Demmin bowed his head. "Thank you, Master Rahl, for the honor of serving you." the big man left through a backdoor as Rahl went out the one into the garden. The guards stayed in the small, hot, forge room.
Picking up the feeding horn, Rahl went over to the boy. The feeding horn was a long brass tube, small at the mouthpiece, large at the other end. The big end was held up to shoulder height by two legs, so the gruel would slide down. Rahl set it down so the mouthpiece was in front of Carl
"What's this thing?" Carl asked, squinting up at it. "A horn?" "Yes, that's right. Very good, Carl. It's a feeding horn. It's a part of the ceremony you will be in. The other young men who have helped the people in the past have thought it a most fun way to eat. You put your mouth over the end there, and I serve you by pouring the food in the top."
Carl was skeptical. "Really?"
"Yes." Rahl smiled reassuringly. "And guess what, I got you a fresh blueberry pie, still warm out of the oven."
Carl's eyes lit up. "Great!" He eagerly put his mouth over the end of the horn.
Rahl passed his hand in a circle over the bowl three times to change the taste, then looked down at Carl. "I had to mash it up so it will go through the feeding horn, I hope that's all right."
"I always mash it up with my fork," Carl said with a grin, then put his mouth back over the horn.
Rahl poured a little gruel into the end of the horn. When it reached Carl's mouth, he ate it eagerly.
"It's great! The best I ever had!"
"I'm so pleased," Rahl said with a shy smile. "It's my own recipe. I feared it wouldn't be as good as your mother's."
"It's better. Can I have more?"
"Of course, my son. With Father Rahl, there is always more."
CHAPTER 21
WEARILY, RICHARD SEARCHED THE ground where the trail resumed at the end of the slide, his hopes fading. Dark clouds scudded low overhead, occasionally bringing a few fat drops of cold rain to splatter on the back of his head as he hunted. It had occurred to him that maybe Kahlan had made it through the Narrows, that she had only become separated for him, and had continued on. She was wearing the bone Adie had given her, and it should have kept her safe. She should have been able to make it through. But he was wearing the tooth, and Adie had said he couldn't be seen either, yet the shadows had come from them anyway. It seemed odd; the shadows hadn't moved until it was dark, at the split rock. Why didn't they come for them before?
There were no tracks. Nothing had been through the Narrows for a long time. Fatigue and despair enveloped him again as fits of icy wind flapped his forest cloak around him, seeming to urge him on, away from the Narrows. All hope gone, he turned once more to the path, toward the Midlands.
He had taken only a few steps when a thought brought him to a sudden halt
If Kahlan had become separated from him, if she thought the underworld had taken him, if she thought she had lost him and was alone; would she have continued on, to the Midlands? Alone?
No.
He turned to the Narrows. No. She would have gone back. Back to the wizard.
It would be no use for her to go to the Midlands alone. She needed help, that's why she had come to Westland in the first place. Without the Seeker, the only help was the wizard.
Richard dared not put too much faith in the thought, but it wasn't that far back to the place where he had fought the shadows, where he had lost her. He couldn't go on without checking, without knowing for sure. Fatigue forgotten, he plunged back into the Narrows.
Green light welcomed his return. Following his tracks back, in a short time he found the place where he had fought the shadows. His footprints wandered all about in the mud of the slide, telling the tale of his battle. He was surprised at how much ground he had covered in the fight. He didn't remember all the circling, the back and forth. But then he didn't remember much of the fight, until the last part.
With a jolt of recognition, he saw what he was looking for. The tracks of the two of them, together, then hers, alone. His heart pounded as he followed them, hoping so hard it hurt, that they wouldn't lead into the wall. Squatting, he inspected them, touched them. Her tracks wandered about a while, seemingly confused, and then they stopped, and turned. Where their pair of tracks led in from the other way, one set of tracks lead back.
Kahlan's.
Richard stood in a rush, his breathing rapid, his pulse racing. The green light glowed irritatingly about him. He wondered how far she could have gone. It had taken them most of the night to laboriously cross the Narrows. But they hadn't known where the trail was. He looked down at the footprints in the mud. He did now.
He would have to go fast; he couldn't be timid in following the way back. A memory of something Zedd had told him when the old man had given him the sword came into his mind. The strength of rage, the wizard had said, gives you the heedless drive to prevail.
The clear metallic ringing filled the dim morning air as the Seeker drew his sword. Anger flooded through him. Without a second thought, Richard dashed down the trail, following the tracks. The pressure of the wall buffeted him as he jogged through the cool mist. When the tracks turned, switching back and forth; he didn't slow, but set his feet to one side or the other to throw his weight the other way down the path.
Keeping a steady, sustainable pace, he was able to traverse the span of the Narrows before midmorning. Twice, he had come across a shadow floating in place on the path. They didn't move or seem to be aware of him. Richard charged through, sword first. Even without faces, they had seemed surprised as they howled apart.
Without slowing he went through the split rock, kicking a gripper out of the way. On the other side he stopped to catch his breath. He was overwhelmed with relief that her footprints went all the way. Now, back on the forest trail, her tracks would be harder to see, but it didn't matter. He knew where she was going, and he knew she was safely through the Narrows. He felt like crying with joy in the knowledge that Kahlan was alive.
He knew he was getting closer to her; the mist hadn't yet had time to soften the sharp edges of her footprints, the way it had when he had first found them. When it had gotten light, she must have followed their tracks instead of using the walls to show the way, or else he would have caught her long before now. Good girl, he thought, using your head. He would make a woods woman of her yet.
Richard trotted off down the trail, keeping the sword-and his anger-out. He didn't waste time to stop and look for signs of her trail, but whenever there was a soft or muddy patch, he looked down, checking, as he slowed a little. After running over an area of mossy ground, he came to a small bare patch with footprints. He gave a cursory glance as he went by. Something he saw made him stop so suddenly that he fell. On his hands and knees, he peered down at the prints. His eyes widened.
Overlapping part of her footprint was a man's boot print, nearly three times as large as hers. He knew without a doubt who it belonged to: the last man of the quad.
Rage brought him to his feet scrambling into a dead run. Branches and rock flashed by in a blur. His only concern was to stay on the trail and avoid accidentally running into the boundary, not out of fear for himself, but because he knew he couldn't help Kahlan if he got himself killed. His lungs burned for air as his chest heaved with exertion. The anger of the magic made him ignore his exhaustion, his lack of sleep.
Clambering to the top of a small jut of rock, he saw her at the bottom of the other side. For an instant, he froze. Kahlan stood on the left, feet apart, in a half crouch, a rock wall at her back. The last man of the quad stood in front of her, to Richard's right. Panic slashed through his anger. The man's leather uniform glistened in the wet. The hood of his chain-mail shirt covered his head of blond hair. His sword rose in his massive fists, and muscles stood out in knots along his arms. He howled a battle cry.