Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind [293]
Brophy stood. “You three sleep. I will stand watch tonight.”
Richard swallowed the lump. “I appreciate that, but I will stand my watch. If you wish, you may guard my back.”
He turned and started to leave.
“Richard,” Zedd called out to him. Richard stopped without turning. “What bone is it, that your father gave you?”
Richard’s mind raced in a panic. Please, Zedd, he said to himself, if you have ever believed a lie I have told you, believe this one. “You must remember it. It was that little round one. You’ve seen it before, I know you have.”
“Oh. Yes, I guess I must have. Good night.”
Wizard’s First Rule. Thank you, my old friend, he thought to himself, for teaching me how to protect Kahlan’s life.
He walked on into the night, his head pounding with pain, from without, and from within.
CHAPTER 39
The city of Tamarang couldn’t hold all the people who wanted in; there were simply too many. People coming from every direction, seeking protection and safety, had overflowed to the countryside around the established quarters. Tents and shacks had sprung up on the bare ground outside the city walls and out onto the hills. In the morning, people had flowed down from the hills into the impromptu market quarter outside the walls. People who had come from other towns, villages, and cities lined up in streets laid out in haphazard fashion at makeshift stands, selling whatever they had. Vendors sold everything from old clothes to fine jewelry. Fruits and vegetables were stacked at other stands.
There were barbers and healers and fortune-tellers, people who had paper and wanted to draw your face, and people who had leeches and wanted to draw your blood. Wine and spirits were for sale everywhere. Despite the circumstances of their presence, the people seemed in a festive mood. The imagined protection and ample supply of drink, Richard suspected. Talk floated freely of the wonders of Father Rahl. Speakers stood at the center of small knots of citizens, telling the latest news, the latest atrocities. The tattered folk moaned and wailed at the outrages done by the Westlanders. There were cries for vengeance.
Richard didn’t see a single woman with hair past her jawline.
The castle proper sat at the top of a high hill, within its own walls, within the walls of the city. Red banners with a black wolf’s head flew at evenly spaced intervals around the formidable castle walls. The huge wooden doors at the outer city walls stood closed. To keep the riffraff at bay, it appeared.
Patrols of soldiers prowled the streets on horseback, their armor glinting in the noonday sun, specks of light in an ocean of noisy people. Richard saw one detachment, red banners with black wolf’s head flying over them, as they swept through the new streets. Some people cheered, some bowed, but all backed away as the horses passed. The soldiers ignored them, as if they didn’t exist. People who didn’t move out of the way quick enough got a boot to the head.
But none of the people moved out of the way of the soldiers the way they moved out of the way for Kahlan. People backed away from the Mother Confessor the way a pack of dogs backs away from a porcupine.
Her white dress shone in the bright sun. Back straight, head held high, she walked as if she owned the whole city. She kept her eyes straight ahead, and acknowledged no one. She had refused to wear her cloak, saying it wouldn’t be proper, and that she wanted there to be no doubt as to who she was. There was no doubt.
People fell over each other getting out of her way. Everyone bowed in a wave in the wide circle around her as she passed. Hushed whispers carried Kahlan’s title back through the throng. Kahlan didn’t acknowledge the bows.
Zedd, wearing Kahlan’s pack for her, walked at Richard’s side, two paces behind her. Both his and Richard’s eyes swept the crowds. In all the time he had known Zedd, Richard had never seen him wear a pack. To say it looked odd would be an understatement. Richard kept his cloak hooked