The Mord-Sith finally withdrew her Agiel. Kahlan dropped, knees bent, as she hung in the collar and manacles. She gasped, trying to draw in a breath, unable to put weight on her legs. Her desperate, choking gasps were horrifying to hear. Blood mixed with saliva dripped in long strings from her chin.
The fact that she wasn’t unconscious from the poison inside, but rather from whatever occult powers Ludwig Dreier had used, was in a small way reassuring. But on the other hand, the poison had apparently weakened Kahlan more than him.
When she finally regained control, caught her breath, and managed to put some weight on her feet to take the pressure off the collar and manacles, Kahlan lifted her head to glare at the Mord-Sith.
“Erika.”
“Mistress Erika,” the Mord-Sith said with a smile. “You need to learn to address me properly.”
When Kahlan didn’t answer, Erika again rammed her Agiel into Kahlan’s midsection. Kahlan shook as she cried out in agony.
She slumped when Erika withdrew the weapon and hung for a time, gasping for air, her whole body trembling. It was longer the second time before she began to recover from the pain enough to draw a breath. Richard would have traded his life at that moment to be able to kill the Mord-Sith.
Ludwig Dreier lifted a hand to stay Erika from using her Agiel a third time.
“Well, Mother Confessor,” he said, stepping closer, “it looks like we have you back with us again.”
Kahlan spit out blood to the side and then glared at the man. “You do know, don’t you, Abbot, that I’m going to kill you?”
“Well, I do know that wizards keep their promises, but I don’t believe that the same certitude applies to the promises of Confessors.”
“In this case it does,” Kahlan said with venom. “You are already dead. You just don’t know it yet.”
“Yes, yes, threat given, fine. Consider me suitably terrified, if it makes you happy, but it’s late and as enjoyable as this is, I don’t feel like any more chitchat tonight.”
Ludwig lifted her chin to make her look into his eyes. Richard hoped that Kahlan had enough sense not to spit in his face. He knew that when she was angry she would do just about anything, and she was angry. Thankfully, she only glared.
“You and I have unfinished business,” he told her as he smiled in a way that sent a chill through Richard. “You see, I firmly believe that a Confessor will be able to bring forth remarkable prophecy, prophecy more important than even sorceresses, prophecy unlike any other living person would be able to give. I have never before had such an opportunity, but at last I do, and I intend to exploit it to the fullest possible extent. I have practiced my special craft for many years, for just such an occasion as you will provide.”
“‘Special craft’? That’s a pathetic excuse for torture. The simple truth is you get sick pleasure out of crippling and maiming people. Deep down inside you know that everyone thinks of you as nothing more than a sadistic pervert, so you try to justify it, give it a cause that you pretend is noble. But you are fooling no one. Everyone knows the truth.”
He lifted a hand, gesturing dismissively. “I admit, it’s true that I do find a … unique satisfaction in taking people to that place, where the pain is so intense that they can actually look over to the other side as they beg for release. It is then, through my special ability, that they are able to pull prophecy from the eternity of the underworld.
“Yes, I enjoy my calling, but who doesn’t enjoy being able to do well what they were born to do? Don’t you enjoy using your power as it was intended, Mother Confessor? Of course you do—I can see in your eyes how much you long to use it right now. How sad for you that you can’t call upon it any longer.
“So yes, I enjoy using my special abilities. I do love to watch less important people as they are on the cusp, quivering and trembling as the tears flow. You see, pain opens recognition, and agony begets redemption through prophecy.
“Over the years, I have learned that gifted people give the most noteworthy prophecy. I believe, however, that a Confessor may very well give the most remarkable prophecy yet, truly unique and useful prophecy. After I’ve finished with the sorceresses, of course. I want you to ‘marinate’ in terror, for a while, first.”
He patted the side of her face, the way a doting master might pat the head of a dog. “I do admit, I am going to enjoy immensely seeing the look on your husband’s face as I pull your intestines out and wind them on a stick while you scream and cry and shudder and shake. So you see, no excuse is needed. I simply do so much enjoy my work.