But fall away I did, primarily because I felt I was outgrowing the stories I was reading. I remember his work as being clever, and exciting it’s own way, but increasingly I found myself wanting something more, something outside of what I perceived to be a fairly limited palette.
Anthony’s output is enormous. Indeed, that same Wikipedia page I looked at says that Anthony claims that “one of his greatest achievements has been to publish a book beginning with every letter of the alphabet, from Anthonology to Zombie Lover.” And that’s kind of my point. Somewhere along that journey I began to feel that quantity was more important to the author than quality, and that in order to achieve his goals, it was necessary to stick to similar stories over and over again -- stories with simple protagonists that found themselves constantly in awkward situations (usually including their nudity and the nudity of others), and all of them finding just-so escape hatches that stretched my credulity.
But I still have fond memories. And so every once and a while I find myself in a used book store looking over the fantasy novels, hoping that I can find something in that genre that challenges my grown-up brain the way Anthony initially challenged my teenage brain.
It was with this hope that I picked up Wizard’s First Rule by Terry Goodkind. I knew nothing about it, but couldn’t help but notice the plug from none other than Piers Anthony on its paperback cover:
“A phenomenal fantasy, endlessly inventive, that surely marks the commencement of one of the major careers in the genre.” --Piers Anthony
Okay, I thought. Let’s give it a try.
For 640 pages it was a fairly lackluster fantasy adventure story. You know. The one where the hero is of humble origins, who gets swept up onto a magical journey with some mysterious strangers, and who discovers that he has latent powers that are just the thing needed to vanquish some evil tyrant. Yeah. That one. But then, on the bottom of page 641, this happens:
The pain of the sword’s magic hit him like a waterfall of icy water on naked flesh. The blade never reached her. The sword clattered to the ground as the pain took him to his knees, ripping through him, doubling him over.
Hand still on her hip, smile still on her face, she stood over him, watching as he clutched his arms across his abdomen, vomiting blood, choking on it. Fire burned through every inch of him. The pain of the magic consumed him, took his breath from his lungs. Desperately, he tried to get a grip on the magic, tried to put away the pain as he had learned to do before. It did not respond to his will. With rising panic, he realized he no longer had control of it.
She did.
He is Richard Cypher, our hero, the one of humble origins, now come to understand that he is something called the Seeker, a long-foretold conqueror of evil, with magical powers over a magical sword, which must be used sparingly because of the pain it inflicts on its user, but which can absolutely destroy Darken Rahl, the evil tyrant taking over the land.
And she is Mistress Denna, a sadistic sorceress known as a Mord-Sith, sent by the evil tyrant to capture the Seeker and to bend him to her will.
He collapsed to his face in the dirt, trying to scream, to breathe, but couldn’t. He thought about Kahlan for an instant; then the pain took even that from him.
Kahlan is the woman he loves; also a sorceress of sorts, something called a Mother Confessor, who also has the power to end the evil, and who Richard thinks he needs to protect at all costs.
Not one of the men moved from the circle. The woman put a boot on the back of his neck and an elbow on her knee as she leaned over. With her other hand she grabbed a fistful of his hair and lifted his head. She leaned closer, the leather creaking.
Yes, Mistress Denna is dressed in leather. As described earlier: “She was sheathed in leather from neck to ground, cut to fit like a glove. Blood-red leather.”
“My, my,” she hissed. “And here I thought I was going to have to torture you for days and days before I finally made you angry enough to use your magic against me. Well, not to worry, I have other reasons to torture you.”
Through his pain, Richard realized he had made a fearful mistake. He had somehow given her the control of the sword’s magic. He knew he was in more trouble than he had ever been in in his life. Kahlan was safe, he told himself; that was all that mattered.
“Do you want the pain to stop, my pet?”
The question enraged him. His anger at her, his want to kill her, twisted the pain tighter. “No,” he managed with all of his strength.
She shrugged, dropping his head. “Fine by me. But when you decide you want the pain of the magic to stop, all you have to do is stop thinking those nasty thoughts about me. From now on, I control the magic of your sword. If you so much as think of lifting a finger against me, the pain of the magic will take you down.” She smiled. “That is the only pain you will have any control over. Just think something pleasant about me, and it will stop.
“Of course, I too will have control over the pain of the magic, and can bring it to you any time I choose, and I can bring you other pain too, as you will learn.” She frowned. “Tell me, my pet, did you try to use the magic on me because you are a fool, or because you fancy yourself brave?”
The pain let up the smallest bit. He gasped for air. She had relaxed it just enough to allow him to answer.
“Who … are … you?”
She took a fistful of his hair again, lifted his head, twisted it around to look into his eyes. As she leaned over, the boot on his neck sent a shard of pain through his shoulders. He couldn’t move his arms. Her face was wrinkled in a frown of curiosity.
“You don’t know who I am? Everyone in the Midlands knows me.”
“I’m … Westland.”
Her eyebrows lifted in delight. “Westland! My, my. How delicious. This is going to be fun.” Her smile widened. “I am Denna. Mistress Denna to you, my pet. I am a Mord-Sith.”
“I’ll not … tell you … where Kahlan is. You might as well … kill me … now.”
“Who? Kahlan?”
“The … Mother Confessor.”
“Mother Confessor,” she said with distaste. “Why in the world would I want a Confessor? It is you, Richard Cypher, that Master Rahl sent me for, no one else. One of your friends has betrayed you to him.” She twisted his head up harder, pushed her boot down harder. “And now I have you. I had thought it might be difficult, but you hardly made it any fun at all. I’m to be in charge of your training. But then you wouldn’t know about that, since you are from the Westland. You see, a Mord-Sith always wears red when she’s to train someone. That’s so your blood won’t show so much. I have a wonderful feeling I’m going to have a lot of your blood on me before I have you trained.”
She dropped his head, and leaned her full weight on her boot, holding her hand out in front of his face. He could see that the back of her gloved hand was armored, even the fingers. A blood red leather rod, about a foot long, hung loosely from her wrist by an elegant gold chain. It swung back and forth in front of his eyes. “This is the Agiel. This is part of what I will use to train you.” She gave him a smooth smile, arching an eyebrow. “Curious? Want to see how it works?”
Denna pressed the Agiel against his side. The shock of the pain made him cry out, even though he had had no intention of giving her the satisfaction of seeing how much it hurt. Every muscle in his body locked rigid with the agony of the thing against his side. His mind was filled with the want of having it off him. Denna pushed the slightest bit harder, making him scream louder. He heard a pop, and felt a rib crack.
She took the Agiel away; warm blood oozed down his side. Richard was covered in sweat as he lay in the dirt, panting, tears running from his eyes. He felt as if the pain were pulling every muscle in his body apart. There was dirt in his mouth, and blood.
Denna gave him a cruel sneer. “Now, my pet, say ‘Thank you, Mistress Denna, for teaching me.’” Her face came closer. “Say it.”
With all his mental strength, Richard focused his hunger to kill her, and envisioned the sword exploding through her head. “Die, bitch.”
Denna shuddered and half closed her eyes, running her tongue over her lip in ecstasy. “Oh, that was a deliciously naughty vision, my pet. Of course, you will learn to be seriously sorry you did it. Training you is going to be exquisite fun. Too bad you don’t know what a Mord-Sith is. If you did, you would be very afraid. I would enjoy that.” Her smile showed her perfect teeth. “But I think I’m going to delight in surprising you even more.”
Richard maintained the vision of killing her until he was unconscious.
Okay. I quoted that at length because of how far out of left field it seemed to come in the novel. And because of what follows it -- about sixty pages in which Richard is straight-up tortured and abused and turned into a docile slave for Mistress Denna and her master Darken Rahl. He is re-programmed, as any mortal would be, by the pain and the brain washing, the whole thing dressed in the sexual themes one would expect in a trashy BDSM novel. In the end, he is the Gimp, living in chains, and taken out only when Denna or Rahl want to use him.
Except -- not really. Because, of course, Richard is our hero, and he can’t end up that way. So he manages to escape (with his sword) and shortly encounters -- wait for it, a talking dragon, also in the service of Darken Rahl, who decides to eat him.
“Speak,” the dragon snorted. “But make it short.”
“I’m from Westland. I’ve never seen a dragon before. I always thought they would be fearsome creatures, and I must admit, you certainly are fearsome, but there is one thing I wasn’t prepared for.”
“And what would that be?”
“You are, without a doubt, the most stunningly beautiful creature I have ever seen.”
It was the truth. Despite the deadly nature of it, it was strikingly beautiful. The neck of the dragon made itself into an S shape as it pulled its head back, blinking in surprise. The eyes frowned a little, doubting.
“It’s true,” Richard said. “I’m to be eaten. I have no reason to lie. You are beautiful. I never thought I would see anything as magnificent as you. Do you have a name?”
“Scarlet.”
Of course. Because, you know, it’s a red dragon, and what else would a red dragon name itself?
“Scarlet. What a lovely name. Are all red dragons as stunning as you, or are you special?”
Scarlet put a claw to her breast. “That would not be for me to say.” The head snaked its way toward him again. “I have never had a man I was about to eat tell me such a thing.”
An idea began forming in Richard’s mind. He put the sword back in its scabbard. “Scarlet, I know a creature as proud as you would not be at the beck of anyone, much less one as demanding as Darken Rahl, unless there was terrible need. You are too beautiful and noble a creature of that.”
Scarlet’s head floated closer. “Why would you say such things to me?”
“Because I believe in the truth. I think you do too.”
“What is your name?”
“Richard Cypher. I am the Seeker.”
Scarlet put a black-tipped talon to her teeth. “Seeker.” She frowned. “I don’t believe I’ve ever eaten a Seeker before.” A strange, dragon’s smile crossed her lips. “It will be a treat. Our talk is over, Richard Cypher. Thank you for the compliment.” The head floated closer, the lips pulling back in a snarl.
“Darken Rahl stole your egg, didn’t he?”
Scarlet pulled back. She blinked at him, then threw her head back, jaws wide. An earsplitting roar made the scales on her throat vibrate. Fire shot skyward in a booming blast. The sound echoed off the cliff walls, causing little rock slides.
Scarlet’s head whipped back to him, smoke rising from the nostrils. “What do you know about that!”
“I know that a proud creature such as you would not subject herself to such demeaning duties, except for one reason. To protect something important. Like her young.”
“So you know. That will not save you,” she snarled.
“I also know where Darken Rahl is keeping your egg.”
“Where!” Richard had to dive to the side to avoid the flames. “Tell me where it is!”
“I thought you wanted to eat me now.”
One eye came close. “Someone should teach you not to be flippant,” she rumbled.
“Sorry, Scarlet. It’s a bad habit that has brought me to grief in the past. Look, if I help you get your egg back, then Rahl would have no hold on you. If I could do that, would it be worth helping me?”
“Helping me how?”
“Well, you fly Rahl around. That’s what I need. I need you to fly me around for a few days, help me look for some friends of mine, so I can protect them from Rahl. I need to be able to cover a lot of ground, search a lot of area. I think if I could do it from the sky, like a bird, I could find them, and have enough time to stop Rahl.”
“I don’t like flying men about. It’s humiliating.”
“Six days from now, it will all be over, one way or another. If you help me, that’s all I would need. After that, it won’t matter, one way or the other. How long will you have to serve Rahl if you don’t help me?”
“All right. Tell me where my egg is, and I will let you go. Let you live.”
“How would you know I was telling the truth? I could just invent a place, to save myself.”
“Like dragons, real Seekers have honor. That much I know. So, if you really know, tell me and I will free you.”
“No.”
“No!” Scarlet roared. “What do you mean ‘No’?”
“I don’t care about my life. Just as you, I care about things more important. If you want me to help you get your egg back, then you will have to agree to help me save the ones I care about. We will get the egg first, then you help me. I think it more than a fair trade. The life of your offspring, in exchange for flying me about for a few days.”
Scarlet’s piercing yellow eye came close to his face; her ears swiveled forward. “And how do you know that once I have my egg, I will keep my end of the bargain?”
“Because,” Richard whispered, “you know what it is like to fear for the safety of another, and you have honor. I have no choice. I don’t know any other way to save my friends from living the rest of their lives as you are living now -- under the heel of Darken Rahl. I will be putting my life at great risk to save your egg. I believe you to be a creature of honor. I will trust your word, with my life.”
Scarlet gave a snort, backing away a little, peering at him. She folded her huge wings against herself. Her tail swished about, knocking stones and a few small boulders skidding across the ground. Richard waited. One arm came forward; a single black-tipped talon, thick as his leg, sharp as his sword point, hooked through the sword’s baldric, and gave a snug pull. Her head came close.
“Bargain struck. On your honor, on mine,” Scarlet hissed. “But I have not given my word I will not eat you at the end of the six days.”
“If you help me save my friends, and stop Rahl, I don’t care what you do to me after that.” Scarlet snorted. “Are short-tailed gars a threat to dragons?”
The dragon unhooked her talon from him, “Gars.” She spat the name. “I have eaten enough of them. They are no match for me, not unless there were eight or ten together, but gars don’t like to gather together in numbers, so that’s not a problem.”
“It’s a problem now. When I saw your egg, there were dozens of gars around it.”
Scarlet gave a grunt, and tongues of flame licked out between her teeth. “Dozens. That many could pull me from the sky. Especially if I were carrying my egg.”
Richard smiled. “That’s why you need me. I will think of a plan.”
I quoted this section at length, too, hopefully to prove a point. As I read the previous section describing Richard’s training at the hands of Mistress Denna and her Agiel, and kept thinking about how this -- if true and treated with the seriousness that it would in reality have -- would be a mind and character-altering experience for our fantasy adventure hero. Richard Cypher was being subjected to one of the most traumatic and self-erasing experiences that a human can endure, and that there is no conceivable way that he would ever be able to return to the scrappy and confident hero that this story would demand.
And yet, literally in the next major scene after his escape from the soul-destroying forces of torture and madness, we find ourselves back in the just-so hijinks that are such a staple of the genre that I found increasingly tedious as a maturing teenager. Richard has never even met a dragon before, but, with all his identity and confidence just tortured out of him, he is still able to hoodwink the beast with simpering flattery, and then bend her to his will through a combination of extortion and appeals to her honor.
In the end, the novel was too much like this for my taste. The evil characters are oddly evil: not just in the typical all-consuming-power kind of way, but in a darkly sadistic sexual kind of way, some preferring to groom and rape children in order to satiate their wicked compulsions. And this is placed amidst the fantasy adventure tropes of dragons, wizards, and magic, both as if it belonged there, and with no lasting impact on any of the victims it creates.
It’s schizophrenic -- and I just couldn’t wrap my mind around it.
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This post first appeared on Eric Lanke's blog, an association executive and author. You can follow him on Twitter @ericlanke or contact him at eric.lanke@gmail.com.
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