Terry Goodkind - Temple of the Winds

The D’Haran soldiers fell silent. A Mord-Sith was trouble enough, but when she had command of a person’s magic she was something altogether beyond trouble: she was dealing in magic, and they had no desire to stick their finger in a cauldron of dark sorcery stirred by an angry Mord-Sith.

Cara strode over to Marlin and held the sword down to him, hilt first. “Take it.” Marlin hesitated, then snatched the sword when she frowned in warning.

Cara looked up at Kahlan. “We always let our captives keep their weapons. It’s a constant reminder to them that they are helpless, that even their weapons will do them no good against us.”

“I know,” Kahlan said in a small voice. “Richard told me.”

Cara motioned Marlin to his feet. When he didn’t move fast enough for her, she punched his cracked rib.

“What are you waiting for! Get up! Now, go stand over there.”

After he had moved off the carpet, she grasped the corner and flung it aside. She pointed at the polished wood floor and snapped her fingers. Marlin scurried to the spot, grunting in pain with each step.

Cara snatched him by the scruff of his neck and bent him over. “Spit.”

Marlin coughed blood and spat on the floor at his feet. Cara hauled him up straight, seized the neck of his tunic, and yanked his face close.

She gritted her teeth. “Now, you listen. You know the kind of pain I can give you if you displease me. Do you need another demonstration?”

He vigorously shook his head. “No, Mistress Cara.”

“Good boy. Now, when I tell you to do something, that is what I wish you to do. If you do otherwise, if you go against my orders, my wishes, your magic will twist your guts like a washrag. As long as you continue to go against my wishes, the pain will only get worse. I won’t let the magic kill you, but you will wish otherwise. You will beg me to kill you in order to escape the pain. I don’t grant my pets’ requests for death.”

Marlin’s face had gone ashen.

“Now, stand on that spot of your spit.” Marlin moved both feet onto the red splat. Cara gripped his jaw in one hand and pointed her Agiel at his face.

“My wish is for you to stand right there, on that spot of your spit, until I tell you otherwise. You are never to so much as lift a finger to harm me, or anyone else, ever again. That is my wish. Do you understand? Do you fully understand my wishes?”

He nodded, as best he could the way her hand clamped his jaw. “Yes, Mistress Cara. I would never hurt you—I swear. You want me to stand on my spit until you give me permission to do otherwise.” Tears welled up anew. “I won’t move, I swear. Please don’t hurt me.”

Cara shoved his face away. “You disgust me. Men who break as easily as you disgust me. I’ve had girls last longer under my Agiel,” she muttered. She pointed behind. “Those men won’t hurt you. They will do nothing to stop you. If you get to the door, against my wishes, you are free and the pain will be gone.” She glared at the soldiers. “You all heard me, didn’t you? If he reaches the door, he’s free.” The soldiers nodded. “If he kills me, he’s free.”

This time they didn’t agree until Cara yelled her order again. Cara turned her hot glare to Kahlan. “That includes you. If he kills me, or if he makes the door, he’s free.”

No matter how improbable, Kahlan wouldn’t agree to such a thing. Marlin wanted to kill Richard. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you need to understand. You need to trust my word.”

Kahlan forced out a breath. “Get on with it,” she said, without agreeing to the terms.

Cara turned her back to Marlin and folded her arms. “You know my wishes, my pet. If you wish to escape, this is your chance. You reach the door, and you’re free. If you want to kill me for what I’ve done to you, now’s your chance for that, too.

“You know,” she added, “I don’t think I’ve seen nearly enough of your blood. When we’re done with all this nonsense, I’m going to take you somewhere private, where the Mother Confessor won’t be around to intercede on your behalf, I’m going to spend the rest of the afternoon and night punishing you with my Agiel, just because I’m in the mood. I’m going to make you regret the day you were born.”

She shrugged. “Unless, of course, you kill me, or escape.”

The soldiers stood mute. The room exuded a heavy silence as Cara waited with her arms folded. Marlin carefully looked around, studying the soldiers, Kahlan, and Cara’s back. His fingers worked on the hilt of the sword, drawing it tighter into his grip. His eyes narrowed as he considered.

Watching Cara’s back, he finally took a small, tentative step to the side.

To Kahlan, it looked as if an invisible club had whacked him in the gut. He doubled over with a grunt. A low groan wheezed from his throat. With a cry of effort, he dived for the door.

He hit the floor screaming. He clutched his abdomen with both arms as he writhed. With fingers curled in agony, he threw himself out flat on the floor and tried to claw his way to the door. It was still a goodly distance. Each inch he gained racked him with ever worse convulsions of pain. Kahlan winced at his panting screams.

In a last, desperate effort, he snatched up the sword again and staggered to his feet, straightening partially, lifting the sword above his head. Kahlan tensed. Even if he couldn’t make his arms do his bidding, he could fall and cleave Cara.

The risk to Cara was too great. Kahlan took an urgent step forward as Marlin bellowed and tried to bring the sword down to hack at Cara. Cara, watching Kahlan, held up an admonishing finger, stopping Kahlan where she stood.

Behind her, Martin’s sword clattered to the floor as he crumpled, holding his stomach as he shrieked. He crashed to the floor, his distress obviously growing precipitously with each moment as he writhed on the polished wood floor like a fish out of water.

“What did I tell you, Marlin?” Cara asked in a quiet voice. “What are my wishes?”

He seemed to grasp the meaning of her words as if they were from a person yelling as he threw a lifeline to a drowning man. His frantic gaze hunted the floor. Finally, he saw it. He clawed his way to the spot of his spit, moving as quickly as the racking pain allowed. At last, he managed to stagger to his feet.

He stood, fists at his side, still shaking and screaming.

“Both feet, Marlin,” Cara said casually.

He looked down and saw that only one foot was on the spit. He jerked the other closer, onto the red spot.

He sagged and finally fell silent. Kahlan felt herself sag with him. His eyes closed, panting, dripping sweat, he stood trembling with the lingering effects of the ordeal.

Cara lifted an eyebrow to Kahlan. “Understand?”

Kahlan scowled. Cara scooped up the sword and marched it over to the door. As one, the soldiers all backed up a step. She held the sword out, hilt first. Reluctantly, its owner retrieved it.

“Any questions, gentlemen?” Cara asked in an icy voice. “Good. Now stop banging on the door when I’m busy.” She slammed the heavy door in their faces.

Marlin’s lower lip sucked in and out over his teeth with each panting breath. Cara put her face close to his.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to close your eyes. Did you hear me say you could close them?”

His eyes opened wide. “No, Mistress Cara.”

“Then what were they doing closed?”

Marlin’s terror quavered through his voice. “I’m sorry, Mistress Cara. Please forgive me. I won’t do it again.”

“Cara.”

She turned, as if she had forgotten Kahlan was even in the room. “What?”

Kahlan tilted her head in gesture. “We need to talk.”

“You see?” Cara asked, when she had joined Kahlan at the table with the lamp. “You see what I mean? He can’t hurt anyone. He can’t escape. No man has ever escaped a Mord-Sith.”