Temple of the Winds by Terry Goodkind
“Lord Rahl, I do appreciate your indulgence. The Mother Confessor has graciously granted me two weeks to observe the signs from the stars.”
Power came to Richard’s voice. “You risk your people seeing swords, instead of stars, minister.”
Tristan unbuttoned his coat. From the corner of her eye, Kahlan saw Cara’s Agiel twitch up into her hand. Tristan didn’t notice. His gaze stayed on Richard while he drew his coat back, holding it open casually by resting his fist on his hip. It exposed the knife at his belt. Raina flicked her Agiel up into her hand.
“Lord Rahl, as I explained to the Mother Confessor, our people looked forward with great joy to joining with the D’Haran empire.”
“D’Haran empire?”
“Tristan,” Kahlan said, “we’re rather busy at the moment. We have discussed this already, and you have been given two weeks. Now, if you will excuse us?”
Tristan brushed back a lock of his hair, his bright brown eyes taking her in. “I’ll get to the point, then. I’ve heard rumors that plague is loose in Aydindril.”
Richard’s raptor glower was suddenly in full form. “It’s not just a rumor. It’s true.”
“How much danger is there?”
Richard’s hand found the hilt of his sword. “If you join with the Order, minister, you will wish it was the plague on you, instead of me.”
Kahlan had rarely seen two men so instantly and intently dislike each other. She knew Richard was exhausted, and in no mood, after having just seen so many seriously ill or dead children, to be challenged by a noble such as Tristan inquiring after his own hide. Jara had also been on the council that had condemned Kahlan to death. Although it wasn’t Tristan who had voted to behead her, it had been a councilor from his land. Richard had killed that Jarian councilor.
Kahlan didn’t know why Tristan took such an instant dislike to Richard, except for the fact that this was the man who had demanded Jara’s surrender. She guessed that was reason enough; if she were in his place, she might feel the same.
Kahlan was expecting the two men to draw steel any second. Drefan stepped between them.
“I’m Drefan Rahl, High Priest of the Raug’Moss community of healers. I’ve had some experience with the plague. I suggest that you confine yourself to your room and avoid contact with strangers. Especially prostitutes. Beyond that, you should get enough sleep and proper, healthful food.
“Those things will help to keep your body strong against the distemper. Also, I will be speaking to the staff, here at the palace, on strengthening oneself against illness. You’re welcome to come and hear my guidance, as is anyone else of a mind.”
Tristan had listened earnestly to Drefan. He bowed, thanking him for his advice. “Well, I appreciate the truth, Lord Rahl. A lesser man might have tried to deceive me about such a serious problem. I can see why you’re so busy. I’ll take my leave so that you may see to your people.”
Berdine nudged up beside Richard as he glared after Tristan’s departing back. As intently as she had been studying the journal, muttering to herself, testing the pronunciation of High D’Haran words, Kahlan doubted she had heard anything that had been said.
“Lord Rahl, I need to talk to you,” Berdine mumbled.
Richard put a hand on her shoulder in a signal for her to wait. “Drefan, Nadine, do either of you have anything for a headache? A really bad headache?”
“I have some herbs that will help, Richard,” Nadine offered.
“I have something better.” Drefan leaned closer to Richard. “It’s called sleep. Perhaps you recall having experienced it in the past?”
“Drefan, I know that I’ve been awake for a while, but—”
“Many days and nights.” Drefan held up a finger. “If you try to mask the outcome of lack of sleep with so-called remedies, you do yourself no service. The headache will return, worse than before. You will ruin your strength. You will be no good to yourself, or anyone else.”
“Drefan is right,” Kahlan said.
Without looking up, Berdine turned the page she was reading in the journal.
“I agree. I feel much better since I got some sleep.” Berdine seemed to have finally noticed that there were other people around. “Now that I’m alert, I can think better.”
Richard warded their insistence with a lifted hand. “I know. Soon, I promise. Now, what was it you wanted to tell me, Berdine?”
“What?” She was reading again. “Oh. I found out where the Temple of the Winds is.”
Richard’s brow went up. “What?”
“After I got some sleep, I could think more clearly. I realized that we were limiting our search by looking for a limited number of key words, so I tried to think of what the old wizards would do in their situation. I reasoned that—”
“Where is it!” Richard bellowed.
Berdine finally looked up and blinked. “The Temple of the Winds is located atop the Mountain of the Four Winds.”
Berdine noticed Raina for the first time. The two women smiled in greeting, their eyes sharing a private warmth.
Kahlan shrugged to Richard’s questioning look. “Berdine, that’s not much help unless you can tell us where it is.”
Berdine frowned a moment, and then waved in apology. “Oh. Sorry. That’s the translation”—she frowned again—“I think.”
Richard swiped a hand across his face. “What does Kolo call it?”
Berdine flipped the page back and turned the book, tapping a finger at a place in the writing.
Richard squinted. “Berglendursch ost Kymermosst,” he read from the journal. “Mountain of the Four Winds.”
“Actually,” Berdine said, “Berglendursch means more than just mountain. Berglen is ‘mountain,’ and dursch can sometimes mean ‘rock,’ though it can also mean other things, like ‘strong-willed,’ but in this case I think it means something more along the lines of rock mountain, or great mountain made of rock. You know, rocky mountain of the four winds… something like that.”
Kahlan shifted her weight on her tired feet. “Mount Kymermosst?”
Berdine scratched her nose. “Yes. That sounds like it could be the same place.”
“That has to be the same place,” Richard said, looking hopeful for the first time in hours. “Do you know where it is?”
“Yes. I’ve been on Mount Kymermosst,” Kahlan said. “There’s no doubt about its being windy up there—and rocky. There are some old ruins atop the mountain, but nothing like a temple.”
“Maybe the ruins are the temple,” Berdine offered. “We don’t know how big it is. A temple can be small.”
“No, I don’t think so, in this case.”
“Why?” Richard asked. “What’s up there? How far is it?”
“It’s not far to the northeast. Maybe a day’s ride, depending. Two at the most. It’s a pretty inhospitable place. As treacherous as the old trail going up and over the mountain is, going over Mount Kymermosst prevents you from having to go through some very difficult country and saves days of travel.
“At the top is the site of some old ruins. Just some kind of outbuildings, from the look of them. I’ve seen a lot of grand places; I recognize, architecturally, that what’s up there isn’t the main structure. They’re something like the outbuildings here, at the Confessors’ Palace. There’s a road through the buildings, a bit like the grand promenade here going through the outbuildings.”
Richard hooked a thumb behind his wide leather belt. “Well, where does it go, this grand road?”
Kahlan stared into his gray eyes. “Right to the edge of a cliff. The buildings are at the edge of a cliff. That sheer stone wall drops off for maybe three or four thousand feet.”
“Is there any kind of stairway carved in the cliff? Something leading down to the Temple itself?”
“Richard, you don’t understand. The buildings are hard on the edge of the cliff. It’s obvious that the buildings, walls, and the road itself went on, because they’re sheared off abruptly right at the edge
“That’s what Kolo said. The team returned, and the Temple of the Winds was gone.” Richard looked devastated. “They must have used magic to tear away the side of the mountain, to bury the Temple of the Winds so no one could ever go there again.”
“Well,” Berdine sighed, “I’ll keep looking in the journal to see if he says anything about the Temple of the Winds falling in a rockslide, or avalanche.”
Richard nodded. “Maybe there’s more about it in the journal.”
“Lord Rahl, will you have time to help me before you go off to be married?”
A chill silence filled the grand hall.
“Berdine—” Richard’s mouth worked, but no more words were forthcoming.
“I heard the soldiers are well,” Berdine said, looking briefly at Kahlan and then back at Richard. “You told me that you and the Mother Confessor would be leaving to be wedded just as soon as the soldiers were well. The soldiers are well.” She grinned. “I know that I’m your favorite, but you haven’t changed your mind, have you? Gotten cold feet?”
She waited expectantly, seeming not to notice that no one was smiling at her joke.
Richard looked numb. He couldn’t say it. Kahlan knew that he feared speaking the words, feared he would break her heart.
“Berdine,” Kahlan said into the heavy hush, “Richard and I won’t be going away to be married. The wedding is called off. For now, anyway.”
Even though she had whispered the words, they seemed to echo off the marble walls as if she had shouted them.
Nadine’s intently blank face spoke more than if she had grinned. It was somehow worse that she didn’t, because it made it all the more obvious that she was schooling her expression, yet no one could have cause to reproach her.
“Called off?” Berdine blinked in astonishment. “Why?”
Richard stared down at Berdine, not daring to look at Kahlan. “Berdine, Jagang started a plague in Aydindril. That’s what the prophecy down in the pit was about. Our duty is to the people here, not to our own… How would it look if…?”
He fell silent.
The journal in her hands lowered. “I’m sorry.”
32
Kahlan stared out the window at the falling night, at the falling snow. Behind her, Richard sat at his desk, his gold cloak laid over the arm of his chair. He was working on the journal with Berdine while he waited for the officers to arrive. Berdine did most of the talking. He grunted occasionally when she told him what she thought a word meant, and why. Kahlan didn’t think that as tired as he was he was much use to Berdine.
Kahlan glanced back over her shoulder. Drefan and Nadine were huddled together beside the hearth. Richard had asked them to come along to answer any questions the generals might have. Nadine confined her attention to Drefan, scrupulously avoiding looking at Richard, and especially at Kahlan. Probably because she knew that Kahlan would detect the glint of triumph in her eyes.
No. This wasn’t a triumph for Nadine—for Shota. This was only a postponement. Just until… until what? Until they could halt a plague? Until most of the people of Aydindril died? Until they themselves got the plague and died, as the prophecy foretold?
Kahlan went to Richard and laid a hand on his shoulder, desperately needing his touch. Thankfully, she felt him put a hand over hers.
“Just a postponement,” she whispered as she leaned close to his ear. “This doesn’t change it, Richard. This only delays it for a little while, that’s all. I promise.”
He patted her hand as he smiled up at her. “I know.”
Cara opened the door and leaned in. “Lord Rahl, they’re coming now.”
“Thanks, Cara. Leave the door open and tell them to come in.”
Raina lit a long splinter in the hearth. She put a hand to Berdine’s shoulder to balance herself as she leaned past to light another lamp at the far end of the table. Her long, dark braid slipped over her shoulder, tickling Berdine’s face. Berdine scratched her cheek and gave Raina a brief smile.
To see those two touch or even acknowledge one another in front of others was rare in the extreme. Kahlan knew that it was because of the things Raina had seen that day. She, too, was feeling lonely, and in need of comfort. As deadening as their training had been, as numb as they were to agony, their human feelings were beginning to be rekindled. Kahlan could see in Raina’s dark eyes that witnessing children suffer and die had affected her.
Kahlan heard Cara, out in the hall, telling men to go in. Muscular, graying General Kerson, looking as imposing as ever in his burnished leather uniform, marched through the doorway. Muscles bulged under the chain mail covering his arms.
Behind him came the commander of the Keltish forces, the robust General Baldwin. He was an older man with a white-flecked dark mustache, the ends of which grew down to the bottom of his jaw. As always, he looked distinguished in his green silk-lined serge cape, fastened on one shoulder with two buttons. A heraldic emblem slashed through with a diagonal black line dividing a yellow and blue shield was emblazoned on the front of his tan surcoat. Lamplight flashed off his ornate belt buckle and silver scabbard. He looked as fierce as he was dashing.
Before the phalanx of officers accompanying them had all entered the room, both generals were bowing. In the lamplight, General Baldwin’s pate shone through his thinning gray hair as he bent low.
“My queen,” General Baldwin said. “Lord Rahl.”
Kahlan bowed her head to the man as Richard stood, pushing his chair back. Berdine scooted her chair over, to be out of his way. She didn’t bother to look up. She was Mord-Sith, and busy besides.
“Lord Rahl,” General Kerson said with a salute of his fist to his heart after he had straightened. “Mother Confessor.”
Behind them, the officers were all bowing. Richard waited patiently until it was all finished. Kahlan imagined that he couldn’t be eager to start.
He did so simply. “Gentlemen, I regret to inform you that there is a plague upon Aydindril.”
“A plague?” General Kerson asked. “A plague of what?”
“A distemper. A plague that makes people sicken and die. That kind of plague.”
“The black death,” Drefan put in with a somber voice from behind Kahlan and Richard.
The men all seemed to take a collective breath. They waited in silence.
“It started not long ago,” Richard said, “so, fortunately, we will be able to take a few precautions. As of this moment, we know of less than a couple of dozen cases. Of course, there is no telling how many have it and have yet to fall ill. Of the ones we know were stricken, almost half are already dead. By morning, the number will grow.”
General Kerson cleared his throat. “Precautions, Lord Rahl? What precautions are there to be taken? Do you have another cure for the men? For the people of the city?”
Richard rubbed his fingertips on his forehead as his eyes turned to the desk before him.
“No, general, I have no cures,” he whispered. Everyone heard his words, though; it was that silent in the room.
“Then what…?”
Richard straightened himself. “What we need to do is to separate the men. Disperse them. My brother has seen the plague before, and has read of great plagues in the past. We believe that it’s possible that it spreads from person to person, much as when one person in a family has a sore throat, chest congestion, and stuffed nose, then the others in the family, from their proximity to the sick person, come down with the same illness.”
“I’ve heard that the plague is caused by bad air in a place,” one of the officers in the back put in.
“I am told that this, too, is possible,” Richard said. “I have also been told that it could be caused by any number of other things: bad water, bad meat, heated blood.”
“Magic?” someone asked.
Richa
General Baldwin rubbed his chin. “Then what do you think it is that spreads it, Lord Rahl?”
“I’m no expert, but I lean toward my brother’s explanation that it’s like any other sickness, that it can be passed from person to person through odors in the air or close contact. This makes the most sense to me, although this sickness is much more serious. The plague, I am told, is almost always fatal.
“If it is, in fact, passed from person to person, then we must not delay. We must do what we can to keep the plague from our forces. I want the men split up into smaller units.”
General Kerson spread his hands in frustration. “Lord Rahl, why can’t you simply use your magic and rid the city of this plague?”
Kahlan touched Richard’s back, reminding him to hold his temper. He seemed, though, to have no anger in him.
“I’m sorry, but right now, I don’t know what magic can cure this plague. I don’t know that any wizard has ever before cured a plague through the use of magic.
“You have to understand, general, that just because a person can command magic, that doesn’t mean that they can stay the Keeper himself, when the time for his touch has come. If wizards could do that, I assure you, graveyards would vanish for want of clients. Wizards have not the power of the Creator.
“Our world has balance to it. Just as we all, especially soldiers, can aid the Keeper in bringing death, we all can also be a part of the Creator’s work of creating life. We know, better than most, perhaps, that soldiers are charged with protecting peace and life itself. The balance to that is that we sometimes must take life to stay an enemy who would do greater harm. For this, we are remembered, not for the lives we try to preserve.
“A wizard, too, must be in balance, in harmony, with the world he lives in. The Creator and the Keeper both have a part to play in our world. It is not within the power of a mere wizard to dictate to them what shall be. He can work for events to combine toward a result—a marriage, for example, but he cannot direct the Creator Himself to bring forth a life as a result of that marriage.