Richard pushed back the hood of his mriswith cape and let his concentration relax. Before the eyes of the general and all his men, Richard appeared to materialize out of the air.

Soldiers all around gasped. Some fell back. Some dropped to their knees in deep bows.

"I," Richard said in a quiet voice, "am Lord Rahl."

There was a moment of dead silence, and then General Reibisch burst into laughter as he slapped a hand to the table. He threw his head back and roared. Some of the men snickered with him, but by the way their eyes moved, it was clear they didn't know why they were joining in, only that they thought it best they did.

His laughter dying out, General Reibisch rose to his feet. "Quite a trick, young man. But I've seen a lot of tricks since I've been stationed in Aydindril. Why, I one day had a man entertain me by having birds fly out of his trousers." The, scowl returned. "For a moment, I almost believed you, but a trick doesn't make you Lord Rahl. Maybe in Trimack's eyes, but not in mine. I don't bow down to street-corner magicians."

Richard stood stone still, the focus of all eyes, while he frantically tried to think of what to do next. He hadn't expected laughter. He couldn't think of any other magic he could use, and this man didn't seem to know real magic from a trick, anyway. Unable to come up with a better idea at the moment, Richard sought to at least make his voice sound confident.

"I am Richard Rahl, son of Darken Rahl. He is dead. I am now Lord Rahl. If you wish to continue to serve in your post, you will bow down and recognize me. If not, then I will replace you."

Chuckling once more, General Reibisch hooked a thumb behind his belt. "Perform another trick, and if I judge it worthy, I'll give you and your troupe a coin before I send you on your way. I'm inclined to give you one for your temerity, if nothing else."

The soldiers moved closer, the mood shifting with them to an edge of menace.

"Lord Rahl does not do 'tricks, " Rally snapped.

Reibisch put his meaty hands on the table as he leaned toward her. "Your outfits are quite convincing, but you shouldn't play at being a Mord-Sith, young lady. If one of them ever got her hands on you, she would not take kindly to your pretense; they take their profession seriously."

Rally drove her Agiel down on his hand. With a shriek, General Reibisch leapt back, his face a picture of shock. He pulled a knife.

Gratch's growl rattled the windowpanes. His green eyes glowed as he bared his fangs. His wings spread with a snap, like sails in a gale. Men backed away, cocking arms holding weapons.

Inwardly, Richard groaned. Things were rapidly spinning out of control. He wished he had done a better job of thinking this through, but he had been sure that appearing invisible would awe the D'Harans into believing. He should have at least given thought to an escape plan. He didn't know how they were going to get out of the building alive. Even if they managed, it might be at great cost; it could be a bloodbath. He didn't want that. He had only started into this Master Rahl business to prevent people from being hurt, not to cause it. Shouts rose around him.

Almost before he realized what he was doing, Richard drew his sword. The unique ring of steel filled the room. The sword's magic surged into him, rising to his defense, inundating him with its fury. It was like being hit by a furnace blast that burned to the bone. He knew the feeling well, and urged it onward; there was no choice. Storms of rage erupted within. He let the spirits of those who had used the magic before soar with him on the winds of wrath.

Reibisch slashed the air with his knife. "Kill the frauds!"

As the general leapt over the table toward Richard, the room suddenly resounded with a peal of thundering noise. Shards of glass rilled the air, refracting light in glittering flashes.

Richard ducked into a crouch as Gratch bounded over him. Pieces of window mullions spiraled over their heads. Officers behind the table pitched forward, many cut by the glass. Dumbfounded, Richard realized the windows were exploding inward.

Blurs of color streaked through the rain of glass. Shadows and light in midair crashed to ground. Startled, through the sword's rage, Richard felt them.

Mriswith.

They became solid as they hit the floor.

The room burst into battle. Richard saw flashes of red, streaks of fur, and sweeping arcs of steel. An officer smashed face-first atop the table, blood splashing across papers. Ulic heaved two men back. Egan hurled another two over the table-Richard ignored the tumult around him as he seized the calm center within. The cacophony faded away as he touched cold steel to his forehead, silently beseeching his blade to be true this day.

He saw only the mriswith, felt only them. With every fiber of his being, he wanted nothing else.

The closest sprang up, its back to him. With a scream of fury, Richard unleashed the wrath of the Sword of Truth. The tip whistled as it came around, the blade found its mark: the magic had its taste of blood. Headless, the mriswith collapsed, its three-bladed knives clattering across the floor.

Richard whirled to the lizardlike creature at his other side. Rally leapt between them, into his way. Still turning, he used his momentum to shoulder her aside as he swept his sword around, cleaving the second mriswith before the head of the first had hit the ground. Reeking blood misted the air.

Richard spun ahead. In the grip of fury, he was one with the blade, with its spirits, with its magic. He was, as the ancient prophecies in High D'Haran had named him, as he had named himself, fuer grissa ost drauka: the bringcr of death. Anything less would mean his friends' deaths, but he was beyond reasoned thought. He was lost in need.

Though the third mriswith was dark brown, the color of the leather, Richard still picked it out as it darted through the men. With a mighty thrust, he drove his sword home between its shoulder blades. The mriswiuYs death howl shuddered in the air.

Men froze at the sound, and the room fell silent.

Grunting with effort, and with rage, Richard heaved the mriswith aside. The lifeless carcass slid off the blade and across the floor, slamming into a table leg. The leg snapped, and the corner of the table collapsed under a flutter of papers.

Teeth gritted, Richard swept his sword back around to the man standing just beyond where the mriswith had been a moment before. The point halted at his throat, rock steady and dripping blood. The magic raged out of control, craving for more in its hunger to eliminate the threat.

The Seeker's deadly glare met General Reibisch's eyes. Those eyes saw for the first time who stood before him. The magic dancing in Richard's eyes was unmistakable; to see it was to see the sun, to feel its heat, to know it without question.

No one made a sound, but even if they had, Richard wouldn't have heard it; his entire focus was on the man at the point of his sword, at the point of his vengeance. Richard had leapt headlong over the edge of lethal commitment into a cauldron of seething magic, and returning was an agonizing struggle.

General Reibisch went to his knees and gazed up the length of the blade into Richard's hawklike glare. His voice filled the ringing silence.

"Master Rahl guide us. Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours."

They weren't false words to save his own life, they were the reverent words of a man who had seen something he truly hadn't expected.

Richard had chanted those same words countless times at devotions. For two hours each morning and afternoon everyone at the People's Palace in D'Hara went to a devotion square when the bell tolled and, bowing forehead to the ground, chanted those same words. Richard, as commanded, had said those same words the first time he had met Darken Rahl.