Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind [379]
Zedd sank to his knees, his heart breaking with agony. He cried with the pain. He felt as if his world had ended. He didn’t want to go on. He wanted to die. What had he done? How could he have allowed Richard to be pulled into this? Richard, of all people. Now he knew why Rahl hadn’t killed him when he had had the chance; he wanted Zedd to suffer first. That was the way of a Rahl.
Chase squatted down next to him and put his arm around him. “I’m sorry, Zedd,” he whispered. “Richard was my friend, too. I’m so sorry.”
“Look at me,” Kahlan said, the mace held high in both her hands.
Nass’s eyes came up to hers. She brought the mace down with all her strength. With a sickening sound, it buried in his forehead, stuck solid, tearing from her hands as he went down, limp and fluid, as if he had no bones.
Zedd forced himself to stop crying and come to his feet as she walked toward them, picking up a tin bowl from a pack along the way.
She handed the bowl to Chase. “Fill this half full with poison berries from a bloodthroat bush.”
Chase looked at the bowl, a little confused. “Now?”
“Yes “
He noticed the warning in Zedd’s eyes, and stiffened. “All right.” He turned, starting to leave, but turned back, taking his heavy black cloak off, putting it around her shoulders, covering her nakedness. “Kahlan…” He stared at her, finally unable to bring forth the words, and went off to his task.
Kahlan gazed fixedly, vacantly, at nothing. Zedd put his arm around her and sat her down on a bedroll. He retrieved what was left of her shirt, ripping it into strips, which he wet with water from a skin. As she sat without protest, he cleaned the blood off her, applied salve to some of her wounds and magic to others. She endured it without comment. When he finished, he put his fingers under her chin, lifting her gaze to his.
Zedd spoke softly. “He did not die for nothing, dear one. He found the box, he has saved everyone. Remember him for doing what no other could have.”
Light mist from the thick clouds that hugged the ground began to dampen their faces.
“I will remember only that I love him, and that I could never tell him.”
Zedd closed his eyes against the pain, the burden, of being a wizard.
Chase returned, offering her the bowl of poison berries. She asked for something to crush them with. With a few quick strokes, Chase whittled a stout stick into a shape that satisfied her and she went to work.
She stopped as if she thought of something and looked up at the wizard, her green eyes ablaze. “Darken Rahl is mine.” It was a warning. A threat.
He nodded to her. “I know, dear one.”
She went back to crushing, a few tears running down her face.
“I’m going to bury Brophy,” Chase said softly to Zedd. “The others can rot.”
Kahlan crushed the red berries into a paste, adding a little ash from the fire. When she was finished, she had Zedd hold a little mirror for her while she applied it in the pattern of the Con Dar, twin lightning bolts, the magic guiding her hand. Starting from the temple on each side, in a mirror image of each other, the top part of each bolt zigzagged over the eyebrow, the center lobe of each passed over an eyelid, with the bottom zigzag over the cheekbones, finally terminating in a point at the hollow of each cheek.
The effect was frightening—and meant to be. It was a warning to the innocent. A vow to the guilty.
After she had brushed the tangles from her hair, she pulled her Confessor’s dress from her pack, took the cloak off, and slipped on the dress. Chase returned. Kahlan handed him his cloak, thanking him.
“Wear it,” Chase said, “it’s warmer than yours.”
“I am the Mother Confessor. I will wear no cloak.”
The boundary warden didn’t