friends?”
“Still friends.” He threw the skeleton of the leaf away. “But someday you will tell me all of it?”
She nodded. “If I can, I promise I will.”
“Good,” he said cheerfully. “After all, I am a ‘seeker of truth.’”
Kahlan jerked to a halt, grabbed his shirtsleeve, and spun him to face her wide eyes.
“Why did you say that?” she demanded.
“What? You mean ‘seeker of truth’? That’s what Zedd calls me. Ever since I was little. He says I always insist on knowing the truth of things, so he calls me ‘seeker of truth.’” He was surprised by her agitation. His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
She started walking again. “Never mind.”
Somehow, he seemed to have broached a sensitive subject. His need to know the answers started to shoulder its way around in his mind. They hunted her because they feared truth, he thought, and she became upset when he said he was a “seeker of truth.” Maybe she had become upset, he decided, because it made her fear for him, too.
“Can you at least tell me who ‘they’ are? Those who hunt you?”
She continued to watch the road as she walked next to him. He didn’t know if she was going to answer him, but at last she did.
“They are the followers of a very wicked man. His name is Darken Rahl. Please do not ask me any more for now; I do not wish to think of him.”
Darken Rahl. So, now he knew the name.
The late-afternoon sun was behind the hills of the Hartland Woods, allowing the air to cool as they passed through gently rolling hills of hardwood forest. They didn’t talk. He didn’t care to talk anyway, as his hand was hurting and he was feeling a little dizzy. A bath and a warm bed were what he wanted. Better to give her the bed, he thought; he would sleep in his favorite chair, the one with the squeak. That sounded good, too; it had been a long day and he ached.
By a stand of birch he turned her up the small trail that would lead past his house. He watched her walking in front of him on the narrow path, picking spiderwebs off her face and arms as she broke the strands strung across their way.
Richard was eager to get home. Along with his knife and the other things he had forgotten to take along, there was something else he had to have, a very important thing his father had given him.
His father had made him the guardian of a secret, made him the keeper of a secret book, and had given Richard something to keep always, as proof to the true owner of the book, that it was not stolen, but rescued for safekeeping. It was atriangular-shaped tooth, three fingers wide. Richard had strung a leather thong to it so he could wear it around his neck, but like his knife and backpack he had stupidly left the house without it. He was impatient to have it back around his neck; without it, his father would be a thief, just as Michael said.
Higher up, after an open area of bare rock, the maples, oaks, and birches began to give way to spruce. The forest floor lost its green for a quiet, brown mat of needles. As they walked along, an uneasy feeling began to itch at him. He gently took Kahlan’s sleeve between his thumb and forefinger, pulling her back.
“Let me go first,” he said quietly. She looked at him and obeyed without question. For the next half hour he slowed the pace, studying the ground and inspecting every branch close to the trail. Richard stopped at the base of the last ridge before his house and squatted them down beside a patch of ferns.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Maybe nothing,” he whispered, “but someone has been up the trail this afternoon.” He picked up a flattened pinecone, looking at it for a short time before tossing it away.
“How do you know?”
“Spiderwebs.” He looked up the hill. “There aren’t any spiderwebs across the trail. Someone has been up the trail and broken them. The spiders haven’t had time to string more, so there aren’t any.”
“Does anyone else live up this
“Still friends.” He threw the skeleton of the leaf away. “But someday you will tell me all of it?”
She nodded. “If I can, I promise I will.”
“Good,” he said cheerfully. “After all, I am a ‘seeker of truth.’”
Kahlan jerked to a halt, grabbed his shirtsleeve, and spun him to face her wide eyes.
“Why did you say that?” she demanded.
“What? You mean ‘seeker of truth’? That’s what Zedd calls me. Ever since I was little. He says I always insist on knowing the truth of things, so he calls me ‘seeker of truth.’” He was surprised by her agitation. His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
She started walking again. “Never mind.”
Somehow, he seemed to have broached a sensitive subject. His need to know the answers started to shoulder its way around in his mind. They hunted her because they feared truth, he thought, and she became upset when he said he was a “seeker of truth.” Maybe she had become upset, he decided, because it made her fear for him, too.
“Can you at least tell me who ‘they’ are? Those who hunt you?”
She continued to watch the road as she walked next to him. He didn’t know if she was going to answer him, but at last she did.
“They are the followers of a very wicked man. His name is Darken Rahl. Please do not ask me any more for now; I do not wish to think of him.”
Darken Rahl. So, now he knew the name.
The late-afternoon sun was behind the hills of the Hartland Woods, allowing the air to cool as they passed through gently rolling hills of hardwood forest. They didn’t talk. He didn’t care to talk anyway, as his hand was hurting and he was feeling a little dizzy. A bath and a warm bed were what he wanted. Better to give her the bed, he thought; he would sleep in his favorite chair, the one with the squeak. That sounded good, too; it had been a long day and he ached.
By a stand of birch he turned her up the small trail that would lead past his house. He watched her walking in front of him on the narrow path, picking spiderwebs off her face and arms as she broke the strands strung across their way.
Richard was eager to get home. Along with his knife and the other things he had forgotten to take along, there was something else he had to have, a very important thing his father had given him.
His father had made him the guardian of a secret, made him the keeper of a secret book, and had given Richard something to keep always, as proof to the true owner of the book, that it was not stolen, but rescued for safekeeping. It was atriangular-shaped tooth, three fingers wide. Richard had strung a leather thong to it so he could wear it around his neck, but like his knife and backpack he had stupidly left the house without it. He was impatient to have it back around his neck; without it, his father would be a thief, just as Michael said.
Higher up, after an open area of bare rock, the maples, oaks, and birches began to give way to spruce. The forest floor lost its green for a quiet, brown mat of needles. As they walked along, an uneasy feeling began to itch at him. He gently took Kahlan’s sleeve between his thumb and forefinger, pulling her back.
“Let me go first,” he said quietly. She looked at him and obeyed without question. For the next half hour he slowed the pace, studying the ground and inspecting every branch close to the trail. Richard stopped at the base of the last ridge before his house and squatted them down beside a patch of ferns.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Maybe nothing,” he whispered, “but someone has been up the trail this afternoon.” He picked up a flattened pinecone, looking at it for a short time before tossing it away.
“How do you know?”
“Spiderwebs.” He looked up the hill. “There aren’t any spiderwebs across the trail. Someone has been up the trail and broken them. The spiders haven’t had time to string more, so there aren’t any.”
“Does anyone else live up this
Similar Books
