Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind [131]
Mud sucked at his boots, fear at his mind. Any obstacle they encountered had to be crossed, they couldn’t go around; the boundary walls dictated where they went. Sometimes it was over fallen trees, sometimes over boulders, sometimes through washouts where they had to use exposed roots to pull themselves up the other side. They helped each other silently, giving only a squeeze of the hand for encouragement. Never was there more than a step or two to either side of their way that didn’t bring up the dark walls. Each time the trail turned, the dark wall appeared, sometimes several times, until they could decipher which way it turned. Each time the wall loomed up, they pulled back as quickly as possible, and each time it scared him with a cold jolt.
Richard realized his shoulders ached. The tension of what they were doing was making his muscles tighten, his breathing shallow. He relaxed, took a deep breath, let his arms hang loose, shook his wrists to ease the stress away, and then took Kahlan’s hand again. He smiled down at her face lit by the haunting green light. She smiled back, but he could see the controlled terror in her eyes. At least, he thought, the bones were keeping the shadow things and the beasts away from them, and nothing appeared beyond the walls when they accidentally encountered them.
Richard could almost feel his will to live draining from his soul with each careful step. Time took on an abstract dimension, holding no solid meaning. He could have been in the Narrows for hours, or days; he had trouble telling anymore. He found himself wishing only for peace, for it to be over, to be safe again. His fear was beginning to dull from the sheer level of tension he had maintained as they probed their way ahead.
Movement caught his attention. He looked behind. Shadow things, a flush of green light around each, floated in a line between the walls, close at their backs, following the two of them down the path, skimming above the ground, each lifting in turn to pass over a tree trunk that lay across the way. Richard and Kahlan stopped, frozen, watching. The shadows didn’t stop.
“Lead the way,” he whispered, “and keep hold of my hand. I’ll watch them.”
He could see that her shirt was soaked with sweat, same as his, even though it wasn’t a warm night. Without so much as a nod, she started off. He walked backward, his back to hers, his eyes to the shadows, his mind in a panic. Kahlan went as fast as she could, having to stop and change direction several times, pulling him after by the hand.
She stopped again, at last groping her way to the right, when the unseen path made a sharp turn down the hill. Walking backward downhill was difficult; he stepped carefully to avoid falling. The shadows followed in a single file, turning with the path. Richard resisted his urge to tell Kahlan to go faster, as he didn’t want her to make a mistake, but the shadows were getting closer. It would only be a matter of minutes before they closed the distance, before they were on him.
Muscles tense, his hand gripped the hilt of his sword. He debated in his mind whether or not to draw it, not knowing if it could help them, or if it would bring them to harm. Even if the sword worked against the shadows, a fight in the confines of the Narrows would be a big risk, at best. But if there was no choice, if they came too close, he would have to use the sword.
The shadows seemed as if they had taken on faces. Richard tried to remember if they had faces before, but couldn’t. His fingers gripped the hilt of the sword tighter as he walked backward, Kahlan’s soft hand warm in his. The faces appeared sad, gentle, in the green glow.