Faith of the Fallen

  Nicci was getting closer.

  Richard couldn’t drag it out. It had to be timed just right. He waited until Kahlan was slightly off balance and then with a powerful clash, caught her sword near the cross guard. She cried out with the shock as her sword flew from her hand and the blow spun her around, just as he had intended.

  She didn’t hesitate for an instant. Without pause, still spinning, her hand reached up and pulled free the Sword of Truth. The air rang with the unique sound of steel he knew so well.

  Kahlan whirled around, the blade leading. He saw for a split second the terrible violent rage in her eyes. It hurt him to see that in Kahlan’s beautiful eyes. He knew what it did to a person.

  Richard entered a numb world all his own. He knew what he had to do. He felt no emotion. He blocked high, controlling her attack and where he wanted her to go with the blade. He had to get her to put it where he intended, if there was to be any chance.

  Teeth gritted, Kahlan drove her sword for the opening he deliberately left her.

  Kahlan was in the realm of uncontrollable rage. The instant she seized the hilt, the Sword of Truth had inundated her with pounding fury. Nothing in the world felt better than knowing she was going to kill with it. The weapon, too, demanded blood.

  These people had Richard. These brothers had twisted their lives. These men had sent murderers to her homeland. These men had sent assassins to slaughter Warren.

  Now, she had one of them.

  She screamed as she spun, screamed with the rage, screamed with the demand for blood. It was glorious to have the object of such perfect rage within reach.

  He made a mistake—leaving an opening. Without hesitation, she went for it with cold fury, the blade leading.

  He was hers.

  Richard felt the blade hit him. It was shocking. It felt unlike what he expected. It felt something like he imagined the mighty blow of the sledgehammer on the statue might feel.

  His mouth opened. Now was the time; he had to stop her—keep her from doing any more. He had to do it now. If she wrenched the blade through him, ripped him open any more, Nicci would never be able to heal him. Her power could only heal so much.

  Nicci would have to free Kahlan from the spell in order to regain the use of her sorceress’s magic—in order to heal him.

  He reasoned that she cared enough for him to do that.

  Richard’s mouth was open as he felt the blade still driving through him. It was a sickening shock. Even expecting it, as he had, it still seemed unreal. It still surprised him.

  He needed to tell her it was him. To stop.

  He needed at least to call out her name so she would stop without doing too much damage.

  His mouth was still open.

  He had no breath.

  He couldn’t make himself say her name.

  As she searched frantically for Richard, Nicci saw the two people battling. One was a brother. The other she didn’t recognize, yet there was something deeply unsettling about it all. Nicci felt a strange stirring. The feeling was oddly familiar, but in all the confusion of emotion, she just didn’t recognize it.

  They were a good distance away.

  The man in the cape lost his sword. It looked as if the brother had him. Nicci wanted to help—but how? She had to find Richard. Someone said they saw him go into the palace. She had to find him.

  She ran toward the pair. The man pulled free another sword strapped over his shoulder. The strange feeling welled up in Nicci. Something was terribly wrong, but she didn’t know what.

  And then she saw the brother make a mistake. Nicci halted.

  With a cry of lethal fury, the man in the cape drove his sword through the brother.

  When the force of the blow drove the brother back a step, a shaft of moonlight fell across his face under in the cowl of the hood.

  And then the feeling slammed into her with full recognition.

  Nicci’s eyes went wide. She screamed.

  “Kahlan. Stop.”

  Kahlan’s eyes twitched up in shock. She saw his face in the moonlight. In that same instant, he heard Nicci scream.

  Kahlan recoiled, her hand flying from the hilt of the Sword of Truth as if she had been struck by lightning.

  She fell back with a horrified shriek.

  Richard seized the blade of the sword, his sword, to keep the weight from twisting it in him. She had driven it through him almost up to the cross guard. Warm blood ran down the blade onto his fingers.

  “Richard!” Kahlan cried. “Nooo! Nooo!”

  Richard felt his knees hit the stone floor. He was surprised it didn’t hurt more to have a sword through him. It was the shock of it, mostly, that had scrambled his mind. It was hard to think. He struggled not to fall forward, fall on the blade and wrench it through his insides. The room seemed to be moving.

  “Pull it out,” he whispered.

  He wanted it out. As if that would help. He wanted the awful thing out. He could feel the razor sharp edges all the way through him. He could feel it sticking out his back.

  Kahlan, nearly hysterical, scrambled to do as he asked. Richard saw Cara limping up out of the darkness. She seized his shoulders as Kahlan drew out the blade in one swift, panicked yank, as if she hoped the action would somehow undo what she had done.

  “What happened?” Cara cried. “What did you do?”

  The world seemed to tip and whirl. Richard could feel the sickeningly wet warmth of his blood soaking down him. He could feel his weight against Cara. Kahlan hovered close.

  “Richard! Oh, dear spirits, no. This can’t be happening. It can’t.” Panicked tears streamed down her beautiful face. He couldn’t understand what she was doing here. Why was she in the Old World? What was she doing in the emperor’s palace?

  He couldn’t help smiling at seeing her.

  He wondered if she had seen his statue before he destroyed it.

  He wondered if he had made a terrible mistake.

  No, it was Kahlan’s only chance at freedom. His only chance to break Nicci’s spell.

  Nicci was still running toward them.

  “Help me, Nicci,” Richard called. It came out as little more than a whisper. “I need you to save me, Nicci. Please.”

  Even if it was no more than a whisper, Nicci heard his plea.

  Nicci had never run so fast. Terror had her in its fierce grip. Kahlan had stabbed her sword through him. It was a terrible mistake. It was all such a terrible mistake. Nicci had brought such pain to them both. It was her fault.

  Even in her shock, Nicci knew with clarity what she must do.

  She could heal him. Kahlan was there. Nicci couldn’t begin to imagine why, or how, but she was. With Kahlan there, Nicci could break the spell. Once the spell was broken, Nicci could use her gift. She could heal Richard. It was all right. She could save him. It would be all right. She could fix it. She could.

  She could do something right and help—really help—for once. She could help them both.

  An arm swept out of the darkness and hooked her by the neck, taking her from her feet. She cried out as she was yanked into the blackness. She could feel the bulge of hard muscles as she clawed at the arm. The man stank. She could feel his lice ticking against her face as they sprang at her.

  Terror seized her. Such sudden and intense terror was an unfamiliar sensation, smothering her mind.

  She dug her heels into the stone as he drew her back into the black labyrinth. She kicked furiously at him. She tried to draw her dacra from her sleeve, but he seized her arm and twisted it behind her back.

  His forearm crushed against her exposed throat, choking off her air as he lifted her from her feet.

  Nicci couldn’t breathe. He chortled with glee as he dragged her into the darker recesses of the rooms beneath Jagang’s palace.

  Their eyes met just when she had been abruptly and violently snatched into the darkness. Richard saw in those eyes something important, saw that Nicci intended to help him. But she was gone.

&nbs
p; Cara desperately clutched his shoulders as he lay back against her. He was cold. She was warm.

  Kahlan fell back, writhing in the darkness. She clawed at her throat. He could hear her choking.

  “Mother Confessor! Mother Confessor! What’s wrong?”

  Richard reached up and seized Cara behind her head. He pulled her face close.

  “Someone has Nicci. They’re choking her. Cara—you have to go save Nicci, or Kahlan will die. And Nicci is the only one who can heal me. Go. Hurry.”

  He felt Cara nodding before he released her head.

  “I understand” was all she said as she gently, but swiftly, laid him back on the cold stone.

  And then she was gone.

  It was wet. He didn’t know if it was blood, or water. They were underground, in the nether reaches of the Retreat. Through open beams where the flooring above hadn’t been laid, moonlight flooded down to light Kahlan struggling not far away. He could see, then, as she fought an invisible foe, that it was water. That’s what it was. Not blood. Water. The palace was next to the river. It was wet in the little rooms and halls down in the bottom.

  “Kahlan,” he murmured. She didn’t respond. “Hold on…”

  Gripping his abdomen, holding the wound closed lest his insides burst out, he inched his way through the water, across the cold stone. The pain had finally and firmly arrived. He could feel the terrible damage inside. He tried to blink away the tears of hot agony. He had to hold on. Icy sweat drenched his face. Kahlan had to hold on.

  His hand, covered in blood, reached out to her. His fingers found hers. She hardly responded, but at least her fingers moved. He was thankful beyond words that her fingers moved.

  It had been a good plan. He was sure it was. It would have worked, if only someone hadn’t snatched Nicci. Would have worked.

  It seemed a stupid way to die, really. He thought it should be somehow more…grand.

  Not in a dark, cold, wet palace underground.

  He wished he could tell Kahlan that he loved her, and that she hadn’t killed him but that he had done it. It was his doing, not hers. He’d just used her in his plan. It would have worked.

  “Kahlan,” he whispered, not knowing if in her stillness she could hear him any longer. “I love you. No one else. Just you. I’m glad we had our time together. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

  Richard opened his eyes and groaned in agony. He wanted it to end. It hurt too much. Now, he just wanted it to end. It hadn’t worked. He would have to pay the price. But he wanted the sickening, ripping, terrifying pain to end.

  He didn’t know how much time had passed. He looked and saw Kahlan sprawled on the wet floor. She wasn’t moving.

  A shadow fell across him.

  “Well, well. Richard Cypher.” Neal chuckled. “Imagine that.” He chuckled again as he glanced at Kahlan. “Who’s the woman?”

  Richard could sense the Sword of Truth, sense its magic. It wasn’t far from his fingers.

  “Don’t know. She’s killed me. Must be one of yours.”

  Richard’s fingers found the sword. They curled around the wire-wound hilt.

  Neal stepped on the blade. “Can’t have any of that. You’ve caused enough trouble.”

  A glow ignited around Neal’s fingers. He was conjuring magic. Lethal magic. Richard, in his barely conscious condition, despite his need, could not focus his mind, could not call forth his own ability to do anything to stop Neal. At least, the pain would end. At least, Kahlan wouldn’t think it was she who had killed him.

  Richard heard a sudden, terrible, bone-snapping crack. Neal dropped heavily to his knees.

  Richard, his hand already around the hilt, pulled the sword from underneath the man’s legs and in one mighty lunge, ran it through Neal’s heart.

  Neal looked up in surprise, his eyes glassy. Richard saw then that the man was as good as dead before the blade had run him through. Neal’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the side as Richard yanked the sword free.

  Standing behind Neal was the woman Richard had helped. She had bandaged her leg. In both hands, she held the marble hand of the woman Richard had carved. She had crushed Neal’s skull with her keepsake of the statue.

  Chapter 69

  Richard heard footfalls splashing toward him down the wet hallway. The woman had gone to find help. Maybe she had found it.

  In the rooms and hallways in the distance, Richard could hear occasional screams as blasts of magic exploded through the night, as people were injured and killed.

  A woman appeared in the moonlight. “Richard? Richard?”

  Richard squinted in the darkness. “Who are you?” he managed to whisper.

  She rushed to his side and fell to her knees. She gasped at seeing Kahlan sprawled on the floor close to him.

  “What happened to the Mother Confessor?”

  Richard frowned. She knew Kahlan.

  “Who are you?”

  She looked back at him. “I’m a Sister. Sister Alessandra. I’ve been in the city for a while, looking for Nicci, and—never mind. A woman found me—just down the hall—and said you were hurt. The man who carved the statue. I was trying desperately to get to you earlier, but I couldn’t get near—there I go again. Tell me where you’re hurt. I can try to heal you.”

  “I was run through with a sword.”

  She was still and silent for a moment.

  “Under my hands.”

  She looked then, and spoke a prayer under her breath. “I think I can help. I feared—”

  “I need Nicci to do it.”

  Sister Alessandra glanced about. “Nicci? Where is she, then? I’ve been searching for her. Ann sent me to find her.”

  Richard’s eyes fell on the still form of Kahlan. “Can you help her?”

  He could see the woman’s eyes look away from his. “No, I can’t. She’s linked by magic to Nicci. I met her before, and she told me about it. I can do nothing through the shield of Nicci’s link.”

  “Is she…is she still…”

  The woman looked and then leaned back over him. “She’s alive, Richard.”

  He closed his eyes in relief, and in pain.

  “Lie still,” she said.

  “But I need Nicci to—”

  “You’re bleeding. This is bad, Richard. In a short time more, you will have lost too much blood. If I wait, no one will be able to heal you. You will have slipped too far beyond this world for any gift to help you. I can’t wait.

  “Besides, I came to try to stop Nicci. I know her better than anyone. You can’t put your life in her hands. You can’t put your faith in her.”

  “It’s not faith. I know—”

  “She’s a Sister of the Dark. I’m the one who led her down that dark road. I came to try to lead her back. Until and unless that time comes, you can’t trust her. Now, you’ve not much time. Do you want to live, or not?”

  It had all gone for nothing. He felt a tear run from the corner of his eye and across his cheek.

  “I choose life,” he said.

  “I know,” she whispered with a smile. “I saw the statue. Now, move your hands for me. I need to have mine there.”

  Richard let his hands slip to his sides as hers covered his wound. He felt helpless. He could focus on nothing but the searing pain.

  He felt magic tingle into him, following the damage down deep inside him. He clenched his teeth as he held in a cry.

  “Hold on,” she whispered. “This is bad. It will hurt, but then in a while it will be all right.”

  “I understand,” he said. He gasped sharply. “Do it, then.”

  The pain of her magic seared into him like white-hot coals thrown on bare flesh. He almost cried out, but then the pain abruptly ceased. Richard lay with his eyes closed, panting, waiting for it to start again. He felt her hands slip from him.

  Richard opened his eyes and saw that Sister Alessandra’s eyes were opened wide. For an instant, he wondered why.

  And then he saw a foot of s
teel jutting from her chest. Her fingers went to her throat as blood gushed from her open mouth. A silent scream formed on her lips.

  A bony hand shoved her aside.

  She had been impaled on the sword Richard had used to fight Kahlan. His hand blindly went for the hilt he knew was there, but a foot kicked the Sword of Truth aside.

  Death’s own skull grinned down at him.

  “You are a troublesome man, Richard Cypher,” came the grating voice from the darkness above. “But at last, that trouble is ended.”

  The tall angular figure in robes and a creased cap towered above him as he lay helpless on the cold wet floor.

  “This little rebellion of yours will be crushed, I can promise you that much, before you die. Their foolish little tantrum will be brought to an end. The people will soon come to their senses. Your kind appeals only to the extremist fringe. Most people see their duty to their fellow man. Your efforts have been for nothing.”

  Brother Narev swept his arm around, as if in introduction.

  “An appropriate place for you to die, don’t you think, Richard? These rooms are the future questioning chambers. You eluded the chambers once, but not this time. You will die in one as you should have died in one before.

  “I, on the other hand, will live here a long, long time, and see the Order bring morality to the world. Down here, in these chambers, radicals like you will confess their wickedness. I just wanted you to know, before you are embraced in the Keeper’s cold arms for all eternity.”

  Brother Narev’s skeletal hands clawed as he called forth his magic. Richard saw white-hot light blossom around the high priest’s hands and expand downward. Richard squeezed Kahlan’s hand as he watched the white light of death come for him.

  The bloom of light turned a honey color. As if the air had thickened, the light slumped off to the sides.

  A howl of fury grew in Narev’s throat. His shook his fists in rage.

  “You have the gift of a wizard! Who are you?”

  “I am your worst nightmare. I am a thinking man who can’t be deluded by your lies, any more than I can be burned by your foul magic.”