Wizard's First Rule

"That's no excuse. He's First Councilor; he has all anyone could want. I'm sorry I didn't put a stop to it." "I did not want you to. It was for me to do. What he wants is whatever you have. If you had stopped him, having me would be a contest he would have to win. This way he has no more interest in me. Besides, what he did to you, about your mother, was worse. Would you have wanted me to have stepped in on your behalf?"

Richard put his eyes back to the road. He choked off his anger. "No, that was not for you to do."

As they walked, the houses became smaller, closer together, but remained clean and well kept. Some of their owners were out taking advantage of the good weather to make repairs before winter. The air was clean and crisp, and Richard knew by the dryness of it that it would be a cold night; the right kind of night for a fire of birch logs, fragrant but not too hot. The white-fenced yards gave way to larger garden plots in front of small cottages set farther back from the road. As he walked, Richard plucked an oak leaf from a branch hanging close to the road.

"You seem to know a lot about people. You're very perceptive, I mean about why they do what they do."

She shrugged. "I guess."

He tore little pieces off the leaf. "Is that why they hunt you?"

She looked over as they walked, and when his eyes came to her, she answered. "They hunt me because they fear truth. One reason I trust you is because you do not."

He smiled at the compliment. He liked the answer, even though he wasn't sure what it meant. "You aren't about to kick me, are you?"

A grin came to her face. "You are getting close." She thought a moment, the smile fading, and went on. "I am sorry, Richard, but for now you must trust me. The more I tell you, the greater the danger, to both of us. Still 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 a triangular 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, he couldn't prove his father wasn't a thief.

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.