Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind [310]
James leaned forward with a chuckle, watching him work.
The chuckle stopped. “What are you doing there?”
Richard didn’t answer as he erased the right hand on the figure.
“Stop that!” James yelled.
Richard ignored him and kept erasing. James threw the torch on the ground and pulled out a drawing stick of his own. The artist started drawing in fast slashing strokes, strands of his greasy hair whipping around as he worked. He was drawing a figure. He was drawing another spell. Richard knew that if James finished first, there would be no second chance.
“Stop that, you fool!” James yelled as he raced to complete his drawing.
The unseen wall pressed up against Richard’s back, forcing him against the wall of the cave. He barely had room to move his arms. James was drawing a sword, starting to write the word Truth.
Richard took his drawing stick and, with a line, connected the sides of the wrist on the figure, making a stump. Just like the one James had.
As he finished it, the pressure on his back lifted, and the sick feeling left.
James screamed.
Richard turned to see him writhing on the floor of the cave, folding himself into a ball as he vomited. Richard shuddered and picked up the torch.
The artist’s pleading eyes came up to him. “I… wasn’t going to let it kill you… only trap you.…”
“Who had you do this spell on me?”
James gave a wicked little smile. “The Mord-Sith,” he whispered. “You are going to die.…”
“What’s a Mord-Sith?”
Richard heard the breath being squeezed from him, bones snapping. James was dead. Richard couldn’t say he was sorry.
Richard didn’t know what a Mord-Sith was, but he didn’t want to wait around to find out. Suddenly he felt alone and vulnerable. Zedd and Kahlan both had warned him that there were many things in the Midlands, many creatures of magic, that were dangerous, that he knew nothing about. He hated the Midlands, the magic. He just wanted to get back to Kahlan.
Richard ran toward the cave entrance, dropping the torch along the way. Running out into the bright sunlight, shielding his eyes, he came to a halt. Squinting, he saw a ring of people around him. Soldiers. They wore uniforms of dark leather and mail, swords over their shoulders, battle axes at their wide belts.
At their lead, facing the cave, facing him, was someone different, a woman, with long auburn hair pulled back into a loose braid. She was sheathed in leather from neck to ground, cut to fit like a glove. Blood-red leather. The only deviation from the blood red of it was a yellow crescent and star across her stomach. Richard saw that the men wore the same crescent and star on their chests, only theirs was red. She watched him with no emotion except the slightest wisp of a smile.
Richard stood with his feet spread defensively, his hand on the hilt of the sword, not knowing what to do, without a clue to their intent. Her eyes gave a little flick, looking above and behind him. Richard heard two men drop from the cliff wall to the ground behind him. He could feel the anger of the sword racing urgently into him through his hand on the hilt. He held it at full rage as he gritted his teeth.
The woman snapped her fingers at the men behind him, then pointed at him. “Take him.” He heard the sound of steel being drawn.
That was everything Richard needed to know. The commitment had been made.
Bringer of death.
His sword came out in an arc as he spun. He let the anger loose with a vengeance. It exploded through him. His eyes met those of the two men. Their jaws were set in a rage of their own as their swords cleared the scabbards over their shoulders.
Richard kept the Sword of Truth low. Waist height, with all his weight and strength behind it. Their swords came down defensively. He screamed with lethal rage. Lethal hate. Lethal need. He gave himself completely over to the lust to kill, knowing anything less would be the end of him. His sword tip whistled.
Bringer of death.
Shards of hot, shattered