Terry Goodkind - Wizard's First Rule

For a while, he watched Kahlan walking ahead of him. She, too, was having difficulty keeping up. She pulled another spiderweb off her face, then trotted to keep up. He could see that, like him, she was breathing hard. For some reason, Richard’s caution was igniting into foreboding.

He caught a brief glimpse of something off to the left, in the woods, keeping pace. Just a small animal, he thought. But it looked like something with long arms, skittering along the ground—then it was gone. His mouth felt dry. It must just be his imagination, he told himself.

He turned his attention back to Old John. The path was wide in some places, narrow in others with branches that reached in tight. When Kahlan and Richard went past, they both sometimes brushed against them, or simply pushed them out of the way. Not the old man. He stayed to the center of the trail, avoiding any errant limb, his arms clutching his cloak tightly to him.

Richard’s eye was caught by the strands of a spiderweb, glistening golden in the setting sun, stretched across the path in front of Kahlan. The web parted against her upper leg when she walked through it.

The sweat on his face instantly turned ice cold against his skin.

How could Old John not have broken the web?

He looked up and saw a branch, its tip sticking out in the path. The old man skirted it. But not the tip. The tip passed through his arm as it would pass through smoke.

Breathing faster, he glanced down at the footprints Kahlan made through an open patch of soft ground. There were none from Old John.

Richard’s left hand shot forward, seized a fistful of Kahlan’s shirt, and yanked her behind him, causing her to cry out in surprise. He tossed her backward as his right hand pulled the sword free.

Old John stopped and half turned at the sound of the sword’s ringing.

“What is it, my boy? See something?” His voice came like the hiss of a snake.

“Indeed.” Richard gripped the sword in both hands, his legs set in a defensive stance, his chest heaving. He felt the anger flooding his fear. “How is it that you don’t break spiderwebs when you walk through them, or leave footprints?”

Old John gave a slow, sly smile, appraising him with one eye. “Did you not expect that an old friend of a wizard would have special talents?”

“Maybe,” Richard said, his eyes darting left and right, checking. “But tell me, Old John, what is your old friend’s name?”

“Why, it’s Zedd.” His eyebrows lifted. “How else would I know, if he weren’t my old friend.” His cloak was pulled tightly around him. His head had sunken into his shoulders.

“I’m the one who foolishly told you his name was Zedd. Now, you tell me your old friend’s last name.” Old John watched him with a dark frown, his eyes moving slowly, appraising, measuring. Eyes of an animal.

With a sudden roar that made Richard flinch, the old man turned, his cloak flinging open. In the time it took to complete the turn, he mushroomed to twice his previous size.

An impossible nightmare came to life: fur and claws and fangs, where an old man had been an instant before.

A creature of snarl and snap.

Richard gasped as he looked up at the gaping maw of the beast. It roared and abruptly took a giant step forward. Richard took three back. He gripped the sword so hard it hurt. The woods echoed with the earsplitting cry of the thing, deep, savage, vicious. The mouth stretched wide with each roar. It leaned over him, deep-set red eyes glowing, snapping its huge teeth. Richard urgently backed up, retreating behind the sword. He took a quick glance, but didn’t see Kahlan behind him.

All at once, it came for him. Richard didn’t have a chance to swing the sword. He tripped on a root, falling backward, sprawling across the ground. He couldn’t get his breath. Instinctively, he brought the sword up to impale the thing, expecting it to fall on him.

Sharp, wet teeth reached over the sword, snapping viciously at his face. He drove the sword up, but the beast stayed clear. Furious red eyes glared at the sword. It backed away and looked toward the woods to its right. Its ears lay back as it snarled at something.

It picked up a rock twice the size of Richard’s head, put its blunt snout high in the air, took a deep breath, and with a roar squeezed the rock in its claw. Corded muscles tightened. The rock split with a loud crack that reverberated through the forest. Dust and flakes of rock tilled the air. The beast looked about, turned, and swiftly slipped into the trees.

Richard lay on his back, panting, watching the woods with wide eyes, expecting the beast to reappear. He called out Kahlan’s name. She didn’t answer.

Before he could scramble fully to his feet, something ashen, with long arms, leapt on him, knocking him to his back again. It screamed with rage. Powerful gnarled hands gripped his, trying to pry the sword from his grip. One of the arms backhanded him across the jaw, nearly slamming him senseless. Bloodless white lips curled back, exposing sharp teeth, as it howled. Bulging yellow eyes snatched glances back at him. It tried frantically to kick his face. Richard held on to the sword with all his strength, trying to twist away from the painful grip of the long fingers.

“My sword,” it snarled. “Gimme. Gimme my sword.”

Locked desperately together, the two of them rolled across the ground, leaves and sticks flying. One of the powerful hands reached back, grabbing Richard by the hair, whacking his head on the ground, aiming for a rock. With a grunt, suddenly it reached again for the hilt, pulling one of Richard’s sweating hands from the sword, slapping its own hand to the hilt with Richard’s other. Its shrill screams split the forest quiet. Sinewy fingers started clawing his left hand off the hilt—sharp nails dug into the flesh.

Richard knew he was losing. The wiry little creature, despite its size, was stronger than he was. He had to do something or he would soon lose the sword.

“Gimme,” it hissed, in a flash turning its pallid head back to his, snapping, trying to bite his face. Spaces between its teeth were packed with spongy, gray debris. Its heavy breath reeked of rot. Dark splotches covered the hairless, waxy head.

The next time they rolled across the ground, Richard desperately reached to his belt and pulled his knife. In a rush he had it to the folds of the thing’s neck.

“Please!” it howled. “No kill! No kill!”

“Then let go of the sword! Now!”

The thing slowly, reluctantly, released its grip. Richard was on his back, the putrid-smelling creature on his chest. It went limp against him.

“Please, no kill me,” it repeated in a whimper.

Richard untangled himself from the disgusting creature, laying it on its back. He put the point of the sword hard against its chest. Its yellow eyes went wide.

The anger from the sword, which had somehow seemed confused and lost, at last charged into him.

“If I even think you’re about to do something I don’t like”—Richard jabbed—“I’ll push. Understand?” It nodded vigorously. Richard leaned closer. “Where did your friend go?”

“Friend?”

“That big thing that almost had me before you did!”

“The Calthrop. Not friend,” it whined. “Lucky man. Calthrop kills at night. Was waiting till night. To kill you. It has power in the night. Lucky man.”

“I don’t believe you! You were with it.”

“No,” it winced. “I only followed. Till it kills you.”

“Why?”

Bulging eyes went to the sword. “My sword. Gimme. Please?”

“No!”

Richard looked around for Kahlan. Her pack lay on the ground a short distance behind him, but he didn’t see her. Suddenly Richard was cold with worry. His eyes swept the area in quick jerks. He knew the Calthrop didn’t have her—it had gone into the woods alone. He continued to hold the point of the sword against the creature on the ground while he yelled out her name, hoping she would return his desperate calls. No answer.