Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind [381]
It was deep in the night. The dawn would bring the first day of winter. The last day of freedom.
Finding a small shelter of overhanging rock, Richard decided to get a few hours’ sleep before the dawn that would be his last. He wearily slid off the horse’s wet back and tethered it to a nearby scrub pine that hunched among long grass. He didn’t even take his pack off, but simply rolled himself in his cloak under the rock and tried to sleep, thinking of Kahlan, thinking of what he would have to do to keep her out of the hands of a Mord-Sith. After he finished helping Darken Rahl open the box that would give him the power he sought, Rahl would kill him. Despite Darken Rahl’s assurance that Richard would be free to go about his life, what life could he have after he was touched by Kahlan’s power?
Besides, he knew Rahl was lying. Rahl intended to kill him. He hoped only that his death would be quick. He knew his decision to help Darken Rahl meant that Zedd would die, too, but it meant that many more would live. Live under the brutal rule of Darken Rahl, but live nonetheless. Richard couldn’t bear the thought of being responsible for everyone and everything dying. Rahl had told the truth about Richard being betrayed, and he probably was telling the truth about knowing which box would kill him. Even if he was lying, Richard couldn’t risk everyone on that one chance. Richard had run out of options; he had no choice but to help Darken Rahl.
His ribs still hurt from what Denna had done to him. It was still hard to lie down, and still hurt to breathe. His sleep brought the nightmares he had had every night since leaving the People’s Palace, the nightmares of the things Denna had done to him, the nightmares he had promised her he would have. He dreamed of hanging helpless while Denna hurt him, of being powerless to stop her, of never being able to escape. He dreamed of Michael standing there, watching. He dreamed of seeing Kahlan being tortured, and Michael watching that, too.
He came awake drenched in sweat, shaking with fear, heard himself whimpering with the terror of the dreams. Sunlight was slanting sideways under the overhang of the rock. The orange sun was just breaking above the horizon to the east.
Richard stood and stretched the cramps from his muscles, surveying the dawn of the first day of winter. He was high on a mountain. The surrounding peaks thrust themselves above a blanket of clouds below that stretched off before him, to the eastern horizon, like a sea of gray tinged in orange.
The sea of clouds was unbroken except for one thing—the People’s Palace. Touched by the sunlight, in the far distance, it rose proud on its plateau, standing above the clouds, waiting for him. A cold feeling ran through his gut; it was a long way off. He had misjudged how far he was from it; it was a lot farther than he had thought. He had no time to waste. When the sun was at its zenith, the boxes could be opened.
As he turned, movement caught his eye. The horse let out a terrified neigh. Howls split the morning silence. Heart hounds.
Richard drew his sword as they poured over the rock. Before he could start for the horse, the hounds took it down. In a dead run, more came for him. Frozen in shock for only an instant, he leapt up onto the rock he had slept under. The hounds, teeth snapping, bounded up the rock toward him. He cut down the first wave, then retreated farther up the rock as more hounds came for him. Richard swung the sword, cutting through them as they advanced, snarling and howling.
It was like a sea of tan fur, coming for him in waves. Frantically, he slashed and stabbed at them, trying to back away at the same time. Hounds came over the rock behind. He jumped to the