Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind [368]
He thought of trying to write it out, or maybe even drawing a picture, or a map, but he had doubts that would work. If the enemy web around him changed his spoken words, it would probably change the written ones as well. He tried to think of games they had played when they were young, but none stood out in his mind. Michael hadn’t played all that much with him when they were young. Richard remembered that Michael only really liked fighting with play swords. He didn’t think pulling his sword on his brother would have the desired effect.
But there was one thing, he remembered. When they had played at swords, Michael had liked Richard to salute him, while on one knee. Would Michael remember that? He had liked it done often; it made him smile more than anything else. Michael called it the loser’s salute. When Richard had won, Michael wouldn’t give him the salute, and Richard wasn’t his match in size at the time, and hadn’t ever been able to make Michael give the salute. But Michael had made Richard give it often enough. He smiled at the memory, though at the time it had hurt. Maybe Michael would remember. It was worth a try.
Before dark came, Richard heard the sound of the horses coming, the sound of gear clattering, leather creaking, metal rattling, the sound of a lot of men on the move. About fifty well-armed horsemen rode past at a quick pace, raising dust and kicking up dirt. He saw Michael, dressed in white, at their lead. Richard recognized the uniforms, the Hartland crest on each shoulder, the yellow banner with a blue silhouette of a pine tree and crossed swords under it. Each man wore a short sword over his shoulder, had a battle-axe hooked to a wide belt, and carried a short spear. Their mail armor, called battle nets, sent sparks of light through the dust. These were not regular Westland soldiers; these were Michael’s personal guards.
Where was the the army? From the air, he had seen all of them together, horsemen and foot soldiers. These horses were moving too fast for foot soldiers at a march to keep up. Richard stood after they passed, looking back up the road to see if the others were to follow. No one else came.
At first worried at what this could mean, he relaxed, smiled, when it came to him. Zedd, Chase, and Kahlan had left the box with Michael, and told him they were going to D’Hara, going after Richard. Michael probably couldn’t wait any longer, and was going himself to help. The foot soldiers couldn’t keep up the pace needed to reach the People’s Palace in time, so Michael had taken his personal guard and ridden on ahead, leaving the rest to catch up when they could.
Fifty men, even Michael’s personal guard, tough as they were, were still not many if they ran into a good-size force of Rahl’s men. Richard guessed that Michael was putting his heart above his head.
Richard didn’t catch them until well after dark. They had ridden hard, and stopped late. They had gotten farther ahead of him than he had expected, and it was well past dinner when he finally reached their camp. The horses had been tended to and picketed for the night. Some men were already in their bedrolls. Guards were posted, and hard to spot in the dark, but Richard knew where to expect them, as he looked down from a hilltop, watching the camp’s small fires.
It was a dark night. Clouds hid the moon. He worked his way carefully down the hill, creeping silently between the guards. Richard was in his element. It was easy for him; he knew where they were, and they weren’t expecting him to be gliding through their midst. He watched them watching, and ducked down when they looked his way. Once inside the ring of guards, he made his way to the camp. Michael had made it easy for him; his tent was set off, away from the