Terry Goodkind - Temple of the Winds

He took a settling breath, regaining his control. He wouldn’t let her divert him with her filthy mouth, “Now, I’m going to give you one last chance. Where is Richard? The soldiers are going wild with talk of Richard being back, of the bond being back. Where are you whores hiding him?”

The voices from the ether had told him, too, that Richard was back. The voices had told him that if he wished to assume his rightful place, he must eliminate Richard.

“And where is my loving wife? Where has she gone to?”

The voices told him that she was in the sliph, but the sliph wouldn’t tell him where she had gone.

Cara spat at him again. “I am Mord-Sith. You are too stupid to even imagine what has been done to me before. You couldn’t fill the boots of the meekest trainer of Mord-Sith. Your puny torture will pry nothing from me.”

“Oh, Cara, you have never encountered one of my talents.”

“Do what you want with me, Drefan, but Lord Rahl—the real Lord Rahl—is going to cut you up into little pieces.”

“And just how would he be able to do that?” He lifted the hilt of the Sword of Truth clear of its scabbard, so she could see the gold lettering that spelled out the word TRUTH. “I’m the one who is going to be doing the cutting into little pieces. Little tiny Richard pieces. Where is he!”

When she spat at him again, he couldn’t resist fisting her across her cut and swollen lip. The blood gushed anew.

He turned and retrieved one of the items he had brought: an iron pot. He put it on her belly, upside down.

“I’m too big to cook in that pot, you stupid pig. You will have to cut me up. Do I have to explain everything to you?”

He liked the way she tried to antagonize him, to make him lose his temper. She wanted him to kill her. He would, but she would talk, first.

“Cook you? Oh, no, Cara. You have the wrong idea. The wrong idea entirely. You think me some maniacal murderer. No murderer, I. I am the hand of justice. I am the hand of mercy. Come to bring eternal virtue to those who have none.

“This pot isn’t to cook you. “It’s to cook the rats.”

He was watching. He saw the way her blue eyes flicked toward him. He had been waiting for just that reaction.

“Rats. I hope you aren’t stupid enough to think that I am afraid of rats just because I’m a woman. I’m no woman like you have ever seen before. I used to keep rats as pets.”

“Really? You lie so poorly. My dear, loving, passionate wife explained to me how afraid you are of rats.”

She didn’t answer. She was afraid of showing her fear. But he could see it in her eyes.

“I have a sack of rats, here. Nice, fat rats.”

“Just get on with this rape. I’m growing bored.”

“I told you, I don’t rape women. They want it from me. They ask for it. They beg for it.” He tugged down his ruffled cuffs. “No, Cara. I have something else in mind for you. I want you to tell me where I can find my loving brother.”

She turned her face away. “Never. Get on with the torture before I fall asleep and miss it.”

“You see? As I told you, women always ask me for it.” He pressed the iron pot to her belly and wound a chain around her middle, to hold down the pot. He forced a finger under the rim, checking, to make sure that it was tight enough.

He then loosened the rough knot in the chain, so he could get the rats under the pot. Cara showed no reaction when he shoved the first under the pot.

Holding the second by the scruff of its neck, he held it before her face, letting her see it squirm and squeak. “See, Cara? As I promised you. Rats. Big rats.”

Sweat beaded on her forehead. “I kind of like it. It feels fuzzy against my stomach. I may fall asleep.”

He stuffed the second, and then a third under the pot. There was room for no more. He took the slack from the chain, and tightened the knot of links.

“Fuzzy,” he mocked. “I think they will keep you wide awake, Cara. Wide awake, and eager to talk, eager to betray Richard. Whores have no honor. You will betray him.”

“Berdine is going to be here soon. She will skin you alive.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You relieved Berdine. I saw you. After she left, I took you down. She won’t be back for quite a while, but when she does come back, she will get the same as you.”

With tongs, he retrieved a big, glowing coal from the pan over the mass of candles. He plunked the red-hot coal down inside the rim of the footed bottom of the iron pot.

“You see, Cara, the coals are going to heat this iron pot—get it very hot.” He looked at her eyes. “The rats aren’t going to like that. They are going to want out.”

Her breathing quickened. Sweat rolled down her face. Where were her brave words now? She was silent, now.

“And how do you suppose the rats are going to get out, Cara? Once they start to get hot? Once the iron pot starts burning them? Singeing their tender noses?”

“Just cut my throat and kill me, you bastard.”

“When the rats get hot enough under there, they’ll panic. They’ll be frantic to get out. Guess how they’ll get out, Cara.”

She had no haughty answer to fill the silence.

He pulled his knife and with the handle, tapped the iron pot. “How are you doing in there, my little rat friends?”

Cara flinched. He smiled when her eyes turned to him, watching him. He could see fear in those eyes. Real fear. He plunked down a half dozen more glowing coals on the iron pot.

“Where is Richard?”

She had nothing to say. He piled on more coals, into a nice, round hump. That was all the pot’s bottom would hold.

He bent over and looked into her eyes. Her skin was as white as chalk. Sweat glistened on her face, on her breasts.

“Where are you whores hiding Richard?”

“You are crazy, Drefan. I don’t like this, but if this is how I am to die, then I will die. But I will never betray Lord Rahl.”

“I am Lord Rahl! When I get rid of my brother, there will be no one to challenge my rule! I am the son of Darken Rahl, and the rightful master of D’Hara.”

She turned her face away. He saw her swallow. Her feet were trembling. Her smooth breathing was interrupted now and again, caught up short. He chuckled.

“I’ll ask again, when the rats start gnawing their way through you, to get away from their hot, iron prison. When their sharp little claws start digging into your belly. When the rats start tunneling into your guts, trying to get out.”

Cara’s whole body jerked. It jerked again. Her eyes widened as she stared up at the ceiling, trying to keep the moan from escaping her throat.

He glanced back and saw a drop of blood run from under the rim of the bowl, down her side. “Well, looks like they already want out. Ready to talk, yet?”

She spat at him, and then gasped sharply. Her wide blue eyes fixed on the ceiling.

She was trembling all over now. Her whole body stiffed. Every muscle strained. She started to pant. Tears filled the corners of her eyes, to run down the side of her face. She was feeling every little thing the rats did—every frantic bite, every desperate digging, ripping of their claws.

Cara let out a short little cry. Sharp, shrill, clipped. It was rapture. He knew it was only the beginning. Even if she talked, he had no intention of stopping this. He longed to hear screams. Real, from the gut screams. Cara obliged him, and let out her first.

Because of his singular perception, another detail caught his attention. His vigilance had again rewarded him. Smiling, he turned to the sliph’s well.

Breathe.

Kahlan expelled the sliph, but she knew something was wrong even before she sucked a breath of air.

A piercing scream echoed around the stone room. Kahlan thought the shriek would make her ears bleed.