Worse, though, was that he had made the blade turn white. When Zedd had seen that, he had almost parted company with his skin. The prophecies spoke of the one who would turn the Sword of Truth white. Spoke with great caution. That it would be Darken Rahl gave him a fright to his very core. That it might have been Richard who would turn the sword white had caused him a dread all its own, but for it to be Rahl…

The veil, the prophecies called it, the veil between the world of life and the underworld. If the veil was torn by the magic of Orden, through an agent, the prophecies foretold, only the one who had turned the Sword of Truth white could restore it. Unless he was able to, the underworld would be loosed on the world of the living.

The word agent had terrible significance that worried Zedd greatly. It could mean that Darken Rahl was not acting on his own, but was an agent. An agent of the underworld. That he had gained mastery of the subtractive magic, the underworld magic, implied that he was. It also implied that even if Rahl failed, and was killed, the magic of Orden would still tear the veil. Zedd tried not to think of what these prophecies meant. The idea of the underworld being loosed made his throat clench shut. Better for him to be dead first. Better for everyone to be dead first.

Zedd rolled his head to the side, watching Kahlan sleep. The Mother Confessor. The last of the ones created by the old wizards. His heart ached for her pain, ached because he hadn’t been able to help her when Rahl held the sword at her throat—ached for what she felt for Richard, and for what he couldn’t tell her.

If only it had not been Richard. Anyone but Richard. Nothing was ever easy.

Zedd sat up in a rush. Something was wrong. It was too light out for Chase not to be back. With a finger to Kahlan’s forehead, Zedd brought her wide awake.

Kahlan reflected his worry in her face. “What is it?” she whispered.

Zedd sat still, feeling for life around him. “Chase isn’t back, and he should be.”

She looked about. “Maybe he fell asleep.” Zedd lifted an eyebrow. “Well, maybe there is a good reason. Maybe it’s nothing.”

“Our horses are gone.”

Kahlan came to her feet, checking her knife. “Can you sense where he is?”

Zedd flinched. “There are others about. Others touched by the underworld.”

He jumped to his feet. As he did, Chase, having been pushed, stumbled and fell face first into the camp. His arms were tied securely behind his back, and there was blood on him. A lot of blood. He groaned in the dirt. Zedd felt the presence of men around them. Four men. He recoiled at what he felt of them.

The big man who had pushed Chase stepped forward. His short blond hair stood up in spikes, and a black streak ran back through it. His cold eyes, his smile, sent a chill through the wizard.

Kahlan was in a half crouch. “Demmin Nass,” she hissed.

He hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Ah. You’ve heard of me, Mother Confessor.” His wicked smile widened. “I’ve certainly heard of you. Your friend here has killed five of my best men. I’ll execute him later, after the festivities. I’d like him to the have the enjoyment of watching what we do to you.”

Kahlan looked about as three other men, not as big as Demmin Nass, but bigger than Chase, stepped out of the woods. They were surrounded, but that was not a problem for a wizard. Each of the men was blond-haired, heavily muscled, and covered in sweat despite the chill to the air. Chase had obviously given them trouble. For now, their weapons were put away—they had no fear of their control of the situation.

Their confidence irritated Zedd. Their grins made him furious. The early light made the four pairs of blue eyes all the more penetrating.

Zedd knew very well that this was a quad, and he knew very well what it was that quads did to Confessors. Very well. His blood boiled at the knowing. There was no way he was going to let that happen to Kahlan. Not as long as he was alive.

Demmin Nass and Kahlan stared at one another.

“Where is Richard? What has Rahl done with him?” she demanded.

“Who?”

She gritted her teeth. “The Seeker.”

Demmin smiled. “Well now, that is Master Rahl’s and my business. Not your.”

“Tell me,” she glared.

His smiled widened. “You have more important things to worry about right now, Confessor. You are about to give my men a very good time. I want you to keep your mind on that, and make sure they enjoy themselves. The Seeker does not concern you.”

Zedd decided that it was time to stop this, before something more happened. He brought his hands up, and released the most powerful paralysis web he could marshal. The camp lit with a loud crack of green light as it flashed in four directions at once, toward each of the blue-eyed men. The green light hit each man with a hard thud.

Before the wizard had time to react, things went terribly wrong.

As fast as the green light hit them, it reflected back from each. Too late, Zedd realized that they were protected by a spell of some sort—an underworld spell that he hadn’t been able to see. From four directions at once, the green light hit him. His own web paralyzed him in place. He was frozen tight as stone. Helpless. Try as he might, he could not move.

Demmin Nass took his thumb out of his belt. “Problem, old man?”

Kahlan, a look of rage on her face, stretched her arm out and planted her hand against his smooth chest. Zedd braced for the release of her power, for the thunder with no sound.

It didn’t come.

By the look of surprise on Kahlan’s face, he knew it should have.

Demmin Nass brought his fist down and broke her arm.

Kahlan fell to her knees with a cry of pain. She came back up with her knife in her other hand, slashing at the man before her. He grabbed her hair with his fist, holding her away. She drove the knife up into the arm that held her. He pulled the knife out and twisted it from her hand. With a toss, he stuck it in a tree. Holding her by the hair, he backhanded her across the face a few times. She kicked and clawed and screamed at him—while he chuckled. The other three closed in.

“Sorry, Mother Confessor, I’m afraid you’re not my type. But not to worry, these fellows here will be only too happy to do the honors. Try to wiggle your bottom, though,” he sneered. “I’ll enjoy that much of it.”

Demmin tossed her by her hair to the other three. They shoved her back and forth among them, slapping her, hitting her, spinning her around roughly until she was too dizzy to stand and fell from one pair of arms to another. She was as helpless as a mouse held by three cats. Her hair fell across her face. Kahlan swung her fist at them, too disoriented to make contact. They laughed all the more.

One of them slammed his fist into her stomach. Kahlan doubled over, dropping to her knees, convulsed in pain. Another lifted her by her hair. The third ripped the buttons off the front of her shirt. They threw her violently back and forth, tearing her shirt, yanking it off with each throw. When it pulled over her broken arm, she screamed in pain.

Zedd couldn’t even shake with the rage storming through him.

He couldn’t even close his eyes against the sight of it, close his hearing against the sound of it. Painful memories of having seen this before overlaid themselves on the reality of what was happening now. He couldn’t breathe with the pain of those memories. He couldn’t breathe with the pain of what was happening now. He would have given his life to free himself. He wished she wouldn’t fight them—it was only going to make it worse. But he knew Confessors always fought it. Fought it with everything they had. And what she had, he knew, was not going to be enough.

From the prison of his body, as if frozen into stone, Zedd railed against his helplessness with everything he had, every spell, every trick, every power he possessed. It was not enough. He felt tears running down his cheeks.