Terry Goodkind - Temple of the Winds

Drefan’s knife lay on the floor, near him. He was lying there, perfectly still. She had to hurry. She had to get the knife and cut Cara’s ropes. She had to cut her own. Before he recovered.

Kahlan dug in her heels and scooted toward the knife. She turned around, feeling for it with her fingers.

Drefan rose up and seized her. Holding her around the middle, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing. He brought the knife around in front of her face.

“Nasty stuff, powdered canin pepper. Lucky for me I know how to use my auras to overcome it. Now, my whore of a wife, it’s time you paid the price for your perversion.”

Richard staggered toward the sliph’s room. From a room not far away, where Cara and Berdine had put him, he had heard the screams. He had no idea how long he had been insensate, no idea how long it had been since they had taken him there, but the screams had brought him awake. Someone needed help. And the last scream, he knew—Kahlan. His head pounded in violent pain. He hurt everywhere. He hadn’t thought he would be able to stand, but he did. He hadn’t thought he would be able walk, but he did. He had to.

He was barefooted, and without a shirt. He had on only his pants. He knew that the lower Keep was cool, but he was covered in a sheen of sweat, hardly able to breathe through the heat he felt. He used all his willpower to force himself to move.

He straightened, put a hand to the side of the door into the sliph’s room, and walked in.

Drefan looked up. He had his arm around Kahlan’s middle. He had a knife in his other hand. To the side, Cara was lying on the floor, tied in ropes. Her middle was ripped open. She was still alive, but shivering in agony. Richard couldn’t make sense of it.

“What in the name of all that’s good is going on, Drefan?”

“Richard,” he sneered. “Just the man I’m looking for.”

“Well, now I’m here. Let Kahlan go.”

“Oh, I will, dear brother. Soon. It is you I need.”

“Why?”

Drefan’s eyebrows lifted. “So that I can be reinstated as Lord Rahl. It’s my rightful place. The voices told me. My father told me. I am to be Lord Rahl. I was born to it.”

The plague was a far distant drone in Richard’s mind and body, yet this all seemed a dream, too.

“Drop the knife, Drefan, and give up. It’s over. Let Kahlan go.”

Drefan laughed. He threw his head back and roared with laughter. When it died out, Drefan’s eyes narrowed with frightening resolve.

“She wants me. She begs for it. You know the truth of that, my dear brother. You saw what she is. She is a whore. She is just like all the others. Just like Nadine. Just like my mother. She must die, like all the rest.”

Richard looked into Kahlan’s eyes. What was going on? Dear spirits, how was he going to get her away from Drefan?

“You’re wrong, Drefan. Your mother loved you: she took you to a place where you would be safe from Darken Rahl. She loved you. Please, let Kahlan go. I’m begging you.”

“She is mine! My wife! I will do with her what I will!”

Drefan slammed the knife into Kahlan’s lower back. Richard flinched at hearing it hit bone. Kahlan grunted with the impact, her eyes going wide in shock. Drefan released her. She dropped to her knees and crumpled to her side.

Richard tried with all his might to make sense of this. He couldn’t decide if this was real, or a dream. He had been having so many dreams, so many nightmares. This seemed like all the rest, but different. He didn’t even know if he was alive anymore. The whole room swam before him.

Drefan drew the Sword of Truth. The ring of steel that Richard knew so well echoed around the stone room, a chime that seemed to awaken him into a nightmare. Richard could see the rage from the sword, the magic, take Drefan’s eyes.

“I’m all right, Richard,” Kahlan panted as she stared up at him. “You don’t have a weapon. Get out of here. Get away. I love you. Please, for me. Run.”

The rage in Drefan’s eyes was nothing to match the rage thundering into Richard’s heart.

“Drop the sword, Drefan, now. Or I will kill you.”

Drefan swept the sword around. “How? With your bare hands?”

Richard vividly remembered what Zedd had told him when first giving him the Sword of Truth: the sword was only a tool; the Seeker was the weapon. A true Seeker didn’t need the sword.

Richard started forward. “And with hate in my heart.”

“I will enjoy killing you, at last, Richard. Even if you don’t have a weapon.”

“I am the weapon.”

Richard was running. The distance between them shrank at an alarming rate. Kahlan screamed for him to get away. He hardly heard her. Richard was committed. Drefan lifted the sword overhead, pulling a breath in preparation to cleave Richard. That was the opening. Richard knew that a thrust was faster than a cut. He was in the iron grip of deadly determination. Richard was lost in the dance with death. Drefan bellowed in rage as the sword started down.

Richard dropped to his left knee, through the opening, using his forward momentum and a twist of his torso to add force to his strike. Fingers straight and stiff, he drove his arm ahead with all his might.

Before the sword could touch him, Richard struck like lightning, driving his hand through Drefan’s soft middle. In the blink of an eye, he had seized Drefan’s spinal column and yanked it back out, ripping it apart.

Drefan pitched backward, crashing against the sliph’s well, slumping down in a spreading, crimson flood.

Richard bent to Kahlan, cupping her face with his left hand. He didn’t want to touch her with Drefan’s blood. She was panting in pain. From the corner of his eye, Richard could see Drefan’s arm move.

“I can’t feel my legs. Richard, I can’t feel my legs. Dear spirits, what did he do to me?” Her voice quivered with panic. “I can’t make them move.”

Richard was already lost in need. He had forgotten how to use his power as the price of returning from the Temple of the Winds, but he had used it before. He had healed before. He was a wizard.

He ignored his dizzy head, his sick stomach; he couldn’t allow that to stop him. From Nathan, Richard had learned that his power was called through need, if the need was great enough, or through anger, if the anger was great enough. He had never had more need than he had at that moment, nor more anger.

“Richard. Oh, Richard, I love you. I want you to know, if we, if we . . .”

“Hush,” he said in a gentle voice. Her face was cut and bloody. It made him ache to see her pain, her panic. “I will heal you. Lie still, and I will make you whole again.”

“Oh, Richard, I had the book. I lost it. Oh, Richard, I’m so sorry. I had it. I had it, but it’s gone.”

With a sinking feeling, he grasped what she was saying: he was going to die. There was nothing to be done, now. He was lost.

“Richard, please, heal Cara.”

“No. I don’t think I have enough strength to heal both of you.” To heal, he had to take the pain from the one injured. Killing Drefan had taken nearly all the strength he had. “I must heal you.”

Kahlan shook her head. “Please, Richard, if you love me, do as I ask. Heal Cara. It’s my fault—what he did to her. My fault.” A tear ran down her cheek. “I lost the book. I can’t save you. Heal Cara.” She stifled a cry. “We will be together soon, for all time, then.”

He understood. They were both to die. They would be together in the spirit world. She didn’t want to live without him.

Richard kissed her brow. “Hold on. Don’t give up. Please. Kahlan, I love you. Don’t give up.”

Richard turned to Cara. He already felt so sick that the sight didn’t affect him the way it normally would have. Her suffering, though, bent him with pain for her. He laid his hands across Cara’s bloody, torn middle. “Cara, I’m here. Hold on. For me, hold on, so I can help you.” She didn’t seem to hear his words as she mumbled, her head lolling from side to side.