Terry Goodkind - Wizard's First Rule

The memory of the nightmare seeped back into his mind. At the thought of Denna, his anger flashed. Instantly the pain of the magic made him inhale in a gasp. The unexpected shock of it made him draw his knees up and let out a moan of agony. He recoiled from the anger, put her from his mind. He thought of Kahlan, remembering the way she had kissed him. The pain melted away. Desperately, he tried to keep his mind on Kahlan—he couldn’t take the pain again. He couldn’t bear it—he already hurt too much.

He had to think of a way out of this. If he didn’t get control of his anger, he had no chance. He remembered how his father had taught him that anger was wrong, how for most of his life he had been able to keep it choked off. Zedd had told him that there were times when bringing the anger out was more dangerous than keeping it in. This was one of those times. He had a whole lifetime of experience at keeping his anger under control—he must do it now. That thought gave him a sliver of hope.

Carefully, without moving too much, he took appraisal. His sword was back in its scabbard, his knife still in its sheath, the night stone still in his pocket. His pack lay against a far wall. The left side of his shirt was hard with dried blood. His head pounded with pain, but felt no worse than the rest of him.

Turning his head a little, he saw Denna. She was stretched out at an angle in a wooden chair with her ankles crossed. Her right elbow rested on a simple wooden table as she spooned something into her mouth from a bowl she held in her other hand. She was watching him.

He thought maybe he should say something. “Where are your men?”

Denna kept chewing for a time as she watched him. At last she set the bowl down and pointed to a spot on the floor next to her.

Her voice was calm, almost gentle. “Come and stand here.”

With great difficulty, Richard rose to his feet and walked to stand where she had pointed. She watched him without emotion as he stood looking down at her. He waited in silence. She stood and with her boot pushed the chair back out of the way. She was almost as tall as he. She turned her back to him as she picked up a glove off the table and worked in into her right hand, pushing the fingers down tight.

Abruptly she spun around, backhanding him across the mouth. The armored back of the glove split his lip open on his teeth.

Immediately, before the anger could grip him, he thought about a beautiful place in the Hartland Woods. His eyes watered from the sting of the gash.

Denna gave him a warm smile. “You forgot the appellation, my pet. I told you before—you are to address me as Mistress, or as Mistress Denna. You are lucky to have me as your trainer—most Mord-Sith are not as lenient as I. They would have used the Agiel at the first offense. But I have a soft spot in my heart for good-looking men, and besides, even though the glove isn’t a very effective punishment, I must admit I rather favor using it. I like to feel the contact. The Agiel is exhilarating, but there is no substitute for using your own hands to feel what you’re doing.” She gave a little frown, her voice hardening. “Take your hand away.”

Richard took his hand off his mouth and held both at his sides. He could feel the blood dripping from his chin. Denna watched in satisfaction. Unexpectedly, she leaned forward and licked some of the blood off his chin, smiling at the taste. It seemed to excite her. She pressed herself against him, but this time she sucked his lip in her mouth and bit it, hard, on the cut. Richard squeezed his eyes shut, his hands in fists, and held his breath until she backed away, licking the blood from her lips with a smile. He shook with the pain, but held the vision of the Hartland Woods in his mind.

“That was just a gentle warning, as you will soon learn. Now, repeat the question properly.”

Richard decided on the spot that he would call her Mistress Denna, and that it would, to him, be a term of disrespect, and that he would never, ever, call her simply Mistress. It would be his way of fighting her, of keeping his self-respect. In his own mind at least.

Richard took a deep breath to steady his voice. “Where are your men, Mistress Denna?”

“Much better,” she cooed. “Most Mord-Sith don’t allow those in training to talk, or to ask questions, but I think that becomes boring. I rather like to talk to my trainee. As I said, you are lucky to have me.” She gave him a cool smile. “I’ve sent my men away. I no longer need them. They are only used for capture, and to hold the captive until he uses his magic against me—then they are no longer needed. There is nothing you can do to get away, or fight back. Nothing.”

“And why do I still have my sword, and knife?”

Too late, he remembered. With an arm he blocked her fist to his face. The act of stopping her brought the pain of the magic. The Agiel came up into his stomach. He rolled over on the ground, crying out in agony.

“Stand up!” Richard choked off the anger to shut away the pain of the magic. The pain of the Agiel didn’t fade so quickly. He came to his feet with great difficulty.

“Now, get on your knees, and ask for my forgiveness.”

When he didn’t move quick enough for her, she laid the Agiel on his shoulder, pushing him down with it. His right arm went numb with hurt.

“Please, Mistress Denna, forgive me.”

“That’s better.” She smiled at last. “Stand up.” She watched him come to his feet. “You have your sword and knife because they are no danger to me, and, perhaps someday you will use them to protect your Mistress. I prefer my pets to keep their weapons, so it can be a constant reminder that they are helpless against me.”

She turned her back to him, removing her glove. Richard knew she was right about the sword: it had magic, and she controlled that. But he wondered if that was the only way. He had to know. His hands reached for her throat.

She continued to slowly remove the glove as he fell to his knees, crying out with the pain of the magic. Desperately, he brought his mind to the picture of the Hartland Woods. The pain eased, and he returned to his feet when she told him to do so.

Denna gave an impatient look. “You’re going to make this hard, aren’t you?” Her face softened, the smooth smile returning. “But then, I enjoy it when a man makes it hard. Now, you’re doing it wrong. I told you that to make the pain stop, you should think something pleasant about me. That’s not what you’re doing. You’re thinking about some boring trees. This is your last warning. Either think something pleasant about me, to stop the pain of the magic, or I will leave you in the agony of it all night. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress Denna.”

Her smile widened. “That was very good. See? You can be trained. Just remember, something pleasant about me.” She took his hands and gazed into his eyes as she pressed his hands to her breasts. “I find most men seem to focus their pleasant thoughts here.” She leaned closer, still holding his hands against her, her voice becoming airy. “But if there’s anything you like better, please feel free to let your mind go there instead.” Richard decided that he thought her hair was pretty, and that that was the only place on her his mind was going to go to think anything pleasant. The pain unexpectedly took him to his knees, tightening its grip until he couldn’t breathe. His mouth opened, but he could get no air. His eyes bulged.

“Now, show me you can do as you were told. Shut the pain off any time you wish, but do it in the way I told you.”

He looked up at her, at her hair. His vision was blurring. With concentration, he thought about how attractive he thought her braid was. He forced himself to think of it as beautiful. The pain lifted, and he collapsed to his side, gasping for air.