Wizard's First Rule by Terry Goodkind
“Mostly, I miss my brother,” she said to her doll. She looked away. “They said he died,” she confided softly.
Rachel had been telling her doll her troubles for most of the day. All her troubles she could think of. When she got tears, the doll said she loved her, and it made her feel good. Sometimes it made her laugh.
Rachel put another small stick in the fire. It felt so good to be able to get warm, and have light. But she kept the fire small, just like Giller had told her. The fire kept her from being so afraid in the woods, especially at night. It would be night again soon. Sometimes there were noises in the woods at night that made her scared, made her cry. But being out here in the lonely woods was still better than being locked in the box.
“That was when I lived in that place I told you about. With the other children, before the Queen came and picked me. I liked it there a lot better than living with the Princess. They were nice to me there.” She looked over at the doll to see if she was listening. “There was a man, Brophy, who came sometimes. People said mean things about him, but he was nice to us children. He was nice, like Giller. He gave me a doll, too, but the Queen wouldn’t let me take it with me when I went to live at the castle. I didn’t care, though, because I was so sad my brother died. I heard some people say he got murdered. I know that means he got killed. Why do people kill children?”
The doll just smiled. Rachel smiled back.
She thought about the new little boy she had seen the Queen having locked up. He talked funny, and looked funny, but his presence still had reminded her of her brother. That was because he seemed so afraid. Her brother was always getting afraid, too. Rachel could always tell when her brother was getting afraid because he would fidget and squirm. She felt so sorry for the new boy; she wished she was important so she could help him.
Rachel put her hands toward the fire to warm them for a minute, then stuck one in her pocket. She was hungry. A few berries were all she had been able to find to eat. She held a big one out, offering it to her doll. The doll didn’t seem hungry, so she ate it herself, then a handful more, until they were gone. She was still hungry, but she didn’t want to look for more. The place where they grew wasn’t close, and it was getting dark. She didn’t want to be out in the woods when it was dark. She wanted to be in her wayward pine with her doll. By the warm fire; by the light.
“Maybe the Queen will be nicer when she gets her alliance, whatever that is. That’s all she talks about, how she wants her alliance. Maybe she’ll be happier then, and won’t say to chop off people’s heads. The Princess makes me go with her, you know, but I don’t like to watch, I close my eyes. Now even Princess Violet says to chop off people’s heads. She gets meaner every day. Now I’m afraid that she’ll say to chop off my head. I wish I could run away.” She looked over at her doll. “I wish I could run away and never come back. And I’d take you with me.”
The doll smiled. “I love you, Rachel.”
She picked up the doll and gave it a long hug, then kissed it on its head.
“But if we run away, Princess Violet would send the guards to find me, and then she would throw you in the fire. I don’t want her to throw you in the fire. I love you.”
“I love you, Rachel.”
Rachel hugged her doll tight, and crawled into the hay, with the doll next to her. Tomorrow she had to go back, and the Princess would be mean to her some more. She had to leave her doll when she went back, she knew, or it would get thrown in the fire.
“You’re the bestest friend I ever had. You and Giller.”
“I love you, Rachel.”
She started to worry, to worry what would happen to her doll, all alone here in the wayward pine. The doll would be lonely. What if the Princess never sent her out again; what if she somehow found out that she wanted to be sent out, and kept her in the castle just to be mean?
“Do you know what I should do?” she asked the doll as she looked up at the firelight flickering on the dark branches inside the tree.
“Help Giller,” the doll said.
She rolled over on one elbow and looked at the doll. “Help Giller?”
The doll nodded. “Help Giller.”
Rays from the setting sun ahead reflected off the layer of leaves, making the path bright and shiny between the dark mass of woods to each side. Richard could hear Kahlan’s boots scuffing across rocks hidden under the colorful mat. A light scent of rot was in the air: fallen leaves beginning to decompose in the low damp places and the thick piles in the laps of rocks, where the wind had collected them.
Even though it was getting cold, neither Richard nor Kahlan wore their cloaks, being warm from the exertion of the pace Old John was setting. Richard kept trying to think about Zedd, but his train of thought was constantly being interrupted by having to lope to keep up. The realization that he was getting winded finally made him push Zedd from his mind. But one thought wouldn’t leave him: something didn’t feel right.
At last, he allowed that caution to blossom in his mind. How could an old man be out walking him like this, yet look fresh and relaxed? Richard felt his forehead, wondering if he was sick, or had a fever. He did feel hot. Maybe he wasn’t well; maybe there was something wrong with him. They had been pushing hard for days, but not this hard. No, he felt fine, simply winded.
For a while, he watched Kahlan walking ahead of him. She, too, was having difficulty keeping up. She pulled another spiderweb off her face, then trotted to keep up. He could see that, like him, she was breathing hard. For some reason, Richard’s caution was igniting into foreboding.
He caught a brief glimpse of something off to the left, in the woods, keeping pace. Just a small animal, he thought. But it looked like something with long arms, skittering along the ground; then it was gone. His mouth felt dry. It must just be his imagination, he told himself.
He turned his attention back to Old John. The path was wide in some places, narrow in others with branches that reached in tight. When Kahlan and Richard went past, they both sometimes brushed against them, or simply pushed them out of the way. Not the old man. He stayed to the center of the trail, avoiding any errant limb, his arms clutching his cloak tightly to him.
Richard’s eye was caught by the strands of a spiderweb, glistening golden in the setting sun, stretched across the path in front of Kahlan. The web parted against her upper leg when she walked through it.
The sweat on his face instantly turned ice cold against his skin.
How could Old John not have broken the web?
He looked up and saw a branch, its tip sticking out in the path. The old man skirted it. But not the tip. The tip passed through his arm as it would pass through smoke.
Breathing faster, he glanced down at the footprints Kahlan made through an open patch of soft ground. There were none from Old John.
Richard’s left hand shot forward, seized a fistful of Kahlan’s shirt, and yanked her behind him, causing her to cry out in surprise. He tossed her backward as his right hand pulled the sword free.
Old John stopped and half turned at the sound of the sword’s ringing.
“What is it, my boy? See something?” His voice came like the hiss of a snake.
“Indeed.” Richard gripped the sword in both hands, his legs set in a defensive stance, his chest heaving. He felt the anger flooding his fear. “How is it that you don’t break spiderwebs when you walk through them, or leave footprints?”
Old John gave a slow, sly smile, appraising him with one eye. “Did you not expect that an old friend of a wizard would have special talents?”
“Maybe,” Richard said, his eyes darting left and right, checking. “But tell me, Old John, what is your old friend’s name?”
“Why, it’s Zedd.” His eyebrows lifted. “How else would I know, if he weren’t my old friend.” His cloak was pulled tightly around him. His head had sunken into his shoulders.
“I’m the one who foolishly told you his name was Zedd. Now, you tell me your old friend’s last name.”
<
With a sudden roar that made Richard flinch, the old man turned, his cloak flinging open. In the time it took to complete the turn, he mushroomed to twice his previous size.
An impossible nightmare came to life: fur and claws and fangs, where an old man had been an instant before.
A creature of snarl and snap.
Richard gasped as he looked up at the gaping maw of the beast. It roared and abruptly took a giant step forward. Richard took three back. He gripped the sword so hard it hurt. The woods echoed with the earsplitting cry of the thing, deep, savage, vicious. The mouth stretched wide with each roar. It leaned over him, deepset red eyes glowing, snapping its huge teeth. Richard urgently backed up, retreating behind the sword. He took a quick glance, but didn’t see Kahlan behind him.
All at once, it came for him. Richard didn’t have a chance to swing the sword. He tripped on a root, falling backward, sprawling across the ground. He couldn’t get his breath. Instinctively, he brought the sword up to impale the thing, expecting it to fall on him.
Sharp, wet teeth reached over the sword, snapping viciously at his face. He drove the sword up, but the beast stayed clear. Furious red eyes glared at the sword. It backed away and looked toward the woods to its right. Its ears laid back as it snarled at something.
It picked up a rock twice the size of Richard’s head, put its blunt snout high in the air, took a deep breath, and with a roar squeezed the rock in its claw. Corded muscles tightened. The rock split with a loud crack that reverberated through the forest. Dust and flakes of rock filled the air. The beast looked about, turned, and swiftly slipped into the trees.
Richard lay on his back, panting, watching the woods with wide eyes, expecting the beast to reappear. He called out Kahlan’s name. She didn’t answer.
Before he could scramble fully to his feet, something ashen, with long arms, leapt on him, knocking him to his back again. It screamed with rage. Powerful gnarled hands gripped his, trying to pry the sword from his grip. One of the arms backhanded him across the jaw, nearly slamming him senseless. Bloodless white lips curled back, exposing sharp teeth, as it howled. Bulging yellow eyes snatched glances back at him. It tried desperately to kick his face. Richard held on to the sword with all his strength, trying to twist away from the painful grip of the long fingers.
“My sword,” it snarled. “Gimme. Gimme my sword.”
Locked desperately together, the two of them rolled across the ground, leaves and sticks flying. One of the powerful hands reached back, grabbing Richard by the hair, whacking his head on the ground, aiming for a rock. With a grunt, suddenly it reached again for the hilt, pulling one of Richard’s sweating hands from the sword, slapping its own hand to the hilt with Richard’s other. Its shrill screams split the forest quiet. Sinewy fingers started clawing his left hand off the hilt; sharp nails dug into his flesh.
Richard knew he was losing. The wiry little creature, despite its size, was stronger than he was. He had to do something or he would soon lose the sword.
“Gimme,” it hissed, in a flash turning its pallid head back to his, snapping, trying to bite his face. Spaces between its teeth were packed with spongy, gray debris. Its heavy breath reeked of rot. The hairless, waxy head had dark splotches.
The next time they rolled across the ground, Richard desperately reached to his belt and pulled his knife. In a rush he had it to the folds of the thing’s neck.
“Please!” it howled. “No kill! No kill!”
“Then let go of the sword! Now!”
The thing slowly, reluctantly, released its grip. Richard was on his back, the putrid-smelling creature on his chest. It went limp against him.
“Please, no kill me,” it repeated in a whimper.
Richard untangled himself from the disgusting creature, laying it on its back. He put the point of the sword hard against its chest. Its yellow eyes went wide.
The anger from the sword, which had somehow seemed confused and lost, at last charged into him.
“If I even think you’re about to do something I don’t like”—Richard jabbed—“I’ll push. Understand?” It nodded vigorously. Richard leaned closer. “Where did your friend go?”
“Friend?”
“That big thing that almost had me before you did!”
“The Calthrop. Not friend,” it whined. “Lucky man. Calthrop kills at night. Was waiting till night. To kill you. It has power in the night. Lucky man.”
“I don’t believe you! You were with it.”
“No,” it winced. “I only followed. Till it kills you.”
“Why?”
Bulging eyes went to the sword. “My sword. Gimme. Please?”
“No!”
Richard looked around for Kahlan. Her pack lay on the ground a short distance behind him, but he didn’t see her. Suddenly Richard was cold with worry. His eyes swept the area in quick jerks. He knew the Calthrop didn’t have her; it had gone into the woods alone. He continued to hold the point of the sword against the creature on the ground while he yelled out her name, hoping she would return his desperate calls. No answer.
“Mistress has the pretty lady.”
Richard’s glare shot to the yellow eyes. “What’re you talking about?”
“Mistress. She took pretty lady.” Richard pushed the sword harder, indicating that he wanted to hear more, and right now. “We were following you. Watching the Calthrop play with you. To see what would happen.” His bulging yellow eyes went to the sword again.
“To steal the sword,” Richard glared.
“Not steal! Mine! Gimme!” Its hands started to go for it again until Richard pushed the sword a little, making the creature freeze.
“Who’s your mistress!”
“Mistress!” it shook, pleading for rescue. “Mistress is Shota.”
Richard’s head twitched back a little. “Your mistress is the witch woman, Shota?”
The creature nodded vigorously.
His hand tightened on the hilt. “Why did she take the pretty lady?”
“Don’t know. Maybe, to play with her. Maybe, to kill her.” The thing peered up at him. “Maybe, to get you.”
“Turn over,” Richard said. The creature cringed. “Turn over, or I’ll run you through!”
It flipped over, trembling. Richard leaned his boot into the small of its back, below the sharp, raised projections of its spine. He reached in his pack, pulling out a length of rope. He ran a loop with a slip knot around its neck.
“Do you have a name?”
“Companion. I am Mistress’s companion. Samuel.”
Richard pulled him to his feet; leaves stuck to the gray skin of his chest. “Well, Samuel, we’re going after your mistress. You’re going to lead the way. If you make one wrong move, I’ll snap your neck with this rope. Understand?”
Samuel nodded quickly, then, giving a sidelong glance at the rope, nodded slowly. “Agaden Reach. Companion take you there. No kill me?”
“If you take me there, to your mistress, and if the pretty lady is all right, I won’t kill you.”
Richard put tension to the rope to let Samuel know who was in charge, then put away the sword.
“Here, you carry the pretty lady’s pack.”
Samuel snatched the pack out of Richard’s hands. “Mine! Gimme!” Big hands started rummaging through it.
Richard gave a sharp tug on the rope. “That doesn’t belong to you. Keep your hands out of it!”
Bulging yellow eyes filled with hate looked up at him. “When Mistress kills you, then Samuel eats you.”
“If I don’t eat you first,” Richard sneered. “I’m pretty hungry. Maybe I’ll have a little Samuel stew along the way?”
The look of hate changed to a look of wide, yellow-eyed terror. “Please! No kill me! Samuel take you to Mistress, to pretty lady. Promise.” He put the pack to his shoulder and took a few steps, until he ran out of slac
Richard couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of creature Samuel was. There was something familiar, unsettling, about him. He wasn’t very tall, but he was powerfully strong. Richard’s jaw still throbbed from where Samuel had hit him, and his neck and head ached from having his head pounded on the ground.
Long arms nearly reached the ground as Samuel walked along in an odd waddle, muttering over and over that he didn’t want to be cooked. Short, dark pants held up with straps were all he wore. His feet were as disproportionately large as his hands and arms. His belly was round and full, with what, Richard could only wonder. There was no hair on him anywhere, and his skin looked as if it hadn’t been in the sunlight in years. From time to time, Samuel would snatch up a stick, or a rock, and say “Mine! Gimme!” to no one in particular, only to soon lose interest and drop his latest find.
Keeping a sharp eye on both the woods and Samuel, Richard followed the companion, prodding him to move faster. He was afraid for Kahlan, and he was furious at himself. Old John, or the Calthrop, whatever it was, had completely taken him in. He couldn’t believe how stupid he had been. He had fallen for the story because he had wanted to believe, had wanted so badly to see Zedd. The very thing he had always told others not to do. And there he was, giving the monster the information it then repeated back to him as proof. He was furious at how stupid he had been. He was also painfully ashamed.
People believe things because they want to, he had told Kahlan, and so had he, and now the witch woman had her. The very thing she had been so afraid of, and because he had been so stupid, had let his guard down. It seemed that every time he let his guard down, she was the one who paid the price. If the witch woman harmed Kahlan, she would find out what the wrath of a Seeker was all about, he vowed to himself.