of the Temple of the Winds was not yours before you came to this place. You will return as you came—without the knowledge you acquired here. Back in your world, you will be as you were before you left it.”

Richard had expected as much. “Agreed.”

“Oh, very good, my son. How eager, how earnest, you are. Will you agree to the second requirement so readily?” His smile seemed as if it would strip flesh from bone. “I wonder.” His voice went on in a lethal hiss.

When Darken Rahl named the second requirement, Richard’s knees nearly buckled.

“Can he do that?” Richard could manage no more than a whisper. “Can he demand that?”

Denna stared back with somber, spirit eyes. “Yes.”

Richard turned away from the two spirits. Head bent, he pressed his hand over his eyes. “It is that important to me,” he whispered. “I agree to the price.”

“I knew you would.” Darken Rahl’s malevolent laugh echoed the length of the Temple of the Winds. “I knew that even this, you would pay for her.”

Richard gathered his senses. He slowly turned, lifting his hand toward the evil spirit.

“And with this price, you have shown me your barren spirit. In that, dear father, you have made a mistake, for I can now use that emptiness against you.”

The laughter died out. “You have agreed to the price I have set within my right and power. You can do nothing but banish me from the winds, and that will not negate the price; the world of souls will enforce it, now that it is named and accepted.”

“So they will,” Richard said. “But you will taste my revenge for all you have done, including the price you have demanded, when you could have stopped with the first as fair.”

Richard freed a pristine flow of Subtractive Magic, uncontaminated by so much as a scintilla of the Additive. It was the force of the void unleashed. Total oblivion of Light engulfed the spirit of Darken Rahl. A wail came from that deep forever as Darken Rahl was plunged into the unmitigated shadow of the Keeper of the Underworld, where not the slightest trace of Light from the Creator shone.

It was the pain of denial of that Light that was the true torture of the Keeper’s dark eternity.

When he was gone, Richard turned once more to the passageway back to the world of life.

“I am sorry, Richard,” came Denna’s tender voice. “None but he would have demanded this of you.”

“I know,” Richard whispered as he called the lightning to take him back. “Dear spirit, I know.”

Drefan hooked his hand under her arm and pulled her shoulder against him. At the white ruffles of his shirt hung two red Agiel.

“Isn’t it about time you ended this pretense, my wife? Isn’t it about time you gave in to your desires, and admitted your hunger for me?”

Kahlan glared into his blue. Darken Rahl eyes. “Are you really mad, Drefan, or do you just pretend it? I agreed to wed you to save lives, not because I wanted it. When will you ever admit it to yourself? I do not love you, nor will I ever.”

“Love? When have I ever mentioned love? I speak of passion.”

“You are delusional if you think I will ever—”

“You already have. You want it again.”

It cut her to the heart that he had so easily deduced what had happened with Richard. He pointed it out constantly. He taunted her for it. It was her eternal punishment for what she had done, a stain she couldn’t annul.

Distant thunder rumbled through the mountains as the spring storm that had come so suddenly moved on, away from the city. The wild lightning had reminded Kahlan of Richard. She had stood at the window, watching the violent flashes, remembering. “Never.”

“You are my wife. You have sworn an oath.”

“Yes, Drefan, I have sworn an oath, and I am your wife. I will live by my words, but the spirits are satisfied with what I have given. They demand no more, or the plague would not be gone.” She pulled her arm away. “If you want me, then you will have to rape me, for that is what it will be. I will not go to your bed willingly, nor easily.”

His smile was maddening. “I can wait until you finally give in to your lust. I want you to enjoy it. I long for you finally to admit it, to ask for it.”

He stalked away, but turned back when she called his name.

“What are you doing with Cara and Berdine’s Agiel?”

Touching an Agiel was painful only if it was one that had been used against you in the past—if you had been the prisoner of a Mord-Sith. Agiel were weapons only in the hands of the Mord-Sith to whom they belonged, but without the bond to a true Lord Rahl they no longer functioned. For Drefan, they were nothing more than obscene decoration.

He lifted the red rods away from his chest to have a look at them. “Well, I thought that since I am the Lord Rahl now, I should wear these, as a symbol of my authority. After all, Richard wore one. You wear one.”

“The Agiel we wear are not symbols of authority. They are symbols of our respect for the women to whom they belonged.”

He shrugged as he let them drop back down. “The army seems quite intimidated to see me wearing them. That will do. Good night, my dear. Sleep well.” His sly smile returned. “Call out if you have need of anything.”

Muttering a curse under her breath, Kahlan shouldered open the door to her rooms. She was exhausted, and wanted only to fall into bed, but she knew that her racing mind would deny her sleep. Berdine was waiting for her.

“Is he gone to bed?” she asked, referring to Drefan.

“Yes,” Kahlan said, “as I am about to do.”

“No, you can’t. You have to come with me.”

Kahlan frowned at the serious look on Berdine’s face. “Where do you want me to go?”

“We have to go up to the Keep.”

“What’s wrong? Is it the sliph? Has someone tried to come through the sliph?”

Berdine waved dismissively as she stepped closer. “No, no, it’s not the sliph.”

“Then what is it?”

“I just want you to come up there with me, that’s all. I want some company.”

Kahlan stroked her hand down the woman’s shoulder. “Berdine, I know how lonely you are, but it’s late, I have a headache, and I’m tired. All afternoon and evening I’ve been in meetings with Drefan, General Kerson, and a number of officers. Drefan wants to move the troops back to D’Hara—for us all to go to D’Hara. He wants to abandon the Midlands to the Order and concentrate on defending D’Hara. I’ve been arguing myself blue.

“I need to go to bed and get some rest so I can get up in the morning and try again to convince them of the folly of Drefan’s plan. The general isn’t so sure that Drefan isn’t right. I am.”

“Sleep later. You are coming up to the Keep with me.”

Kahlan gazed into the Mord-Sith’s eyes. And that was what they were: Mord-Sith eyes. This was not Berdine speaking, it was mistress Berdine, as cold and demanding as any Mord-Sith came.

“Not until you tell me why,” Kahlan said in a level tone.

Berdine seized Kahlan’s arm. “You are going up to the Keep with me. You can either go sitting in the saddle, or lying over it—your choice—but you are going, and you are going now.”

Kahlan had never seen such a look of determination in Berdine’s eyes. It was frightening. That was the only word for it: frightening.

“All right, if it’s that important to you, let’s go. I just want to know why.”

Instead of answering, Berdine tightened her grip on Kahlan’s arm and forced her to the door. Berdine cracked the door, checking, then opened it enough to stick her head out for a look. “It’s clear,” she whispered. “Come on.”