Terry Goodkind - Wizard's First Rule

She returned the smile and got up. Richard retrieved a wicked looking war axe from Chase and found it worked as well on wood as on flesh and bone. He wasn’t at all sure Chase would approved of putting one of his prize weapons to use in this fashion—in fact, he knew he wouldn’t. He smiled to himself. He couldn’t wait to tell him. In his mind he could picture his big friend’s disapproving frown. Of course, Chase would have to embellish the story with every telling. To Chase, a story without embellishment was like meat without gravy—just plain dry.

His friends had to get better, he told himself. They just had to. He couldn’t bear it if they died.

It was several hours before they were finished. Kahlan stayed close to him, as she was afraid of the snakes, and the heart hounds watched them the whole time. For a while Richard had thought to use Chase’s crossbow to try to get some of the hounds, but finally decided against it: Chase would be angry at him for squandering valuable bolts to no purpose. The hounds couldn’t get them, and would be gone with the light.

When they were finished, they checked the other two, then sat down together again by the candles. He knew Kahlan was tired—he could hardly keep his own eyes open—but she still didn’t want to lie down to sleep, so he had her lean against him. In no time her breathing slowed and she was asleep. It was a fitful sleep—he could tell she was having bad dreams. When she started whimpering and jerking, he woke her. She was breathing rapidly, and almost in tears.

“Nightmares?” he asked, stroking her hair reassuringly with the backs of his fingers.

Kahlan nodded against him. “I was dreaming about the thing from the boundary that was around my legs. I dreamt it was a big snake.”

Richard put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her tight against him. She didn’t object, but pulled her knees up and put her arms around them as she nuzzled against him. He worried that she could hear his heart pounding. If she did, she didn’t say anything and was soon fast asleep again. He listened to her breathing, to the frogs, and to the rain. She slept peacefully. He closed his fingers around the tooth under his shirt. He watched the heart hounds. They watched back.

She woke sometime near morning when it was still dark. Richard was so tired he had a headache. Kahlan insisted he lie down and sleep while she kept watch. He didn’t want to—he wanted to continue holding her, but was too sleepy to argue.

When she gently shook him awake it was morning. Weak, gray light filtered through the dark green of the swamp and through heavy mist that made the world seem small and close. The water around them looked as if it had been steeped with decayed vegetation, a brew that rippled occasionally with unseen life beneath the surface. Unblinking black eyes pushed up through the duckweed, watching them.

“The heart hounds are gone,” she said. She looked drier than she had last night.

“How long?” he asked, rubbing the cramps out of his arms.

“Twenty, maybe thirty minutes. When it got light they suddenly went off in a rush.” Kahlan gave him a tin cup of hot tea. Richard gave her a questioning look.

She smiled. “I held it over the candle until it was hot.”

He was surprised at her inventiveness. She gave him a piece of dried fruit and ate some herself. He noticed the war axe leaning against her leg, and thought to himself that she knew how to stand watch.

It was still raining gently. Strange birds called out sharply in rapid, ragged shrieks from across the swamp, while others answered in the distance. Bugs hovered inches above the water, and occasionally there was an unseen splash.

“Any change in Zedd or Chase?” he asked.

She seemed reluctant to answer. “Zedd’s breathing is slower.”

Richard quickly went and checked. Zedd seemed hardly alive. His face had a sunken, ashen look. He put an ear to the old man’s chest and found his heart to be beating normally, but he was breathing slower, and he felt cold and clammy.

“I think we must be safe from the hounds now. We had better get going, and see if we can find them some help,” he said.

Richard knew she was afraid of the snakes—he was, too, and told her so—but she didn’t let it interfere with that they had to do. She put her trust in what he said, that the snakes wouldn’t come near the sword, and crossed the water without hesitation when he told her to go. They had to traverse the water twice, once with Zedd and Chase, and a second time to retrieve the parts for the litters, as they could only be used on dry land.

They hooked up the poles to the horses, but couldn’t use them yet as the tangle of roots on the swamp trail would cause too jolting a ride. They would have to wait until they were on a better road, once they were clear of the swamp.

It was midmorning before they reached the better road. They stopped long enough to lay their two fallen friends in the litters and cover them with blankets and oilcloth. Richard was pleased to discover that the pole arrangement worked well—it didn’t slow them at all, and the mud helped them slide along nicely. He and Kahlan ate lunch on their horses, passing food back and forth as they rode next to each other. They stopped only to check on Zedd and Chase, and continued on through the rain.

Before night came they reached Southaven. The town was little more than a collection of ramshackle buildings and houses fit crookedly in among the oaks and beech, almost as if to turn themselves away from the road, from queries, from righteous eyes. None looked ever to have seen paint. Some had tin patches that drummed in the steady rain. Set in the center of the huddle was a supply store, and next to it a two-story building. A clumsily carved sign proclaimed it to be an inn, but offered no name. Yellow lamplight coming from windows downstairs was the only color standing out from the grayness of the day and the building. Heaps of garbage leaned drunkenly against the side of the building, and the house next door tilted in sympathy with the rubbish pile.

“Stay close to me,” Richard said as they dismounted. “The men here are dangerous.”

Kahlan smiled oddly with one side of her mouth. “I’m used to their kind.”

Richard wondered what that meant, but didn’t ask.

Talking trailed off when they went through the door, and all faces turned. The place was about what Richard expected. Oil lamps lit a room filled with a fog of pungent pipe smoke. Tables, all arranged in a haphazard fashion, were rough, some no more than planks on barrels. There were no chairs, only benches. To the left a door stood closed, probably leading to the kitchen. To the right, in the shadows, leading up to the guest rooms, was a stairway minus a handrail. The floor, with a series of paths through the litter, was mottled with dark stains and spills.

The men were a rough collection of trappers and travelers and trouble. Many had unkempt beards. Most were big. The place smelled of ale and smoke and sweat.

Kahlan stood tall and proud next to him—she was a person not easily intimidated. Richard reasoned that perhaps she should be. She stuck out among the riffraff like a gold ring on a beggar. Her bearing made the room even more of an embarrassment.

When she pushed back the hood of her cloak, grins broke out all around, revealing a collection of crooked and missing teeth. The hungry looks in the men’s eyes didn’t fit the smiles. Richard wished Chase were awake.

With a sinking feeling, he realized there was going to be trouble.

A stout man walked over and halted. He wore a shirt with no sleeves and an apron what looked like it could never have been white. The top of his shiny, shaved head reflected the lamplight, and the curly black hair on his thick arms seemed in competition with his beard. He wiped his hands on a filthy rag before flopping it over a shoulder.