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He remembered her fingers on his throat and the look in her eyes when she thought he was trying to poison her with an apple. “Promise me.”
“I have already made promises, to others, some of whom have given their lives. I have responsibilities to the lives of others. Many others.”
“Promise me.”
She put her other hand on the side of his face. “I am sorry, Richard, I cannot.”
He released her wrist, turned, and closed his eyes as she took her hand from his face. He thought about the book, all that it meant, and realized he was making a selfish request. Would he trick her to save Zedd, only to have him die with them? Would he doom all the others to death or slavery just to see his friend live a couple more months? Could he condemn her to death, too, for nothing? He felt ashamed at his own stupidity. He had no right to ask her to make such a promise. It would be wrong for her to do so. He was glad she had not lied to him. But he knew that just because Zedd had asked about the trouble they were in did not mean he would help with anything to do from across the boundary.
“Kahlan, this fever is making me foolish. Please forgive me. I have never met another with your courage. I know you are trying to save us all. Zedd will help us; I will see to it. Promise me only that you will wait until I am better. Give me the chance to convince him.”
She squeezed her hand on his shoulder. “That is a promise I can make. I know you care about your friend; I would despair if you didn’t. That does not make you foolish. Rest now.”
He tried not to close his eyes, since when he did, everything started spinning uncontrollably. But talking had sapped his strength, and soon the blackness pulled him back in. His thoughts were once again sucked into the void. Sometimes he came partway back and wandered in troubled dreams; sometimes he wandered in places empty even of illusion.
The cat came awake, his ears perking up. Richard slept on. Sounds that only the cat could hear made him jump off Kahlan’s lap, trot to the door, and sit on his haunches, waiting. Kahlan waited, too, and since the cat didn’t raise his fur, she stayed by Richard. A thin voice came from outside.
“Cat? Cat! Where have you gotten to? Well, you can just stay out here then.” The door squeaked open. “There you are.” The cat ran out the doorway. “Suit yourself,” Zedd called after him. “How is Richard?” he called to her.
When he came into the room, Kahlan answered from the chair. “He came awake several times, but he is sleeping now. Did you find the root you need?”
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise. Did he have anything to say when he was awake?”
Kahlan smiled up at the old man. “Just that he was worried about you.”
He turned and went back into the front room, grumbling. “Not without good reason.”
Sitting at the table, he peeled the roots, cut them into thin wafers, put the wafers into a pot with some water, and then hung the pot on the crane over the fire. He threw the peels and then two sticks of wood into the fire before going to the cupboard and pulling down a number of different-sized jars. Without hesitation he selected first one jar, then another, pouring different-colored powders into a black stone mortar. With a white pestle, he ground the reds, blues, yellows, browns, and greens together until it was all the color of dry mud. After licking the end of his finger, he dipped it in the mortar to collect a sample. He put the finger to his tongue for a taste and lifted an eyebrow while he smacked his lips and pondered. At last he smiled and nodded in satisfaction. He poured the powder into the pot, blending it in with a spoon from a hook at the side of the fireplace. He stirred slowly while watching the concoction bubble. For nearly two hours he stirred and watched. When at last he determined that the work was done, he plunked the pot on the table to cool.
Zedd collected a bowl and cloth and after a while called to Kahlan to come help him. She came quickly to his side and he instructed her how to hold the cloth over the bowl while he poured the mixture through.
He spun his finger around in the air. “Now twist the cloth around and around to squeeze the liquid out. When it’s all out, throw the cloth and its contents in the fire.” She looked at him, puzzled. Zedd lifted an eyebrow. “The part left in there is poison. Richard should be awake any time now; then we give him the liquid in the bowl. You keep squeezing. I will check on him.”
Zedd went into the bedroom, bent over Richard, and found him to be deeply unconscious. He turned and saw that Kahlan’s back was to him as she worked at her task. He bent over, placing a middle finger to Richard’s forehead. Richard’s eyes snapped open.
“Dear one,” Zedd called into the other room, “we are in luck. He has just come awake. Bring the bowl.”
Richard blinked. “Zedd? Are you all right? Is everything all right?”
“Yes, yes, everything is fine.”
Kahlan came in holding the bowl carefully, trying not to spill any. Zedd helped Richard sit up so he could drink. When he finished, Zedd helped him to lie back down.
“That will make you sleep, and break the fever. The next time you awake, you will be well, you have my word, so worry no more as you rest.”
“Thank you, Zedd….” Richard was asleep before he could say more.
Zedd left and then returned with a tin plate, insisting that Kahlan take the chair. “The thorn will not be able to stand the root,” he explained. “It will have to leave his body.” He put the plate under Richard’s hand and sat down on the edge of the bed to wait. They both listened to Richard’s deep breathing and the crackling of the fire from the other room; otherwise the house was still. It was Zedd who broke the silence first.
“It is dangerous for a Confessor to travel alone, dear one. Where is your wizard?”
She looked up at him with tired eyes. “My wizard sold his services to a queen.”
Zedd gave a disapproving scowl. “He abandoned his responsibilities to the Confessors? What is his name?”
“Giller.”
“Giller.” He repeated the name with a sour expression, then leaned toward her a bit. “So why did another not come with you?”
She gave him a hard look. “Because they are all dead, at their own hands. Before they died, they all gathered and cast a web to see me safely through the boundary, with the guidance of a night wisp.” Zedd stood at this news. Sadness and concern etched his face as he rubbed his chin. “You knew the wizards?” she asked.
“Yes, yes. I lived in the Midlands a long time.”
“And the great one? You know him also?”
Zedd smiled, rearranged his robes, and seated himself again. “You are persistent, dear one. Yes, I knew the old wizard, once. But even if you could find him, I don’t think he would have anything to do with this business. He would not be inclined to help the Midlands.”
Kahlan leaned forward, taking his hands in hers. Her voice was soft but intense.
“Zedd, there are many people who disapprove of the High Council of the Midlands and its greed. They wish it were not so, but they are just common people who have no say. They only wish to live their lives in peace. Darken Rahl has taken the food that was stored for the coming winter and given it to the army. They waste it, or let it rot, or sell it back to the people they stole it from. Already there is hunger; this winter there will be death. Fire has been outlawed. People are cold.
“Rahl says it is all the great wizard’s fault, for not coming forward to be put on trial as an enemy of the people. He says the wizard has brought this on them, that he is to blame. He doesn’t explain how this could be, but many believe it anyway. Many believe everything Rahl says, even though what they see with their own eyes should be enough to tell them otherwise.
