Wizards First Rule   ::   Goodkind Terry

When they gained the top of the plateau, they were confronted by a huge wall stretching off to either side. The battlements at the top were alive with men. Kahlan didn't pause, but marched toward the gate. Straining with the weight, two guards pushed the immense doors back as she approached. She didn't lose a step as she went through the opening in the wall.

Chase glared at the captain of the guards. "You let anyone in?"

The captain gave a surprised stare. "She is expected. By Master Rahl." Chase grunted and followed after. "So much for our sneaking up on him."

"One does not sneak up on a wizard of Rahl's talents."

Chase grabbed Zedd's arm. "Wizard! Rahl is a wizard?"

Zedd frowned at him. "Of course. How do you suppose he is able to command magic the way he does? He is descended from a long line of, wizards."

Chase seemed annoyed. "I thought wizards were only supposed to help people, not rule them."

Zedd let out a deep breath. "Before some of us decided to no longer interfere with the affairs of man, wizards used to rule. There was a rift-the wizard wars, as they were known. A few on their side survived, and continued to follow the old ways, continued to take power for themselves, continued to rule people. Darken Rahl is a direct descendant of that line-the house of Rahl. He was born with the gift; not all are. But he uses it only for himself; he is a person who does not bear the burden of conscience."

Chase fell silent as they ascended a hillside of steps, passing into the shade between fluted columns, and through an opening surrounded by carved stone vines and leaves. They entered the halls. Chase's head swiveled about, astonished by the size, the beauty, the sheer overwhelming volume of polished stone about them. Kahlan walked down the center of the vast hall, seeing none of it, the folds of her dress flowing fluidly behind her, the soft sound of her boots on the stone whispering into the cavernous distance.

People dressed in white robes strolled the halls. A few sat on marble benches, and others knelt at squares with a stone and bell, meditating. All wore the same perpetual smile of the divinely deluded, the peaceful countenance of those self-assured in their fantasy of certainty and understanding. Truth was only a shifting fog to them, to be burned off by the light of their convoluted reasoning. Followers, disciples, of Darken Rahl, one and all. Most paid the three no attention, giving them no more than a vacant nod.

Zedd caught a glimpse of two Mord-Sith, proud in their red leather, sauntering up a side hall toward them.