A grimace twisted his face in his wild effort to reach her before she could dodge to the side, before she had a chance to escape.
She knew he was too close for her to have that chance and so she didn't waste any effort in a useless attempt.
This one had made it past the killing. He had avoided Jennsen and Sabar. He had figured his attack to skirt Richard's blade while making it past Cara's Agiel as she turned to another man. He hadn't charged in madly like the rest; he had delayed just enough to time his onslaught perfectly.
This one knew he was on the verge of having what he sought.
He was far less than a heartbeat away, plunging toward her at full speed.
Kahlan could hear Richard's scream even as her gaze met the gleam of the man's dark eyes.
The man let out a cry of rage as he lunged. His feet left the ground as he sailed through the air toward her. His wicked grin betrayed his confidence.
Kahlan could see his eyeteeth hooked over his cracked lower lip, saw the dark tooth in the front of the top row between his other yellow teeth, saw the little white hook of a scar, as if he had once been eating with a knife and had accidentally sliced the corner of his mouth. His stubble looked like wire. His left eye didn't open as wide as his right. His right ear had a big V-shaped notch taken out of the upper portion. It reminded her of the way some farmers marked their swine.
She could see her own reflection in his dark eyes as her right arm came up.
Kahlan wondered if he had a wife, a woman who cared for him, missed him, pined for him. She wondered if he might have children, and, if he did, what a man like this would teach his children. She had a momentary flash of the ugliness it would be to have this beast atop her, his wire stubble scraping her cheek raw, his cracked lips on hers, his yellow teeth raking her neck as he lost himself in what he wanted.
Time twisted.
She held out her arm. The man crashed in toward her. She felt the coarse weave of his dark brown shirt as the flat of her hand met the center of his chest.
That heartbeat of time she had before he was atop her had not yet begun. Richard had not yet managed to take a single frantic step.
The weight of the bear of a man against her hand felt as if it were but a baby's breath. To Kahlan, it seemed as if he were frozen in space before her.
Time was hers.
He was hers.
The rush of combat, the cries, the yells, the screams; the stink of sweat and blood; the flash of steel, the clash of bodies; the curses and growls; the fear, the terror, the heart-pounding dread… the rage… was no longer there for her. She was in a silent world all her own.
Even though she had been born with it and had always felt it there in the core of her being, the awesome power within, in many ways, seemed incomprehensible, inconceivable, unimaginable, remote. She knew it would seem that way until she let her restraint slip, and then she would once again be joined with a force of such breathtaking magnitude that it could only be fully comprehended as it was being experienced. Although she had unleashed it more times than she could remember, no matter how prepared she was the extraordinary violence of it always still astonished her.
She regarded the man before her with cold calculation, ready for that violence.
As he had charged in on her, time had belonged to this man.
Now time belonged to her.
She could feel the thread count of the fabric of his shirt, feel his woolly chest hairs beneath it.
The heart-pounding shock of the sudden attack, the violence of it, was gone now. Now there was only this man and her, forever linked by what was to happen. This man had consciously chosen his own fate when he chose to attack them. Her certainty of what was called for carried her beyond the need for the assessment of emotion, and she felt none-no joy, not even relief; no hate, not even aversion; no compassion, not even sorrow.
Kahlan shed those emotions to make way for the rush of power, to give it free run.
Now he had no chance.
He was hers.
The man's face was contorted with the intoxicated, gloating glee of his certitude that he was the glorious victor who would have her, that he was now the one to decide what was to become of her life, that she was but his to plunder.
Kahlan unleashed her power.
By her deliberate intent, the subordinate state of her birthright instantly altered into overpowering force able to alter the very nature of consciousness.
In the man's dark eyes had come the spark of suspicion that something which he could not comprehend had irrevocably begun. And then there came the lightning recognition that his life, as he had known it, was over.
Everything he wanted, thought about, worked toward, hoped for, prayed for, possessed, loved, hated… was ended.
In her eyes he saw no mercy, and that, more than anything, brought him stark terror.
Thunder without sound jolted the air.
In that instant, the violence of it was as pristine, as beautiful, as exquisite, as it was horrific.
