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“Of course, I too will have control over the pain of the magic, and can bring it to you any time I choose, and I can bring you other pain too, as you will learn.” She frowned. “Tell me, my pet, did you try to use the magic on me because you are a fool, or because you fancy yourself as brave?”
The pain let up the smallest bit. He gasped for air. She had relaxed it just enough to allow him to answer.
“Who… are… you?”
She took a fistful of his hair again, lifted his head, twisted it around to look into his eyes. As she leaned over, the boot on his neck sent a shard of pain through his shoulders. He couldn’t move his arms. Her face was wrinkled in a frown of curiosity.
“You don’t know who I am? Everyone in the Midlands knows me.”
“I’m… Westland.”
Her eyebrows lifted in delight. “Westland! My, my. How delicious. This is going to be fun.” Her smile widened. “I am De
“I’ll not… tell you… where Kahlan is. You might as well… kill me… now.”
“Who? Kahlan?”
“The… Mother Confessor.”
“Mother Confessor,” she said with distaste. “Why in the world would I want a Confessor? It is you, Richard Cypher, that Master Rahl sent me for, no one else. One of your friends has betrayed you to him.” She twisted his head up harder, pushed her boot down harder. “And now I have you. I had thought it might be difficult, but you hardly made it any fun at all. I’m to be in charge of your training. But then you wouldn’t know about that, since you are from Westland. You see, a Mord-Sith always wears red when she’s to train someone. That’s so your blood won’t show so much. I have a wonderful feeling I’m going to have a lot of your blood on me before I have you trained.”
She dropped his head, and leaned her full weight on her boot, holding her hand out in front of his face. He could see that the back of her gloved hand was armored, even the fingers. A blood red leather rod, about a foot long, hung loosely from her wrist by an elegant gold chain. It swung back and forth in front of his eyes. “This is the Agiel. This is part of what I will use to train you.” She gave him a smooth smile, arching an eyebrow. “Curious? Want to see how it works?”
De
She took the Agiel away—warm blood oozed down his side. Richard was covered in sweat as he lay in the dirt, panting, tears ru
De
With all his mental strength, Richard focused his hunger to kill her, and envisioned the sword exploding through her head. “Die, bitch.”
De
Richard maintained the vision of killing her until he was unconscious.
Chapter 41
Richard’s eyes came open a little. His mind was in a fog. He was facedown on a cold stone floor, lit by flickering torchlight. The stone walls had no windows to tell him if it was day or night. There was a coppery taste in his mouth. Blood. He tried to think of where he could be, and why. A sharp pain in his side caught his breath when he tried to inhale too deeply. His whole body hurt. He throbbed everywhere. It felt as if someone had given him a beating with a club.
The memory of the nightmare seeped back into his mind. At the thought of De
He had to think of a way out of this. If he didn’t get control of his anger, he had no chance. He remembered how his father had taught him that anger was wrong, how for most of his life he had been able to keep it choked off. Zedd had told him that there were times when bringing the anger out was more dangerous than keeping it in. This was one of those times. He had a whole lifetime of experience at keeping his anger under control—he must do it now. That thought gave him a sliver of hope.
Carefully, without moving too much, he took appraisal. His sword was back in its scabbard, his knife still in its sheath, the night stone still in his pocket. His pack lay against a far wall. The left side of his shirt was hard with dried blood. His head pounded with pain, but felt no worse than the rest of him.
Turning his head a little, he saw De
He thought maybe he should say something. “Where are your men?”
De
Her voice was calm, almost gentle. “Come and stand here.”
With great difficulty, Richard rose to his feet and walked to stand where she had pointed. She watched him without emotion as he stood looking down at her. He waited in silence. She stood and with her boot pushed the chair back out of the way. She was almost as tall as he. She turned her back to him as she picked up a glove off the table and worked in into her right hand, pushing the fingers down tight.
Abruptly she spun around, backhanding him across the mouth. The armored back of the glove split his lip open on his teeth.
Immediately, before the anger could grip him, he thought about a beautiful place in the Hartland Woods. His eyes watered from the sting of the gash.
De
Richard took his hand off his mouth and held both at his sides. He could feel the blood dripping from his chin. De