Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind [125]
Footsteps echoed at someone’s approach. Darken Rahl showed no concern, or interest, but his guards did; they drew their swords. No one was allowed to come into the crypt with the Master. When they saw who it was, they stood down, replacing their weapons. No one but Demmin Nass, that is.
Demmin Nass, the right hand of Rahl, the lightning of the Master’s dark thoughts, was a man as big as those he commanded. As he strode in, ignoring the guards, his sharply chiseled muscles stood out in stark relief in the torchlight. His chest was covered with skin as smooth as that of the young boys he had a weakness for. In stark contrast, his face was riddled with pockmarks. His blond hair was cropped close enough to cause it to stand up in a collection of spikes. A streak of black hair started in the middle of his right eyebrow and continued back over his head, to the right of center. It made him recognizable from a distance, a fact appreciated by those who had cause to know of him.
Darken Rahl stood absorbed in the reading of the symbols, and did not look when his guards drew their weapons, or when they replaced them. Although his guards were formidable, they were unnecessary, mere accoutrements of his position.
He had powers enough to put down any threat. Demmin Nass stood at ease, waiting for the Master to finish. When at last Darken Rahl turned, his blond hair and stark white robe swished around with him. Demmin gave a respectful bow of his head.
“Lord Rahl.” His voice was deep, coarse. He kept his head bowed.
“Demmin, my old friend, how good to see you again.” Rahl’s quiet tone had a clear, almost liquid quality to it.
Demmin straightened, his face set in a frown of displeasure. “Lord Rahl, Queen Milena has delivered her list of demands.”
Darken Rahl stared through the commander, as if he weren’t there, slowly wetting the tips of the first three fingers of his right hand with his tongue and then carefully stroking his lips and eyebrows with them.
“Have you brought me a boy?” Rahl asked expectantly.
“Yes, Lord Rahl. He awaits you in the Garden of Life.”
“Good.” A small smile spread across Darken Rahl’s handsome face. “Good. And he is not too old? He is still a boy?”
“Yes, Lord Rahl, he is but a boy.” Demmin looked away from Rahl’s blue eyes.
Darken Rahl’s smile widened. “You are sure, Demmin? Did you take off his pants yourself, and check?”
Demmin shifted his weight. “Yes, Lord Rahl.”
Rahl’s eyes searched the other’s face. “You didn’t touch him, did you?” His smile vanished. “He must be unsoiled.”
“No, Lord Rahl!” Demmin insisted, looking back to the Master, his eyes wide. “I would not touch your spirit guide! You have forbidden it!”
Darken Rahl again wet his fingers and smoothed his eyebrows as he took a step closer. “I know you wanted to, Demmin. Was it hard for you? Looking but not touching?” His smile came back, teasing, then melted again. “Your weakness has caused me trouble before.”
“I took care of that!” Demmin protested in his deep voice, but not too forcefully. “I had that trader, Brophy, arrested for the murder of that boy.”
“Yes,” Rahl snapped back, “and then he submitted to a Confessor, to prove his innocence.”
Demmin’s face wrinkled in frustration. “How was I to know he would do that? Who could expect a man would willingly do that?”
Rahl held up his hand. Demmin fell silent.
“You should have been more careful. You should have taken the Confessors into account. And is that job finished yet?”
“All but one,” Demmin admitted. “The quad that went after Kahlan, the Mother Confessor, failed. I had to send another.”
Darken Rahl frowned. “Confessor Kahlan is the one who took the confession of this trader, Brophy, and found him innocent, is she not?”
Demmin nodded slowly, his face contorted in anger. “She must have found help, or the quad would not have failed.”
Rahl remained silent, watching the other. At last Demmin broke the silence.
“It is but a small matter, Lord Rahl, not worthy