Faith of the Fallen   ::   Goodkind Terry

Hespat at her.

"Kill me, then, you filthy witch. Strike me dead."

Nicci flicked her wrist and brought her dacra to hand. The dacra was a knifelike weapon carried by Sisters. Once the sharpened rod was stuck into a victim, no matter where, releasing her power into the dacra killed them instantly. Kadar Kardeef didn't know she had no power. But even without her power behind it, the dacra was still a dangerous weapon that could be driven into a heart, or through a skull.

He wisely backed away. He wanted to die, yet he feared it.

"Why didn't you go to Jagang. He would not have let you become a beggar. Jagang was your friend. He would have taken care of you. You would not have to beg..

Kadar Kardeef laughed. "You'd have liked that, wouldn't you? To see me living off the scraps of Jagang's table? You would love to sit at his side, the Slave Queen, and have him see me fallen to this, to watch as you two tossed me your crumbs."

"Fallen to what? To see you wounded? You've both been wounded before."

He snatched her wrist again. "I died a hero to Jagang. I would not want him to know I begged like any of the weak fools we have crushed beneath our boots."

Nicci pressed her dacra against his belly, backing him off.

"Kill me, then, Nicci." He opened his arms. "Finish it, like you should have. You never left a job incomplete before. Strike me dead, like I should have been long ago."

Nicci smiled again. "Death is no punishment. Every day you live is a thousand deaths. But you know that, don't you, Kadar?"

"Was I that repulsive to you, Nicci? Was I that cruel to you?"

How could she tell him that he was, and how much she hated him having her as chattel for his amusement? It was for the good of all that the Order used men like Kadar Kardeef. How could she put herself, her own interests, above the good of mankind?

Nicci turned and rushed off down the alleyway.

"Thank you for the penny!" he called mockingly after her. "You should have granted my request! You should have, Nicci!"

Nicci wanted only to go-home and scrub the lice out of her hair. She could feel them burrowing into her scalp.



CHAPTER 64

Richard pulled away the fistful of straw. He brushed the fragments of grasses from his leather apron. His arms ached from the labor of rubbing the straw, lightly loaded with fine abrasive clays, against the stone.