His heart leapt into his throat when he saw the face that matched the voice.

It was his mother.

Richard felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. His whole body went rigid. His rage flinched, and the anger dropped its grip from him, recoiling at the idea of lethal intent and his mother in the same mental image.

“Richard.” She smiled sadly at him, showing in that smile how much she loved and missed him.

His mind raced, trying to grasp what was happening, unable to fit what he was seeing with what he knew. This couldn’t be. It was simply impossible.

“Mother?” he breathed in a whisper.

Arms he knew, remembered, slipped around him, comforted him, brought tears to his eyes, a lump to his throat.

“Oh, Richard,” she said soothingly, “how I’ve missed you.” She ran her fingers through his hair, gentling him. “How I’ve missed you so.”

Reeling, he fought to regain control of his emotions. He struggled to focus his mind an Kahlan. He couldn’t let her down again, let himself be fooled again. She was in this trouble because he had allowed himself to be fooled. This wasn’t his mother, it was Shota, a witch woman. But what if he was somehow wrong?

“Richard, why have you come to me?”

Richard put his hands on her small shoulders, gently pushing her back a little. Her hands slipped to his waist, squeezing with familiar affection. She was not his mother, he forced himself to say in his mind, she was a witch woman, a witch woman who knew where the last box of Orden was, and he had to know the answer to that. But why would she be doing this? And what if he was wrong? Could this somehow be true?

His finger went to the little scar above her left eyebrow, tracing the familiar bump. A scar he had put there. He had been at swordplay with Michael, with their wooden swords, and had just jumped off the bed, taking a foolish and wild swing at his older brother, when his mother came through the door. His sword had caught her across the forehead. Her cry had terrified him.

Even the whipping his father had given him didn’t hurt as much as the thought of what he had done to his mother. His father had sent him to bed without supper, and that night, when it was dark, she had come to sit on the side of his bed, run her fingers through his hair as he cried. He had sat up and asked her if it hurt a lot. She had smiled at him and said…

“Not as much as it hurts you,” the woman in front of him whispered.

Richard’s eyes went wide—bumps ran up his arms. “How do you…”

“Richard,” came an even, cautioning voice from behind him, jolting him again. “Stand away from her.” It was Zedd’s voice.

His mother’s hand cupped the side of his face. He ignored it and turned his head, looking back up the road, to the top of the rise. It was Zedd, or at least he thought it was Zedd. It looked just like Zedd, but then, this looked just like his mother. Zedd was standing there, with a look he recognized, a look of cold danger, warning.

“Richard,” came Zedd’s voice again. “Do as I say. Stand away from her. Now.”

“Please, Richard,” his mother breathed, “don’t leave me. Don’t you know me?” Richard turned to her soft face.

“Yes. You are Shota.”

He took her wrists, pulled her hands from his waist, and stepped back from her. Near tears, she watched him move away.

Suddenly, she spun toward the wizard. Her hands snapped up. With an earsplitting crack, blue lightning erupted from her fingers, streaking toward Zedd, The wizard’s hands instantly brought up a shield, like glass, reflecting light in its gloss. The lightning from Shota hit it with a thunderous peal and glanced off, striking a huge oak, snapping its trunk in a shower of splinters. The tree crashed to earth. The ground shuddered.

Zedd’s hands were already up. Wizard’s fire shot from his curled fingers. It shrieked as it came, tumbling through the air with howling fury.

“No!” Richard screamed.

The ball of liquid flame harshly illuminated the shady area with intense blue and yellow light.

He couldn’t let this happen! Shota was the only way to find the box! The only way to stop Rahl!

The fire wailed as it expanded, heading right for Shota. She stood motionless.

“No!” Richard yanked the sword free and jumped in front of her. Gripping the hilt in one hand, the point in the other, with arms locked, he held it up horizontally in front of himself, as a shield.

The magic raced through him. Wrath took him. The fire was upon him. The roar filled his ears. He turned his face, closed his eyes, held his breath and gritted his teeth, fully expecting that he might die. But there was no choice. The witch woman was their only chance. He couldn’t let her be killed.

The impact staggered him back a step. He felt the heat. Even with his eyes tightly closed, he could see the light. The wizard’s fire wailed in rage as it struck the sword, exploding around him.

And then there was silence. He opened his eyes. The wizard’s fire was gone. Zedd wasted no time. Already he was throwing a handful of magic dust. It sparkled as it came. Richard saw something coming from behind him, magic dust from the witch woman. It shimmered like ice crystals, taking the sparkle from Zedd’s dust, and slammed into him.

Zedd stood frozen, unmoving, one hand in the air.

“Zedd!”

There was no reply. Richard spun to the witch woman. She was no longer his mother. Shota wore a wispy dress with variegated shades of gray across its gauzy surface, its folds and loose points floating in the light breeze. Her full, thick hair was a wavy auburn, her smooth skin flawless. Almond eyes shone up at him. She was as beautiful as the palace that stood behind her, the valley around her. She was so attractive, it almost took his breath away, and would have, were it not for the rage he was feeling.

“My hero,” she said in a voice that was no longer his mother’s, but silky, clear, easy. A sly smile came to her full lips. “Totally unnecessary, but it’s the thought that counts. I am impressed.”

“And who is this supposed to be? Another vision from my mind? Or is this the real Shota?” Richard was enraged. He recognized all too well the anger from the sword, but decided to keep the weapon out.

Her smile widened. “Are those clothes really you?” she teased. “Or are they something you wear for a time, to serve a purpose?’

“What’s the purpose of who you are now?”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Why, to please you, Richard. That’s all.”

“With some illusion!”

“No.” Her voice softened. “This is no illusion, it’s the way I appear to myself, most of the time anyway. This is real.”

Richard ignored her answer, pointing up the road with the sword. “What have you done to Zedd?”

She shrugged, looking away with a demure smile. “Merely prevented him from harming me. He is all right. For the moment anyway.” Almond eyes sparkled up from under her eyebrows. “I will kill him later, after you and I have talked.”

His grip on the sword tightened. “And Kahlan?”

Shota redirected her gaze to Kahlan, who stood still, pale, her mouth trembling, her eyes locked on Shota’s every move. Richard knew Kahlan feared this woman more than she feared the snakes. Shota frowned—then it melted back into her coy smile as she returned her gaze to him.

“She is a very dangerous woman.” Her eyes flashed with knowing that went well beyond the years she appeared to be.

“More dangerous than even she knows. I have to protect myself from her.” She shrugged again, deftly catching the corner of a floating wisp of her dress. When she did, the rest of the dress settled down, as if the breeze had died. “So I did that to keep her still. If she moves, they will bite her. If she doesn’t, they won’t,” Shota thought a moment. “I will kill her later, too.” Her voice seemed too gentle, too pleasant for the words she spoke.