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boundary had sealed it away since before he was born.
    The Midlands was a land of magic.

CHAPTER 3

    Michael’s house was a massive structure of white stone, set back quite a distance from the road. Slate roofs in a variety of angles and rakes came together in complicated junctures topped with a leaded-glass peak that let light into the central hall. The walkway to the house was shaded from the bright afternoon sun by towering white oaks as it passed through sweeping stretches of lawn before coming to formal gardens laid in symmetrical patterns to each side. The gardens were in full bloom. Since it was so late in the year, Richard knew the flowers had to have been raised in greenhouses just for the occasion.
    People in fine clothes strolled the lawns and gardens, making Richard feel suddenly out of place. He knew he must look a mess in his dirty, sweat-stained forest garb, but he hadn’t wanted to waste the time going out of his way to his house to get cleaned up. Besides, he was in a dark mood and didn’t much care how he looked. He had more important things on his mind.
    Kahlan, on the other hand, didn’t look so out of place. The unusual but striking dress she wore belied the fact that she, too, had just walked out of the woods. Considering how much blood there had been up on Blunt Cliff, he was surprised that she didn’t have any on her. She had somehow managed to stay clear while the men killed each other.
    When she had seen how upset he had become when she had told him she had come through the boundary from the Midlands, she had fallen silent on the subject. Richard needed time to think about it, and hadn’t pressed. Instead she asked him about Westland, what the people were like and where he lived. He told her about his house in the woods, how he liked living away from town, and that he was a guide for travelers through the Hartland Woods on their way to or from the town itself.
    “Does your house have a fireplace?” she had asked.
    “It does.”
    “Do you use it?”
    “Yes, I cook on it all the time,” he had told her. “Why?”
    She had merely shrugged as she looked off to the countryside. “I just miss sitting in front of a fire, that’s all.”
    As unsettling as the day’s events had been, on top of his grief, it felt good to have someone to talk to, even if she did dance around her secrets.
    “Invitation, sir?” someone called in a deep voice from the shade beside the entry.
    Invitation? Richard spun around to see who had addressed him and was met by a mischievous grin. Richard broke into a grin of his own. It was his friend Chase. He clasped hands with the boundary warden in a warm greeting.
    Chase was a big man, clean-shaven, with a head of light brown hair that showed no sign of receding but instead gave way to age by going gray at the sides. Heavy brows shaded intense brown eyes that stole slowly about, even as he talked, and saw everything. This habit often gave people the impression—a seriously mistaken impression—that he wasn’t paying attention. Despite his size Richard knew him to be frighteningly quick when there was need. Chase wore a brace of knives to one side of his belt, and a six-bladed battle mace to the other. The hilt of a short sword stood above his right shoulder, and a crossbow with a full complement of barbed, steel-tipped bolts hung from a leather strap on his left.
    Richard lifted an eyebrow. “Looks like you plan on getting your share of the food.”
    The grin left Chase’s face. “Not here as a guest.” His gaze settled on Kahlan.
    Richard felt the awkwardness. He took Kahlan’s arm and drew her forward. She came easily, unafraid.
    “Chase, this is my friend, Kahlan.” He gave her a smile. “This is Dell Brandstone. Everyone calls him Chase. He’s an old friend of mine. We’re safe with him.” He turned back to Chase. “You can trust her, too.”
    She looked at the big man and gave him a smile and nod of acknowledgment.
    Chase nodded once to her, the