Temple of the Winds

Without knocking, Richard threw open the door and stepped into the small, windowless room. Sparsely furnished with a bed, small table, and two simple wooden chairs, it was one of the more utilitarian guest rooms. To the side, the eyes of knots in a plain, pine wardrobe watched then. A small brick hearth provided a modicum of heat to the chill, scented air.

Holding Richard's left arm from a half step behind, knowing better than to get in the way of his sword, Kahlan stayed close. Ulic and Egan stepped to each side, their blond hair nearly brushing the low ceiling. Cara and Raina swept around them. screening Richard and Kahlan.

Drefan knelt before the table against the far wall. Dozens of candles were set randomly about the table. At the sound of all the commotion, he rose smoothly to his feet and turned.

His blue-eyed gaze took in Richard, as if no one else had entered the room with him. Each absorbed in silent thoughts she could only imagine, they appraised one another.

And then Drefan went to his knees, putting his forehead to the floor. "Master Rahl guide us. Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours."

Kahlan saw Richard's two huge body guards and both Mord-Sith almost drop reflexively to their knees to join in the devotion to the Master of D'Hara. She had seen countless D'Haran's in Aydindril give the devotion. She had stood at Richard's side when the Sisters of the Light had knelt and sworn fidelity to him. Richard had told her that at the People's Palace in D'Hara, when Darken Rahl had been there, everyone went to devotion squares twice a day, for two hours each time, and said those same words over and over while touching foreheads to the tiled floors.

Drefan stood once more, assuming a relaxed, self-assured stance. He was dressed nobly in a ruffled white shirt open to mid-chest, high boots turned down just below his knees, and tight, dark trousers that displayed enough of the swell of his manhood that Kahlan could feel her cheeks flush. She forced her eyes to move. She could see at least four leather pouches attached to his wide leather belt, their flaps held closed with carved bone pins. Draped loosely over his shoulders was the simple flaxen cloak she had seen him in before.

The same height and build as Richard, and with the handsome cast of Darken Rahl's features, he cut a striking figure. His tumbledown blond hair made his tanned face look all the better. Kahlan couldn't help staring at the flesh-and-blood twist of Richard and Darken Rahl.

Richard gestured toward all the candles. "What's this?" Drefan's blue-eyed gaze stayed locked on Richard. "I was praying. Lord Rahl. Making my peace with the good spirits, should I be joining them this day."

There was no timidity in his voice; it was a simple, self-confident statement of fact.

Richard's chest grew with a deep breath. He let it out. "Cara, you stay. Raina, Ulic, Egan, please wait outside." He glanced to them as they were leaving. "Me first."

They returned grim nods. It was code: if Richard didn't come out of the room first, then Drefan died on his way out-a precaution Kahlan used herself.

"I am Drefan, Lord Rahl. At your service, should you find me worthy." He bowed his head to Kahlan. "Mother Confessor." "What did you mean about joining the good spirits?" Richard asked. Drefan slid his hands into the opposite sleeves of the cloak. "There is a bit of a story to it, Lord Rahl."

"Take your hands out of your sleeves, and then tell me the story." Drefan pulled his hands out. "Sorry." He lifted his cloak back with a little finger to reveal the long, thin-bladed knife sheathed at his belt. He pulled the knife free with one finger and a thumb, flipped it in the air, and caught it by the point. "Forgive me. I meant to set it aside before your visit."

Without turning, he tossed the knife over his shoulder. The knife stuck solidly in the wall. He bent, pulled a heavier knife from his boot, and tossed that over his shoulder with his other hand as he straightened, sticking it, too, in the wall an inch from the first. He reached behind his back, under the cloak, and came out with a wickedly curved blade. Without looking, he stuck it, too, in the wall behind, between the two blades already there.

"Any other weapons?" Richard asked in a businesslike manner. Drefan spread his arms. "My hands. Lord Rahl, and my knowledge." He continued to hold his hands out. "Though even my hands wouldn't be quick enough to defeat your magic. Lord Rahl. Please search my person to assure yourself that I am otherwise unarmed."

Richard didn't act on the offer. "So, what's the story?" "I am the bastard son of Darken Rahl." "As am I," Richard said.

"Not exactly. You are the gifted heir of Darken Rahl. A distinct difference. Lord Rahl."

"Gifted? Darken Rahl raped my mother. I have often had reason to consider my magic a curse."