Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind [352]
Two soldiers in full battle armor came riding through the gate, bringing a third horse with them.
“Would you like an escort, sir?” the guard asked. “They’re good men.”
“No.” Richard glared. “I will be going alone.”
The guard waved the soldiers off.
“You’ll be going west-southwest, then?” Richard didn’t answer, so he went on. “Tamarang. The place in the Rang’Shada you asked about. It’s to the west-southwest. Piece of advice, if I may, sir?”
“Go on,” Richard said cautiously.
“If you go that way, across the Azrith Plains, then near morning, you’ll come to a boulder field among sharp hills. There’ll be a split in the road in a deep canyon. Take to the left.”
Richard’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because to the right, there be a dragon. A red dragon. A red dragon of a bad temper. Master Rahl’s dragon.”
Richard mounted the horse and stared down at the guard. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll remember.”
He put heel to the horse and took to the steep road, down the side of the plateau, down the switchbacks. Beyond one, he saw a drawbridge being lowered as he approached. By the time he reached it, it was down and he never slowed, galloping the horse across the heavy wooden planks. He could see that the road was the only practical way up the cliffs of the plateau, and the yawning gap spanned by the bridge would prove an impasse to any advancing army. Even without the formidable force of defenders he knew was behind him, even without Darken Rahl’s magic, the simple inaccessibility of the People’s Palace was defense enough.
As he rode, Richard unbuckled the hated collar and flung it into the night. He vowed that he would never again wear a collar. Not for anyone. Not for any reason.
Running the horse across the plain, Richard looked over his shoulder at the black shape of the People’s Palace atop the plateau, looming up, blotting out an entire quadrant of stars. The cold air against his face made his eyes water. Or else it was his thoughts about Denna. Try as he might, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. If it weren’t for Kahlan, and Zedd, he would have killed himself back there; he was hurting that much.
Killing with the sword in anger, out of rage and hate, was horrible. Killing with the sword’s white magic, out of love, was beyond horror. The blade had returned to its polished silver gloss, but he knew how to make it white again. He hoped he would die before that was ever required. He didn’t know if he could ever bring himself to do it again.
And yet, here he was, racing across the night, on his way to find Zedd and Kahlan, to find which of them had betrayed the box to Darken Rahl, had betrayed everyone to Darken Rahl.
The whole thing didn’t make any sense. Why would Rahl use the night stone to trap Zedd, if Zedd was the traitor? And why would he send men after Kahlan, if she was the one? Yet Shota had said each would try to kill him. It had to be one of them. What was he to do? Turn the sword white, and kill both? He knew that was foolish. He would rather die himself first than harm either. But what if Zedd was betraying them, and the only way to save Kahlan would be to kill his old friend? Or what if it was the other way around? Would he still rather die first, then?
The important thing was to stop Rahl. He had to recover the last box. He had to stop wasting his energy thinking about things he couldn’t know. All that mattered was stopping Rahl; then everything else would fall into place. He had found the box once; he would have to find it again.
But how? There was no time. How was he going to find Zedd and Kahlan? He was one man on a horse, and there was a whole country to search. They wouldn’t be traveling by road, not if Chase was with them. Chase would keep them off the roads, well hidden. Richard didn’t know the roads, much less the trails.
This was a fool’s task. There was too much country to