Faith of the Fallen

This terrible triangle was not liable to be susceptible to influence by outsidersNicci had seen to that. It was just a hope Richard was giving her, the only bouquet he could offer in the desolate void of reality.

Kahlan didn't know what to do with her hands. She stood twining her fingers together as tears dripped off her chin. There must be something to say, something important, some last words while she had the chance, but she couldn't think of them.

She supposed he knew what she felt, what was in her heart, and words couldn't add anything to that. She pressed her fist against the aching knot of anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

A sense of doom crowded in the room like a fourth person, a grim guard waiting to take Richard away. This was the heart of terror, being controlled by what you couldn't see, couldn't reason with, couldn't persuade or battle.

The doom waited, implacable, immune, indifferent.

As Cara vanished from the doorway, Richard pulled a fistful of gold and silver from an inside pocket in his leather pack. He hastily dropped roughly half back in the pack and then held out the rest.

"Take this. You might need it."

"I'm the Mother Confessor. I don't need gold."

He tossed it on the bed for her anyway, apparently not wanting to argue with her in their last moments together.

"Do you want any of the carvings?" she asked. It was a stupid question and she knew it, but she had to fill the awful silence and it was the only thing to come into her head, other than a hopeless plea.

"No. I've no need for them. When you look at them, think of me, and remember I love you." He rolled a blanket tight, wrapped it with a small patch of oiled canvas, and tied it with leather thongs to the bottom of his pack. "I guess if I were to want any, I could always carve some."

Kahlan handed him a cake of soap.

"I don't need your carving to remind me of your love. I'll remember.

Carve something to make Nicci see that you should be free."

Richard glanced up with a grim smile. "I plan on seeing to it that she knows I won't ever give in to her and the Order. Carvings won't be necessary. She thinks she has this all planned out, but she's going to find out I'm bad company." Richard jammed a fist in his pack, making more room.

"Very bad company."

Cara rushed back in, carrying small bundles with the corners tied in knots at the top. She plopped them down one at a time onto the bed.

"I put together some food for you, Lord Rahl. Things that will keep for traveling-dried meat and fish and such. Some rice and beans. I. . I put a loaf of bread that I made on top, so eat it first, while it's still good."

He thanked her as he put the small bundles into his pack. He put the bread to his nose for a deep whiff before packing it away. He gave Cara a smile of appreciation.

Richard straightened. His smile evaporated in a way that for some reason made Kahlan's blood go cold. Looking like he was in the throes of committing himself to some last, grim deed, Richard pulled the baldric off over his head. He held the goldand-silver wrought scabbard in his left hand and drew the Sword of Truth in his white-knuckled right fist.

The blade rang out with its unique metallic sound, announcing its freedom.

Richard drew his sleeve up his arm and wiped the sword across his forearm. Kahlan winced as she watched. She didn't know if he cut deeply accidentally, or on purpose. With an icy sensation she recalled that Richard cut very precisely with any sharp steel edge.

He turned the blade and wiped both sides in gouts of vivid red blood.

He bathed the blade in it, giving it a voluptuous taste, wetting its appetite for more. Kahlan didn't know what he was doing or why he was doing it now, but it was a frightening ritual to witness. She wished he had drawn it before and cut down Nicci. Her blood, Kahlan would not fear seeing.

Richard picked up the scabbard and slammed the Sword of Truth home.

Blood running over his hand left greasy red smears across the scabbard as he slid his hand down the length of it, to the tip, and then seized the sheathed weapon at its center point in his fist. His head bowed, his eyes on the dull silver and gold reflections lustrous even through his own blood, he loomed closer to her.

Richard looked up, and Kahlan saw the lethal rage of magic dancing in his eyes. He had invoked the sword's terrible wrath, called it forth, and then put it away. She'd never seen him do such a thing before.

He lifted the sword in its scabbard to her. The tendons in the back of his fist stood out in the strain. The white of his knuckles showed through the blood.

"Take it," he said in a hoarse voice that betrayed the struggle within.