Wizard's First Rule by Terry Goodkind
The path through the grasses came to two poles, one set to each side of the trail. They were wrapped in skins dyed with red stripes. Richard stopped by the poles, looking up at the skulls fixed atop them.
“This meant to warn us away?” he asked as he stroked one of the skins.
“No, they are the skulls of honored ancestors, meant to watch over their lands. Only the most respected are accorded such recognition.”
“That doesn’t sound threatening. Maybe they won’t be so unhappy to see us after all.”
Kahlan turned to him and lifted an eyebrow. “One of the ways you get to be revered by the Mud People is by killing outsiders.” She looked back at the skulls. “But this is not meant as a threat to others. It is simply a tradition of honor among themselves.”
Richard took a deep breath as he withdrew his hand from the pole. “Let’s see if we can get them to help us, so they can go on revering their ancestors, and keeping outsiders away.”
“Remember what I told you,” she warned. “They may not want to help. You have to respect that if it is their decision. These are some of the people I am trying to save. I don’t want you to hurt them.”
“Kahlan, it’s not my desire or intention to hurt them. Don’t worry, they will help us. It’s in their own interest.”
“They may not see it that way,” she pressed. The rain had stopped, replaced by a light, cold mist she felt on her face. She pushed the hood of her cloak back. “Richard, promise me you won’t hurt them.”
He pushed his hood back also, put his hands on his hips, and surprised her with a little smile out of one side of his mouth. “Now I know how it feels.”
“What?” she asked, a tone of suspicion in her voice.
As he looked down at her, his smile grew. “Remember when I had the fever from the snake vine, and I asked you not to hurt Zedd? Now I know how you felt when you couldn’t make that promise.”
Kahlan looked into his gray eyes, thinking of how much she wanted to stop Rahl, and thought of all those she knew whom he had killed.
“And now I know how you must have felt when I could not make that promise.” She smiled in spite of herself. “Did you feel this foolish for asking?”
He nodded. “When I realized what was at stake. And when I realized what kind of person you were, that you wouldn’t do anything to harm anyone unless there was no choice. Then I felt foolish. For not trusting you.”
She did feel foolish for not trusting him. But she knew he trusted her too much.
“I’m sorry,” she said, the smile still on her lips. “I should know you better than that.”
“Do you know how we can get them to help us?”
She had been to the village of the Mud People several times, none of them by invitation; they would never request a Confessor. It was a common chore among Confessors, paying a professional call on the different peoples of the Midlands. They had been polite enough, out of fear, but they had made it clear that they handled their own affairs, and did not want outside involvement. They were not a people who would respond to threats.
“The Mud People hold a gathering, called a council of seers. I have never been allowed to attend, maybe because I am an outsider, maybe because I am a woman. This group divines the answers to questions that affect the village. They will not hold a gathering at swordpoint; if they are to help us, they must do so willingly. You must win them over.”
He gazed hard into her eyes. “With your help, we can do it. We must.”
She nodded, and turned to the path once more. Clouds hung low and thick above the grassland, seeming to boil slowly as they rolled along in an endless procession. Out on the plains, there seemed to be much more sky than there was anywhere else. It was an overpowering presence, dwarfing the unchanging, flat land.
Rains had swollen the streams until the churning, muddy water pounded and frothed with a roar at the bottoms of the crossing logs that were used as bridges. Kahlan could feel the power of the water making the logs shudder under her boots. She stepped carefully, as the logs were slippery, and there was no hand rope to aid her crossing. Richard offered her his hand, to steady her, and she was glad for the excuse to take it. She found herself looking forward to the stream crossings, to being able to take his hand. But as deeply as it hurt, she couldn’t allow herself to encourage his feelings for her. She wished so much she could just be a woman, like any other. But she wasn’t. She was a Confessor. Still, sometimes for brief moments, she could forget, and pretend.
She wished Richard would walk next to her, but he instead stayed behind, scanning the countryside, watching out for her. He was in a strange land, taking nothing for granted, seeing threat in everything. In Westland, she had felt the same way, so she understood the feeling. He was putting his life at great peril against Rahl, against things he had never encountered before, and was right to be wary. The wary died quick enough in the Midlands, the unwary faster still.
After crossing another stream and plunging back into the wet grass, eight men sprang up suddenly in front of them. Kahlan and Richard came to an abrupt halt. The men were wearing animal skins over most of their bodies. Sticky mud that didn’t wash away in the rain was smeared over the rest of their skin and faces, and their hair smoothed down with it. Clumps of grass were tied to their arms and to the skins, and stuffed under headbands, making them invisible when they had been squatted down. They stood silently in front of the two of them. All wore grim expressions. Kahlan recognized several of the men; it was a hunting party of Mud People.
The eldest, a fit, wiry man she knew as Savidlin, approached her. The others waited, spears and bows relaxed but ready. Kahlan could feel Richard’s presence close behind her. Without turning, she whispered for him to stay calm and do as she did. Savidlin stopped in front of her.
“Strength to Confessor Kahlan,” he said.
“Strength to Savidlin and the Mud People,” she answered in their language.
Savidlin slapped her across the face, hard. She slapped him back just as hard. Instantly Kahlan heard the ringing sound of Richard’s sword being pulled free. She spun on her heels.
“No, Richard!” He had the sword up, ready to strike. “No!” She grabbed his wrists. “I told you to stay calm and do as I do.”
His eyes flicked from Savidlin’s to hers. They were filled with unleashed anger, the magic that was ready to kill. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth. “And if they slit your throat, would you have me let them slit mine as well?”
“That is the way they greet people. It is meant to show respect for another’s strength.”
He frowned, hesitating.
“I’m sorry I did not warn you. Richard, put the sword away.”
His eyes went from hers to Savidlin, and then back to hers again, before he yielded and angrily thrust the sword back into its scabbard. Relieved, she turned back to the Mud People as Richard stepped up protectively next to her. Savidlin and the others had been watching calmly. They didn’t understand the words, but they seemed to grasp the meaning of what had happened. Savidlin looked away from Richard, to Kahlan. He spoke in his dialect.
“Who is this man with the temper?”
“His name is Richard. He is the Seeker of Truth.”
Whispers broke out among the other members of the hunting party. Savidlin’s eyes sought Richard’s.
“Strength to Richard, the Seeker.”
Kahlan told him what Savidlin had said. There was still a hot look on his face.
Savidlin stepped up and hit Richard, not with an open hand as he had hit her, but with his fist. Immediately Richard unleashed a powerful blow of his own that knocked Savidlin from his feet and sent him sprawling on his back. He lay dazed on the ground with his limbs strewn awkwardly out. Fists tightened on weapons. Richard straightened, giving the men a dangerous look that kept them rooted firmly in place.
Savidlin propped himself up on one hand, rubbing his jaw with the other. A grin spread across his face. “None has ever shown su
The other men broke out in laughter. Kahlan held her hand over her mouth, trying to hide her own. The tension evaporated.
“What did he say?” Richard demanded.
“He said you have great respect for him, that you are wise. I think you have made a friend.”
Savidlin held his hand out for Richard to help him up. Warily, Richard complied. Once on his feet, Savidlin slapped Richard on the back, putting an arm around his big shoulders.
“I am truly glad you recognize my strength, but I hope you do not come to respect me any more.” The men laughed. “Among the Mud People, you shall be known as ‘Richard With The Temper.’”
Kahlan tried to hold back her laughter while she translated. The men were still snickering. Savidlin turned to them.
“Maybe you men would like to greet my big friend, and have him show you his respect for your strength.”
They all held their hands out in front of themselves and shook their heads vigorously.
“No,” one of them said between fits of laughter, “he has already shown you enough respect for all of us.”
He turned back to Kahlan. “As always. Confessor Kahlan is welcome among the Mud People.” Without looking over, he gave a nod of his head, indicating Richard. “Is he your mate?”
“No!”
Savidlin tensed. “Then you have come here to choose one of our men?”
“No,” she said, her voice regaining its calmness.
Savidlin looked greatly relieved. “The Confessor chooses dangerous traveling companions.”
“Not dangerous to me, only to those who would think to harm me.”
Savidlin smiled and nodded, then looked Kahlan up and down. “You wear odd things. Different from before.”
“Underneath, I am the same as before,” Kahlan said as she leaned a little closer to make her point. “That is what you need to know.”
Savidlin backed away a little from her intense expression and gave a nod. His eyes narrowed. “And why are you here?”
“So that we might help each other. There is a man who would rule your people. The Seeker and I would have you rule yourselves. We came seeking your people’s strength and wisdom to aid us in our fight.”
“Father Rahl,” Savidlin announced knowingly.
“You know of him?”
Savidlin nodded. “A man came. He called himself a missionary, said he wanted to teach us of the goodness of one called Father Rahl. He talked to our people for three days, until we became tired of him.”
It was Kahlan’s turn to stiffen, she glanced to the other men, who had started smiling at the mention of the missionary. She looked back to the elder’s mud streaked face. “And what happened to him after the three days?”
“He was a good man.” Savidlin smiled meaningfully.
Kahlan straightened herself. Richard leaned closer to her.
“What are they saying?”
“They want to know why we are here. They said they have heard of Darken Rahl.”
“Tell them I want to talk to their people, that I need them to call a gathering.”
She looked up at him from under her eyebrows. “I am getting to that. Adie was right, you are not a patient person.”
Richard smiled. “No, she was wrong. I am very patient, but I am not very tolerant. There is a difference.”
Kahlan smiled at Savidlin as she spoke to Richard. “Well, please do not become intolerant just now, or show them any more respect for the moment. I know what I am doing, and it is going well. Let me do it my way, all right?”
He agreed, folding his arms in frustration. She turned once more to the elder. He peered at her sharply and asked something that surprised her.
“Did Richard With The Temper bring us the rains?”
Kahlan frowned. “Well, I guess you could say that.” She was confused by the question and didn’t know what to say, so told him the truth. “The clouds follow him.”
The elder studied her face intently and nodded. She didn’t feel comfortable under his gaze, and sought to bring the conversation back to the reason for her visit.
“Savidlin, the Seeker has come to see your people on my advice. He is not here to harm or interfere with your people. You know me. I have been among you before. You know of my respect for the Mud People. I would not bring another to you unless it was important. Right now, time is our enemy.”
Savidlin considered what she had said for a while, then at last spoke.
“As I said before, you are welcome among us.” He looked up with a grin at the Seeker, then back to her. “Richard With The Temper is most welcome in our village too.”
The other men were pleased with the decision; they all seemed to like Richard. They gathered up their things, including two deer and a wild boar, each tied to a carrying pole. Kahlan hadn’t seen the result of their hunt before because it had been hidden in the tall grass. As they all started off down the path, the men gathered about Richard, touching him cautiously and jabbering questions he couldn’t understand. Savidlin clapped him on the shoulders, looking forward to showing off his big new friend to the village. Kahlan went along beside him, for the most part ignored, and happy that so far they liked Richard. She understood the feeling—it was hard to dislike him—but there was some other reason for their ready acceptance of him. She worried about what that reason could be.
“I told you I would win them over,” Richard said with a grin as he looked at her over their heads. “I just never thought I would do it by laying one of them out.”
23
Chickens scattered at their feet as the hunting party surrounding Kahlan and Richard led them into the Mud People’s village. Set on a slight rise that passed for a hill in the grasslands of the Wilds, the village was a collection of buildings constructed of a kind of mud brick, surfaced with a tan clay plaster and topped with grass roofs that leaked as they became dry, and had to be replaced constantly to keep the rain at bay. There were wood doors, but no glass in the windows of the thick walls, only cloth hanging in some to keep out the weather.
Set in a rough circle around an open area, the buildings were one-room family homes clustered tightly on the south side, most sharing at least one common wall, narrow walkways passing between the homes here and there, and communal buildings grouped together on the north. A variety of structures placed loosely on the east and west separated them. Some of these were nothing more than four poles with grass roofs, used as places to eat, or as work areas for making weapons and pottery, or as food preparation and cooking areas. In dry times the whole village was shrouded in a fog of dust that clogged the eyes, nose, and tongue, but now its buildings were washed clean by the rain, and on the ground a thousand footprints were turned to puddles that reflected the drab buildings above.
Women wrapped in simple dresses of brightly colored cloth sat in the work areas, grinding tava root, from which they made the flat bread that was the staple of the Mud People. Sweet-smelling smoke rose from the cooking fires. Adolescent girls with short-cropped hair smoothed down by sticky mud sat by the women, helping.
Kahlan felt their shy eyes on her. She knew from being here before that she was the object of great interest among the young girls, a traveler who had been to strange places and seen all sorts of things. A woman whom men feared and respected. The older women abided the distraction with understanding indulgence.
Children ran from every corner of the village to see what manner of strangers Savidlin’s hunting party had brought back. They crowded around the hunters, squealing with excitement, stomping their bare feet in the mud, and splashing the men. Ordinarily, they would be interested in the deer and boar, but now those were ignored in favor of the strangers. The men tolerated them with good-natured smiles; little children were never scolded. When they were older, they would be put into strict training where they would be taught the disciplines of the Mud People—of hunting, food gathering, and the ways of spirits—but for now they were allowe
The knot of children offered up scraps of food as bribes for stories of who the strangers might be. The men laughed, declining the offerings in favor of saving the tale for the elders. Only slightly disappointed, the children continued to dance about, this being the most exciting thing that had happened in their young lives; something very much out of the ordinary, with a distinct tinge of danger.
Six elders stood under the leaky protection of one of the open pole structures, waiting for Savidlin to bring the strangers to them. They wore deerskin pants, and were bare-chested; each had a coyote hide draped around his shoulders. Despite their grim faces, Kahlan knew them to be more friendly than they appeared. Mud People never smiled at outsiders until greetings had been exchanged, lest their souls be stolen.
The children stayed back from the pole building, sitting in the mud to watch as the hunting party brought the outsiders to the elders. The women had halted their work at the cooking fires, as had the young men their weapons making, and all fell silent, including the children sitting in the mud. Business among the Mud People was conducted in the open, for all to see.
Kahlan stepped up to the six elders, Richard to her right but back a pace, Savidlin to his right. The six surveyed the two outsiders.
“Strength to Confessor Kahlan,” said the eldest.
“Strength to Toffalar,” she answered.
He gave her face a gentle slap, hardly more than a pat. It was their custom to give only small slaps in the village proper. Heartier ones like Savidlin had delivered were reserved for chance meetings out on the plain, away from the village. The gentler custom helped preserve order, and teeth. Surin, Caldus, Arbrin, Breginderin, and Hajanlet each in turn offered strength and a small slap. Kahlan returned the greetings and the gentle slaps. They turned to Richard. Savidlin stepped forward, pulling his new friend with him. He proudly displayed his swollen lip to the elders.