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was her prisoner, but in the end he decided that it could serve no purpose.
Nicci had made it clear to him that he was Richard Cypher, her husband, and
she was Nicci Cypher, his wife. She had told him to stick to that story-for
Kahlan's sake.
"She's just generous," Richard said. "That's why I married her. She's
good to people."
Richard heard a woman's cry, and shouting. He bolted for the partly
open door and ran out into the bright morning sunlight. He didn't see
anyone. He raced around to the side of the barn, to where he heard
scuffling.
A half dozen men had Nicci down on the ground, some swinging at her
with their fists as she tried to fend them off with her bare hands. Others
pawed at her, searching for a money pouch. They were fighting over the
unearned before it was even out of her hands. A crowd of women, children,
and other men stood around the scene in a circle, vultures waiting to pick
the bones.
Richard crashed through the ring of people, seized the closest man by
the back of his collar, and heaved him back. He was skinny, and flew through
the air, crashing into the wall of the barn. The whole building shook.
Richard kicked another in the ribs, tumbling him off Nicci and through the
dirt. A third man spun and took a mighty swing at Richard. Richard caught
the fist and bent it down until he felt a snap as the man cried out. At
that, the men all scattered in every direction.
Richard started after one of them, but Nicci suddenly flew at him,
restraining him.
"Richard! No!"
In his rage to get at the men, Richard nearly smashed her face, but,
when he realized it was her, lowered his fists to his sides as he glared at
the crowd.
"Please,, my lord, please, my lady;" one of the women wailed, "have
mercy on us woeful folk. We's just the Creator's miserable wretches. Have
mercy on us."
"You're a bunch of thieves!" Richard yelled. "Thieving from someone who
was trying to help you!"
He made an effort to go after the lot of them, but Nicci held his
wrists down. "Richard, no!"
The people vanished like mice before a hissing cat.
Nicci let Richard's fists drop. He saw then that she had blood on her
mouth.
"What's the matter with you? Giving money to people who would rather
rob you than wait for you to hand it to them willingly? Why would you give
money to such vermin?"
"That's enough. I'll not stand here and listen to you insult the
Creator's chil-
dren. Who are you to judge? Who are you, with a full belly, to say
what's right? You have no idea what those poor people have been through, and
yet you are quick to judge."
Richard took a purging breath. He reminded himself yet again of what he
had to keep uppermost in his mind. It was not really Nicci he had been
protecting.
He pulled a shirtsleeve from the corner of his pack, wet it with water
from a waterskin hanging around his waist, and carefully wiped her bloody
mouth and chin. She winced as he worked but without protest let him inspect
her injury.
"It's not bad," he told her. "Just a cut in the corner of your mouth.
Hold still, now."
She stood quietly as he held her head in one hand while he cleaned the
blood off the rest of her face with the other.
"Thank you, Richard." She hesitated. "I was sure one of them was going
to cut my throat."
"Why didn't you use your Han to protect yourself?"
"Have you forgotten? To do that, I would have to take power from the
link keeping Kahlan alive."
He looked into her blue eyes. "I guess I forgot. In that case, thank
you for restraining yourself."
Nicci said nothing as they walked out of the town of Ripply, carrying
everything they owned on their backs. As cold as the day was, it wasn't long
before his brow was dotted with sweat.
Finally he could stand it no longer. "Do you mind telling me what that
was all about?"
Her brow twitched. "Those people were needy."
Richard pinched the bridge of his nose, pausing in an effort to remain
civil to her. "And so you gave them all our money?"
"Are you so selfish that you would not share what you have? Are you so
selfish that you would ask the hungry to starve, the unclothed to freeze,
the sick to die? Does money mean more to you than people's lives?"
Richard bit the inside of his cheek to check his temper. "And the
horses? You virtually gave them away."
"It was all we could get. Those people were in need. Under the
circumstances, it was the best we could do. We acted with the most noble of
intentions. It was our duty to not be selfish and to joyfully give these
people what they needed."
There was no road going their way as they walked on into what had not
long ago
been the wasteland from which no one returned. -
"We needed what we had," he said.
Nicci glanced up into his eyes. "There are things you need to learn,
Richard."
"Is that right."
"You have been lucky in life. You have had opportunities ordinary
people never have. I want you to see how ordinary people must live, how they
must struggle just to survive. When you live like them, you will understand
why the Order is so necessary, why the Order is the only hope for mankind.
"When we get to where we're going, we will have nothing. We will be
just like all the other miserable people of this wretched world-with little
chance to make it on our own. You don't have any idea what that's like. I
want you to learn how the compassion of the Order helps ordinary people live
with the dignity they are entitled to."
Richard returned his gaze to the empty land stretching out before them.
A Sister of the Dark who couldn't use her power, and a wizard who was
forbidden from using his. He guessed they couldn't get any more ordinary
than that. "I thought it was you who wanted to learn," he said. "I am also
your teacher. Teachers sometimes learn more than their students."
Zedd lifted his head when he heard the distant horns. He struggled to
regain his senses. He was well past dread, into a world of little more than
numb awareness. The horns were those meant to signal the approach of
friendly forces. Probably some of the scouting patrols, or perhaps yet more
wounded being brought in.
Zedd realized he was slumped on the ground, his legs sprawled out to
the side. He saw that he had been sleeping with his head on the burly chest
of a cold corpse. In despair, he recalled that he had been trying everything
he knew to heal the horribly wounded man. In mournful revulsion, he pushed
away from the cold body and sat up.
He rubbed his eyes against the darkness from within, as well as the
night. He was beyond aching. Acrid smoke hung thick as fog. The air reeked
with the heavy, throat-clenching stink of blood. From various places around
him, he could see the drifting haze illuminated around glowing orange fists
of firelight. The moans of the wounded lifted from the blood-soaked ground
to drift through the frigid night air. In the distance, men cried out in
pain. When Zedd wiped a hand across his brow, he realized he wore gloves of
crusted blood from those he had been trying to heal. It was an endless task.
Not far away, the ground was littered with shattered tree trunks,
blasted asunder by the enemy gifted. Men lay sprawled, torn apart or impaled
by huge splintered sections of those trees. It had been two of Jagang's
Sisters who had done it, just before dark, as the D'Haran forces were all
collecting into the valley, thinking the battle had ended. Zedd and Warren
had ended it by taking those two Sisters down with wizard's fire.
By the dull ache in his head, Zedd knew he hadn't been asleep for more
than a couple of hours, at most. It had to be the middle of the night.
People passing by had let him sleep-or maybe they thought him one of the
dead.
The first day had gone as well as could be expected. The battle had
dragged on sporadically throughout the first night with relatively minor
skirmishes, and then had erupted with full force at dawn of the second day.
As night had fallen on the second day, the fighting had finally ended.
Looking around, Zedd thought it seemed to be over-at least for the time
being.
They had made the valley and succeeded in drawing the Order after them,
away from other gateways up into the Midlands, but at a terrible price. They
had little choice, if they were to engage the enemy with any chance of
success, rather than allow them unhindered access into the Midlands. For the
moment, anyway, the Order was stalled. Zedd didn't know how long that would
last.
Unfortunately, the Order had gotten the better of the battle, by far.
Zedd peered about. It was not so much a camp as simply a place where
everyone
had dropped in exhaustion. Here and there, arrows and spears stuck up
from the ground. They had fallen like rain as Zedd had worked throughout the
night, the night before, trying to heal wounded soldiers. During the day, in
the battles, he had unleashed everything he had. What had started out as
skillful, calculated, focused use of his ability had in the end degenerated
into the magic equivalent of a brawl.
Zedd staggered to his feet, worried about the distant thunder of
horses. Horns closer into camp repeated the warning to hold arrows and
spears, that it was friendly forces. It sounded like too many horses for any
patrol they had out. In the back of his mind, Zedd tried to recall if he
felt the twinge of magic that would tell him the horns were genuine. In the
fog of fatigue, he had forgotten to pay attention. That was how people ended
up dead, he knew-inattention to such details.
Men were rushing all about, carrying supplies, water, and linen for
bandages, or messages and reports: Here and there Zedd saw a Sister working
at healing. Other men struggled with repairs to wagons and gear in case they
had to depart in a hurry. Some men sat staring at nothing. A few wandered as
if in a daze.
It was difficult to see in the poor light, but Zedd was able to see
well enough to tell that the ground was littered with the dead, the wounded,
or the simply spent. Fires, both the common orange and yellow flames of
burning wagons and the unnatural green blazes that were the remnants of
magic, were left to burn out on their own. Horses as well as men lay
everywhere, still and lifeless, torn open by ghastly wounds. The
battlefields changed, but battle didn't. Now was a time of helpless shock.
He remembered from his youth the stench of blood and death mingled with
greasy smoke. It was still the same. He remembered in battles past thinking
the world had gone mad. It still felt the same.
The rumble of horses was getting closer. He could hear quite a
commotion, but he couldn't tell what sort of ruckus it was. Off to his
right, he spotted a stooped woman shuffling toward him. He recognized Adie's
familiar limp. A woman more distant, catching up to Adie from behind, was
probably Verna. A little farther off, Zedd saw Captain Meiffert being
lectured to by General Leiden. Both men turned to look toward the clatter of
hooves.
Zedd squinted into the murk and saw in the distance soldiers scattering
before a mass of approaching riders. Men waved their arms, as if in
greeting. A few offered weak cheers. Many pointed in Zedd's direction,
funneling the horsemen his way. As First Wizard, he had become a focal point
for everyone. The D'Harans, in Richard's absence, relied on Zedd to be their
magic against magic. The Sisters relied on his experience in the nasty art
of magic in warfare.
In the wavering glow of fires still burning out of control, Zedd
watched the column of horsemen coming relentlessly onward, points of light
glinting off row upon row of armor and weapons, shimmering off chain mail
and polished boots, as they each in turn passed the burning wagons and
barricades. The thundering column slowed for nothing, expecting men to get
out of its way. At their fore, long pennons flew atop perfectly upright
lances. Standards and flags flapped in the cold night air. The ground
thundered with thousands of horses charging over the blood-soaked ground.
They rolled onward, like a ghost company riding out of the grave.
Orange and green smoke, lit from behind by the eerie light of fires,
curled away to each side as the column of riders charged though the middle
of the camp at an easy gallop.
Zedd saw, then, who was leading them.
"Dear spirits . . ." he whispered aloud.
Sitting tall atop a huge horse at the head of the column was a woman in
leather armor with fur billowing out behind her like an angry pennant.
It was Kahlan.
Even at that distance, Zedd could see, sticking up behind her left
shoulder, the gleam of light off the silver and gold hilt of the Sword of
Truth.
His flesh went cold with tingling dread.
He felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Adie, her completely white
eyes transfixed by the sight she beheld through her gift alone. Verna was
still weaving her way through the wounded. Captain Meiffert and General
Leiden rushed to follow in Verna's footsteps.
The column stretched out behind Kahlan as far as Zedd could see. They
charged onward, collecting cheering men as they came. Zedd waved his arms as
they all bore down on him, so that Kahlan would notice him, but it seemed as
if she had had her eyes on him the whole time.
The horses skidded to a halt before him, snorting and stamping, tossing
their armored heads. Plumes of steam rose from their nostrils when they blew
great hot breaths in the icy air. Powerful muscles flexed beneath glossy
hides as they pawed the ground. The eager beasts stood at the ready, their
tails lashing side to side, slapping their flanks like whips.
Kahlan swept the scene with a careful gaze. Men were rushing up from
all directions. Those gathering around stared in wonder. The horsemen were
Galeans.
Kahlan had provisionally taken the place of her half sister, Cyrilla,
as queen of Galea, until Cyrilla was well again-if that ever happened.
Kahlan's half brother, Harold, was the commander of the Galean army, and
didn't want the crown, feeling himself more fit to serve his land in the
soldier's life. Kahlan had Galean blood in her veins, although, to a
Confessor, matters of blood were irrelevant. They were not so irrelevant to
Galeans.
Kahlan swung her right leg forward over the horse's neck and dropped to
the ground. Her boots resounded like a hammer strike announcing the Mother
Confessor's arrival. Cara, in her red leather, and similarly cloaked in a
fur mantle, likewise jumped down off her horse.
Battle-weary men all around stood in rapt silence. This was not merely
the Mother Confessor. This was Lord Rahl's wife.
For just an instant, as Zedd stared into her green eyes, he thought she
might run into his arms and break down in helpless tears. He was wrong.
Kahlan pulled off her gloves. "Report."
She wore stealth-black light leather armor, a royal Galean sword at her
left hip, and a long knife at her right. Her thick fall of hair cascaded
boldly over the wolf's fur mantle topping a black wool cloak. In the
Midlands, the length of a woman's hair denoted rank and social standing. No
Midlands woman wore hair as long as Kahlan's. But it was the hilt of the
sword sticking up behind her shoulder that held Zedd's gaze.
"Kahlan," he whispered as she stepped closer, "where's Richard?"
Whatever pain he had seen for that instant was gone. She swept a brief
glare Verna's way, as the young Prelate still hurried toward them between
the wounded, then met Zedd's gaze with eyes like green fire.
"The enemy has him. Report."
"The enemy? What enemy?"
Again her glare slid to Verna. Its power straightened Verna's back and
slowed her approach.
Kahlan returned her attention to Zedd. Her eyes softened with a vestige
of sympathy for the anguish she must have seen on his face. "A Sister of the
Dark took him, Zedd." The respite of warmth in her voice and eyes faded as
her countenance returned to the cold, empty mask of a Confessor. "I would
like a report, please."
"Took him? But is he-is he all right? You mean she took him as a
prisoner? Do they want ransom? He's still all right?"
She touched the side of her mouth and Zedd saw then that she. had a
swollen cut. "He's all right as far as I know."
"Well, what's going on?" Zedd threw up his skinny arms. "What's this
about? What does she intend?"
Verna finally made it up to Zedd's left side. Captain Meiffert and
General Leiden ran up to the other side of Adie, on his right.
"What Sister?" Verna asked, still getting her breath back. "You said a
Sister took him. What Sister?"
"Nicci."
"Nicci. . ." Captain Meiffert gasped. "Death's Mistress?"
Kahlan met his gaze. "That's the one. Now, is someone going to give me
a report?"
There was no mistaking the command, or the rage, in her voice. Captain
Meiffert lifted an arm to the south.
"Mother Confessor, the Imperial Order forces, all of them, finally
moved up from Anderith." He rubbed his brow as he tried to think. "Yesterday
morning, I guess it was."
"We wanted to pull them up here, into the valley country," Zedd put in.
"Our idea was to get them out of the grassland, where we couldn't contain
them, up into country where we had a better chance to do so."
"We knew," Captain Meiffert went on, "that it would be a fatal mistake
to let them get by us and stream into the Midlands unopposed. We had to draw
them into action to prevent them from unleashing their might against the
populace. We had to engage them and bog them down. The only way to do that
was to taunt them into following us out of the open, where they had the
advantage, into terrain that helped even the odds."
Kahlan nodded as she scanned the dismal scene. "How many men did we
lose?"
"I'd guess maybe fifteen thousand," Captain Meiffert said. "But that's
just a guess. It may be more."
"They flanked you, didn't they." It didn't sound like a question.
"That's right, Mother Confessor."
"What went wrong?"
The Galean troops behind her formed a grim wall of leather, chain mail,
and steel. Officers with incisive eyes watched and listened.
"What didn't?" Zedd growled.
"Somehow," the captain explained, "they knew what we planned. Although,
I guess it wouldn't be all that hard to figure out, since anyone would know
it was our only chance against their numbers. They were confident they could
defeat us, regardless, so they obliged our plan."
"Like I asked, what went wrong?"
"What went wrong!" General Leiden interrupted heatedly. "We were
outnumbered beyond all hope! That's what went wrong!"
Kahlan settled her cool gaze on the man. He seemed to catch himself and
fell to one knee.
"My queen," he added in formal address before falling silent.
Kahlan's gaze lost some of its edge as it moved back to Captain
Meiffert.
Zedd noticed the captain's fists tightening as he went on with his
report. "Somehow, Mother Confessor, near as we can tell they managed to get
a division across the river. We're pretty sure they didn't use the open
ground to the east-we had preparations should they try that, as we feared
they might."
"So," Kahlan said, "they reasoned you would think it impossible, so
they sent a division across the river-probably a great deal more, willing to
bear their losses in the crossing-went north through the mountains,
unsuspected, unseen, and undetected, and crossed back to this side of the
river. When you got here, they were waiting for you, holding the ground you
had planned to hold. With the Order hot on your heels, you had nowhere else
to go. The Order intended to crush you between that division holding this
defendable ground and their army on your tail."
"That's the gist of it," Captain Meiffert confirmed.
"What happened to the division waiting here?" she asked.
"We wiped them out," the captain said with a cool rage of his own.
"Once we realized what had happened, we knew it was our only chance."
Kahlan gave him a nod. She knew full well what a mighty effort his
simple words conveyed.
"They cut us to pieces from behind as we did so!" General Leiden's
temper was getting frayed around the edges. "We had no chance."
"Apparently you did," she answered. "You gained the valley."
"What of it? We can't fight a force their size. It was insane to throw
men into that meat grinder. What for? We gained this valley, but at a
terrible price. We won't be able to hold a force that huge! They had their
way with us from the first until the last. We didn't stop them, they just
got tired of hacking us to pieces for the night!"
Some men looked away. Some stared at the ground. Only the crackle of
fires and the moans of the wounded filled the frigid night air.
Kahlan glanced around again. "What are you doing sitting here, now?"
Zedd's brow went up, along with his own anger. "We've been at it for
two days, Kahlan."
"Fine. But I don't allow the enemy to go to bed with victory. Is that
clear?"
Captain Meiffert clapped a fist to his heart in salute. "Clear; Mother
Confessor."
He glanced over his shoulders. Fists of attentive men near and far
likewise went to their hearts.
"Mother Confessor," General Leiden said, dropping her title of queen,
"the men have been up for two days, now."
"I understand," Kahlan said. "We have been riding without pause for
three days, now. Neither changes what must be done."
In the harsh reflection of firelight, the creases in General Leiden's
face looked like angry gashes. He pressed his lips together and bowed to his
queen, but when he came up, he spoke again.
"My queen, Mother Confessor, you can't seriously be expecting us to
carry out a night attack. There's no moon and clouds mostly hide the stars.
In the dark such an attack would be a disaster. It's lunacy!"
Kahlan finally withdrew her cold glare from the Keltish general and
passed a gaze among those assembled around her. "Where is General Reibisch?"
Zedd swallowed. "I'm afraid that's him."
She looked where Zedd pointed, at the corpse he had fallen asleep atop
while trying to heal. The rust-colored beard was matted with dried blood.
The grayishgreen eyes stared without seeing, no longer showing pain. It had
been a fool's task, Zedd knew, but he couldn't help trying to heal what
could not be healed, giving it everything he had left. It hadn't been
enough.
"Who is next in command," Kahlan asked.
"That would be me, my queen," General Leiden said as he took a stride
forward. "But as the ranking officer, I can't allow my men to-"
Kahlan lifted a hand. "That will be all, Lieutenant Leiden."
He cleared his throat. "General Leiden, my queen."
She fixed him with an implacable stare. "To question me once is a
simple mistake, Lieutenant. Twice is treason. We execute traitors."
Cara's Agiel spun up into her fist. "Step aside, Lieutenant."
Even in the haunting orange and green light of fires, Zedd could see
the man's face pale. He took a step back and wisely, if belatedly, fell
silent.
"Who is next in command?" the Mother Confessor asked again.
"Kahlan," Zedd said, "I'm afraid the Order used their gifted to single
out men of rank. Despite our best efforts, I believe we lost all our senior
officers. It cost them dearly, at least."
"Then who is next in command?"
Captain Meiffert looked around and finally lifted his hand.
"I'm not positive, Mother Confessor, but I believe that would be me."
"Very well, General Meiffert."
He inclined his head. "Mother Confessor," he said in a quiet,
confidential voice, "that isn't necessary."
"No one said it was, General."
The new general softly struck a fist to his heart. Zedd saw Cara smile
in grim approval. Of the thousands of faces watching, that was the only
smile. It wasn't that the men disapproved, but rather that they were
relieved to have someone so firmly in command. D'Harans respected iron
authority. If they couldn't have Lord Rahl, they would take his wife, and an
iron one at that. They might not have smiled, but Zedd knew they would be
pleased.
"As I said, I don't allow the enemy to go to bed with victory." Kahlan
scanned the faces watching her. "I want a cavalry raid ready to go within
the hour."
"And who do you intend to send on such an attack, my queen?"
Everyone knew what the former General Leiden meant by the question. He
was asking who she was sending to their death.
"There will be two wings. One to make their way unseen around the
Order's camp so as to come in from their south, where they will least expect
it, and another wing to hold back until the first is in place, and then come
in from this side, from the north. I intend to have us spill some of their
blood before bed."
She looked back to the new Lieutenant Leiden's eyes and answered his
question. "I will be leading the southern wing."
Everyone, except the new general, began voicing objections. Leiden
spoke up louder.
"My queen, why would you want us to get our men together for a calvary
raid?"
He pointed to the wall of men, all on horses behind her: all
Galeans-traditional adversaries of the Keltans, Leiden's homeland. "When we
have these?"
"These men will be helping get this army back together, relieving those
on duty to get needed rest, helping dig defensive ditches, and filling in
wherever they are needed. The men who were bloodied are the ones who need to
go to bed with the sweet taste of vengeance. I would not dare to deny
D'Harans that to which they are so entitled."
A cheer went up.
Zedd thought that if war was madness, madness had just found its
mistress.
General Meiffert took a step closer to her. "I'll have my best men
ready within the hour, Mother Confessor. Everyone will want to go; I'll have
to disappoint a lot of volunteers."
Kahlan's face softened when she nodded. "Pick your man for the northern
wing, then, General."
"I will be leading the northern wing, Mother Confessor."
Kahlan smiled. "Very well."
She ordered the Galean troops off to their duties. With a sweep of her
finger, she dismissed everyone but the immediate group and called that inner
circle closer.
"What about Richard's admonition not to directly attack the Order?"
Verna asked.
"I remember well what Richard said. I'm not going to directly attack
their main force."
Zedd supposed she did remember it well. She had been there with
Richard-they hadn't. Zedd brought up a touchy issue.
"The main force will be in the center, well protected. At their edges,
where you attack, will be defenses, of course, but mostly the camp followers
will be at the tail end of the Order's camp-the fringe to the south,
mostly."
"I don't really care," she said with cold fury. "If they're with the
Order, then they are the enemy. There will be no mercy." She was looking at
her new general as she spoke her orders. "I don't care if we kill their
whores or their generals. I want every baker and cook dead as much as I want
every officer and archer dead. Every camp follower we kill will deprive them
of the comforts they enjoy. I want to strip them of everything, including
their lives. Is that understood?"
General Meiffert gave his nod. "No mercy. You'll get no argument from
us, Mother Confessor; that is the D'Haran code of warfare."
Zedd knew that, in war, Kahlan's way was usually the only way to
prevail. The enemy would grant no mercy, and would need none themselves had
they not invaded. Every whore and hawker chose to be a part of that
invasion, to make what they could off the blood and plunder spilled at the
Order's feet.
Verna spoke up. "Mother Confessor, Ann was going to see you and
Richard. We last heard from her over a month ago. Have you seen her?"
"Yes."
Verna licked her lips in caution at the steely look in Kahlan's eyes.
"Was she all right?"
"The last I saw her, she was."
"Would you know why she hasn't sent any word to us?"
"I threw her journey book in the fire."
Verna stepped forward, making to snatch Kahlan by the shoulder. Cara's
Agiel came up like lightning, barring her way.
"No one touches the Mother Confessor." Cara's cold blue eyes were as
deadly as her words. "Is that clear? No one."
"You have one Mord-Sith and one Mother Confessor, here, both in very
bad moods," Kahlan said in a level voice. "I would suggest you not give us
an excuse to lose our temper, or we may never find it again in your
lifetime."
Zedd's fingers found Verna's arm and gently urged her back.
"We're all tired," he said. "We have enough troubles with the Order."
He shot Kahlan a scowl. "No matter how tired or distraught we are, though,
let's remember we're all on the same side here."
Kahlan's eyes told him she challenged that statement, but she said
nothing.
Verna changed the subject. "I will get together some of the gifted to
escort you on the raid."
"Thank you, but we will be taking no gifted."
"But you will at least need them to help you find your way in the
dark."
"We will have the enemy campfires to show us our way."
"Kahlan," Zedd said, hoping to interject some reason, "the Order will
have gifted-including Sisters of the Dark. You will need protection from
them."
"No. I don't want any gifted with us. They are expecting any attack to
be accompanied by our gifted. Their gifted will be watching for shields of
magic. Any riders they do see without detecting magic they will be more
likely to discount. We'll be able to get in deeper and draw more blood
without gifted along."
Verna sighed at such foolishness, but didn't argue. General Meiffert
liked her plan. Zedd knew she was right about getting in deeper, but he
knew, too, that getting back out would be more difficult, once the enemy was
on to them.
"Zedd, I would like one bit of magic."
He scratched his brow in resignation. "What would you like me to do?"
Kahlan gestured at the ground. "Make that dust glow. I want it to show
up in the dark, and I want it sticky."
"For how long?"
She shrugged. "The rest of the night would be enough."
After Zedd had spun a web over the dusty patch of ground, giving it a
green glow, Kahlan bent and rubbed her hand in it. She walked around back of
her horse and slapped the hand on each flank, leaving a glowing green
handprint on each hindquarter.
"What are you doing?" Zedd asked.
"It's dark. I want them to be able to see me. They can't come after me
if they can't find me in the dark."
Zedd sighed at the madness.
General Meiffert squatted and rubbed his hand in the glowing dust. "I'd
also hate for them to miss me in the dark."
"Be sure to wash your hand clean before we go," she said.
After she had explained her plan to the new general, Kahlan, Cara, and
General Meiffert started off to their tasks.
Before they could get far, Zedd halted Kahlan with a softly spoken
question.
"Kahlan, do you have any idea how we can get Richard back?"
She gazed boldly into his eyes. "Yes. I have a plan."
"Would you mind sharing it with me?"
"It's simple. I plan on killing every Imperial Order man, woman, and
child until I get to the very last one left alive, and then if she doesn't
give him back, I'm going to kill her, too."
Kahlan focused past the black void to the glowing points of the fires
as she leaned forward over the withers of her galloping horse, urging him
onward, faster and faster. The muscles in her thighs strained as she pressed
her weight against the stirrups and squeezed her legs against the feverish
warmth of the massive body rhythmically, incessantly, frantically flexing
and stretching, feeling its every pounding strike against the ground. Her
ears were filled with the hammering of her own heart and the thunder of yet
more hooves behind her. She was distantly aware of the weight of the Sword
of Truth sheathed in its scabbard, an ever-present reminder of Richard.
She gripped the reins in one fist. With her other, she lifted her royal
Galean sword high. The lights were coming. Unexpectedly, the first came out
of nowhere and exploded into her vision.
Racing past what looked to be the light of a single candle, she was
there, at last. Crying out with the sudden power of emotions that could no
longer be stifled, she slammed her sword down against the dark shape of a
man. The impact of the blade against bone jarred her wrist. The hilt stung
against her palm.
On their way by, the men behind her unleashed their fury against the
remaining sentries at the outpost. Kahlan held tight, knowing the greater
unleashing of her need was yet to come. She would not be denied, now.
The fires of the outer fringes of the camp flew toward her. Her muscles
were rigid with expectation. She felt at the brink of control. And then she
was upon them. At last, she was there. She met them with all her strength.
Her blade came down again and again, lashing against their bodies, slashing
anyone within her reach. The outer fires shot past the sides of her horse
with dizzying speed. She gasped for breath.
Laying the reins over, Kahlan pulled her big warhorse around in a tight
circle. He was not as agile as she would have preferred, but he was well
trained and for this job he would do. He bellowed with the excitement of
battle begun.
Tents and wagons were scattered everywhere, with little apparent order.
Kahlan could hear the merry laughter of those not yet aware of the enemy in
their midst. She had brought a small attack force, keeping them tight and
close on the way in so it wouldn't raise the kind of alarm a broad attack
would. It had worked. She saw men around fires tipping up bottles, or eating
meat off skewers. She saw men sleeping, with their feet sticking out of
tents. She saw a man walking with his arm around the waist of a woman. In
the dim light she saw men in tents between the legs of other women.
The couple, arm in arm-undoubtedly at a price-was close. The man was on
the far side of the woman as Kahlan raced up behind them, so with a mighty
swing
she took off the woman's head, instead. The stupefied man clutched the
headless body as it began to fall. The cavalry man right behind Kahlan took
the startled man down.
Kahlan dug in her heels and charged her big warhorse over a haphazard
row of tents with men and women inside. She could feel the huge hooves
crushing bone. Screams rose around her and her mount.
A soldier with a pike stood with his legs spread in a stance of sudden
alarm. On her way past, Kahlan snatched the pike from his grip, stabbed it
into a small tent, twisting it, getting the canvas tangled up on its barbs,
and then backed her horse, hauling the tent off a man and woman. Her men
following behind stabbed the exposed couple as Kahlan pulled the remnants of
the tent through a fire. As soon as it lit, she dragged the flaming canvas
to a wagon, setting that wagon's tarp afire, and then threw the blazing
remains in another wagon full of supplies.
With a backhanded swing of her sword, Kahlan smashed the face of a
burly man who ran up to pull her off her horse. She had to yank the blade
free of his skull. Before more men could snatch at her, she dug in her heels
again and charged off toward another fire, where men were just jumping to
their feet. The horse knocked down several, and her sword cut another. By
now, the shrieks of women sent up an effective alarm, and men were rushing
out of tents and wagons with weapons in their fists. The whole scene was one
of erupting pandemonium.
Kahlan wheeled her mount, stabbing anyone within reach. Many were not
soldiers. Her sword felled leatherworkers and wagon masters, whores and
soldiers. High-stepping at her command, her horse trampled down a line of
big tents where wounded were being cared for. Beside a lamp, Kahlan spotted
a surgeon with needle and thread working on a man's leg. She drove her horse
around to trample the surgeon and the man he was sewing up. The surgeon held
his arms up before his face, but his arms were no good at warding the weight
of a huge warhorse.
Kahlan signaled her men in. Army surgeons were valuable. The D'Harans
killed every one they saw. She knew that killing each was as good as killing
untold numbers of enemy soldiers. Kahlan and her men wreaked havoc through
the whores' tents, toppled cook wagons, cut down soldiers and civilians
alike. When her men saw lamps, they leaped off their horses and snatched
them up to use to start fires. Kahlan hacked at an enraged cook who came at
her with a butcher knife. It took three rapid cuts to dispatch him.
To her left, Cara's horse cut off a man about to throw a spear. Cara
coolly went about killing him and anyone else within her reach. A twist of
her Agiel usually seized up their hearts, and if not, Kahlan could at least
hear bones snap. Their cries of death and pain seemed frightful enough to
send a shiver up the spines of the dead, and did add to the general
confusion and panic. It was glorious music to Kahlan's ears.
The Agiel would only function through the bond to the Lord Rahl.
Because it worked, she and Cara knew Richard was alive. That alone gave
Kahlan heart. It was almost as if he were there with her. His sword strapped
to her back was like his hand touching her, encouraging her to throw herself
into the fight, telling her to cut.
The indiscriminate nature of the killing in among the camp followers
confused the enemy soldiers, and terrorized the people who commonly believed
themselves impervious to the violence they ultimately fed off of. Now,
rather than being the vultures picking at the carcasses, they were the
hapless prey. Life in the Imperial Order's camp would never be the
same-Kahlan would see to that. No more would
the enemy soldiers enjoy the comforts provided by these people. They
would now know they were no less targets than officers. They would know the
price of their participation. The price was a merciless death and payment
had come due.
Slashing her way through the running crowds of screaming people, Kahlan
kept an eye on a large group of the Imperial Order's horses, stabled not far
off, watching as soldiers threw saddles on their mounts. She drove her horse
over men and tents, getting closer, until she was sure she was within
earshot of those cavalry men saddling their horses.
Kahlan stood in her stirrups, waving her sword high in the air. Men
paused to stare.
"I am the Mother Confessor! For the crime of invading the Midlands, I
condemn you all to death! Every one of you!"
The hundred men with her sent up a cheer. Their voices joined in a
chant.
"Death to the Order! Death to the Order! Death to the Order!"
Kahlan and her men charged their horses around in an ever-widening
circle, trampling anyone they could, hacking anyone within reach, stabbing
anyone who rushed them, setting fire to anything that would burn. These
D'Haran soldiers were the best at what they did, and they did it with
brilliant effectiveness. When they found a wagon with oil, they broke the
barrels open and tossed on flaming logs they plucked up with lances from
fires. Night whooshed into day. Everyone could plainly see Kahlan, now, as
she charged through their midst, screaming her pronouncement of death.
Kahlan saw the Order's cavalry mounting up, pulling their lances from
racks, drawing their swords. She reared her horse, holding her sword high.
"You are all cowards! You will never catch me or best me! You will all
die like the cowards you are at the hands of the Mother Confessor!"
When her horse came down, she thumped its ribs with her boots. The
horse charged off at a dead run, Cara right at her side, her hundred men at
her heels, a few thousand infuriated Imperial Order cavalry right behind
them, with more mounting up all the time.
Being at the edge of the Order's camp, they wouldn't have much ground
to cover before they were out of the camp, again, and into the open
countryside. As they raced away, Kahlan took the opportunity to kill anyone
who presented themselves. It was too dark to tell if they were men or woman,
and it didn't matter anyway. She wanted them all dead. Each time her sword
made contact, slashing muscle or breaking bone, was a delicious release.
Running at full speed, past the last of the campfires, they plunged
suddenly into the black void of night. Kahlan leaned forward over her
horse's muscular neck, as they ran west, hoping there were no holes in the
ground. If they hit one, it would be all over not just for her horse, but,
most likely, for her as well.
She knew this land well enough, the gentle hills, the bluffs ahead. She
knew where she was, even in the dark, and she knew where she was going. She
was counting on the enemy not knowing. In the disorienting sweep of
darkness, they would fixate on following the glowing handprints on her
horse's rump, thinking one of their gifted had gotten close enough to mark
her horse for them. They would be gleeful with the blinding anticipation of
having her naked to their swords.
Kahlan used the flat of her own sword to smack her horse's flanks,
urging him on, whipping him into a wild state. They were away from the
excitement of battle, now, and out in the lonely openness of the
countryside. Horses dreaded predators
nipping at their flanks, especially in the dark. She encouraged him to
think teeth were snapping at his hindquarters.
Her men were right behind her, but, as instructed, rode to each side so
there was a gap, allowing the enemy to see the glowing marks on her horse.
When Kahlan feared she was as close as they dared get, she signaled with a
whistle. Over her shoulders, she watched her men, her protection, peeling
away, off into the night. She would not see them again until she returned to
the D'Haran camp.
With her advantage of the distant fires of the Order's camp in back of
them, Kahlan was able to see the silhouette of the enemy cavalry close
behind, coming at a full charge, their hungry gazes no doubt fixed on the
glowing handprints on her horse's flanks, the only thing they could see out
in the wide-open countryside on a moonless night.
"How far?" Cara called over from close beside her.
"Should be-"
Kahlan's words cut off when she suddenly spotted briefly what was right
there before her.
"Now, Cara!"
Kahlan pulled her leg up just in time as Cara rammed her horse over.
The two huge animals jostled dangerously. Kahlan threw her arm around Cara's
shoulders. Cara's arm seized Kahlan's waist and yanked her over, off her
horse. Kahlan gave her horse one last smack with the flat of her sword. The
horse snorted in panic as it charged onward at full speed into the
blackness.
Kahlan threw her leg over the rump of Cara's horse, sheathed her sword,
and then held tight to Cara's waist as the Mord-Sith pulled her horse's head
hard to the left, forcing it, at a full gallop, to turn away just in time.
For an instant, through a break in the clouds, Kahlan spied the dull
slur of starlight reflecting off the churning, icy waters of the Drun River
below.
She felt a pang of sorrow for her startled, bewildered, terrified horse
as it sailed out over the bluff. It was giving its life to take many more
with it. The beast would probably never know what had happened.
Neither would the Imperial Order cavalry as they followed the glowing
handprints on into the dark. This was her Midlands; Kahlan knew what was
there; they were invaders, and did not. Even if they did see it coming in
the last twinkling of their lives, at a full charge into pitch blackness
they would never have a chance to avert their doom.
She hoped, though, that those men did realize what was happening just
before they gasped in the frigid dark waters, or before their lungs burst
with the need of air as the merciless river dragged them down into its inky
embrace. She hoped every one of those men suffered a horrifying death in the
dark depths of those treacherous currents.
Kahlan turned her thoughts away from the heat of battle. The forces of
the D'Haran Empire could sleep, now, with a victory over their enemy and
Nicci had made it clear to him that he was Richard Cypher, her husband, and
she was Nicci Cypher, his wife. She had told him to stick to that story-for
Kahlan's sake.
"She's just generous," Richard said. "That's why I married her. She's
good to people."
Richard heard a woman's cry, and shouting. He bolted for the partly
open door and ran out into the bright morning sunlight. He didn't see
anyone. He raced around to the side of the barn, to where he heard
scuffling.
A half dozen men had Nicci down on the ground, some swinging at her
with their fists as she tried to fend them off with her bare hands. Others
pawed at her, searching for a money pouch. They were fighting over the
unearned before it was even out of her hands. A crowd of women, children,
and other men stood around the scene in a circle, vultures waiting to pick
the bones.
Richard crashed through the ring of people, seized the closest man by
the back of his collar, and heaved him back. He was skinny, and flew through
the air, crashing into the wall of the barn. The whole building shook.
Richard kicked another in the ribs, tumbling him off Nicci and through the
dirt. A third man spun and took a mighty swing at Richard. Richard caught
the fist and bent it down until he felt a snap as the man cried out. At
that, the men all scattered in every direction.
Richard started after one of them, but Nicci suddenly flew at him,
restraining him.
"Richard! No!"
In his rage to get at the men, Richard nearly smashed her face, but,
when he realized it was her, lowered his fists to his sides as he glared at
the crowd.
"Please,, my lord, please, my lady;" one of the women wailed, "have
mercy on us woeful folk. We's just the Creator's miserable wretches. Have
mercy on us."
"You're a bunch of thieves!" Richard yelled. "Thieving from someone who
was trying to help you!"
He made an effort to go after the lot of them, but Nicci held his
wrists down. "Richard, no!"
The people vanished like mice before a hissing cat.
Nicci let Richard's fists drop. He saw then that she had blood on her
mouth.
"What's the matter with you? Giving money to people who would rather
rob you than wait for you to hand it to them willingly? Why would you give
money to such vermin?"
"That's enough. I'll not stand here and listen to you insult the
Creator's chil-
dren. Who are you to judge? Who are you, with a full belly, to say
what's right? You have no idea what those poor people have been through, and
yet you are quick to judge."
Richard took a purging breath. He reminded himself yet again of what he
had to keep uppermost in his mind. It was not really Nicci he had been
protecting.
He pulled a shirtsleeve from the corner of his pack, wet it with water
from a waterskin hanging around his waist, and carefully wiped her bloody
mouth and chin. She winced as he worked but without protest let him inspect
her injury.
"It's not bad," he told her. "Just a cut in the corner of your mouth.
Hold still, now."
She stood quietly as he held her head in one hand while he cleaned the
blood off the rest of her face with the other.
"Thank you, Richard." She hesitated. "I was sure one of them was going
to cut my throat."
"Why didn't you use your Han to protect yourself?"
"Have you forgotten? To do that, I would have to take power from the
link keeping Kahlan alive."
He looked into her blue eyes. "I guess I forgot. In that case, thank
you for restraining yourself."
Nicci said nothing as they walked out of the town of Ripply, carrying
everything they owned on their backs. As cold as the day was, it wasn't long
before his brow was dotted with sweat.
Finally he could stand it no longer. "Do you mind telling me what that
was all about?"
Her brow twitched. "Those people were needy."
Richard pinched the bridge of his nose, pausing in an effort to remain
civil to her. "And so you gave them all our money?"
"Are you so selfish that you would not share what you have? Are you so
selfish that you would ask the hungry to starve, the unclothed to freeze,
the sick to die? Does money mean more to you than people's lives?"
Richard bit the inside of his cheek to check his temper. "And the
horses? You virtually gave them away."
"It was all we could get. Those people were in need. Under the
circumstances, it was the best we could do. We acted with the most noble of
intentions. It was our duty to not be selfish and to joyfully give these
people what they needed."
There was no road going their way as they walked on into what had not
long ago
been the wasteland from which no one returned. -
"We needed what we had," he said.
Nicci glanced up into his eyes. "There are things you need to learn,
Richard."
"Is that right."
"You have been lucky in life. You have had opportunities ordinary
people never have. I want you to see how ordinary people must live, how they
must struggle just to survive. When you live like them, you will understand
why the Order is so necessary, why the Order is the only hope for mankind.
"When we get to where we're going, we will have nothing. We will be
just like all the other miserable people of this wretched world-with little
chance to make it on our own. You don't have any idea what that's like. I
want you to learn how the compassion of the Order helps ordinary people live
with the dignity they are entitled to."
Richard returned his gaze to the empty land stretching out before them.
A Sister of the Dark who couldn't use her power, and a wizard who was
forbidden from using his. He guessed they couldn't get any more ordinary
than that. "I thought it was you who wanted to learn," he said. "I am also
your teacher. Teachers sometimes learn more than their students."
Zedd lifted his head when he heard the distant horns. He struggled to
regain his senses. He was well past dread, into a world of little more than
numb awareness. The horns were those meant to signal the approach of
friendly forces. Probably some of the scouting patrols, or perhaps yet more
wounded being brought in.
Zedd realized he was slumped on the ground, his legs sprawled out to
the side. He saw that he had been sleeping with his head on the burly chest
of a cold corpse. In despair, he recalled that he had been trying everything
he knew to heal the horribly wounded man. In mournful revulsion, he pushed
away from the cold body and sat up.
He rubbed his eyes against the darkness from within, as well as the
night. He was beyond aching. Acrid smoke hung thick as fog. The air reeked
with the heavy, throat-clenching stink of blood. From various places around
him, he could see the drifting haze illuminated around glowing orange fists
of firelight. The moans of the wounded lifted from the blood-soaked ground
to drift through the frigid night air. In the distance, men cried out in
pain. When Zedd wiped a hand across his brow, he realized he wore gloves of
crusted blood from those he had been trying to heal. It was an endless task.
Not far away, the ground was littered with shattered tree trunks,
blasted asunder by the enemy gifted. Men lay sprawled, torn apart or impaled
by huge splintered sections of those trees. It had been two of Jagang's
Sisters who had done it, just before dark, as the D'Haran forces were all
collecting into the valley, thinking the battle had ended. Zedd and Warren
had ended it by taking those two Sisters down with wizard's fire.
By the dull ache in his head, Zedd knew he hadn't been asleep for more
than a couple of hours, at most. It had to be the middle of the night.
People passing by had let him sleep-or maybe they thought him one of the
dead.
The first day had gone as well as could be expected. The battle had
dragged on sporadically throughout the first night with relatively minor
skirmishes, and then had erupted with full force at dawn of the second day.
As night had fallen on the second day, the fighting had finally ended.
Looking around, Zedd thought it seemed to be over-at least for the time
being.
They had made the valley and succeeded in drawing the Order after them,
away from other gateways up into the Midlands, but at a terrible price. They
had little choice, if they were to engage the enemy with any chance of
success, rather than allow them unhindered access into the Midlands. For the
moment, anyway, the Order was stalled. Zedd didn't know how long that would
last.
Unfortunately, the Order had gotten the better of the battle, by far.
Zedd peered about. It was not so much a camp as simply a place where
everyone
had dropped in exhaustion. Here and there, arrows and spears stuck up
from the ground. They had fallen like rain as Zedd had worked throughout the
night, the night before, trying to heal wounded soldiers. During the day, in
the battles, he had unleashed everything he had. What had started out as
skillful, calculated, focused use of his ability had in the end degenerated
into the magic equivalent of a brawl.
Zedd staggered to his feet, worried about the distant thunder of
horses. Horns closer into camp repeated the warning to hold arrows and
spears, that it was friendly forces. It sounded like too many horses for any
patrol they had out. In the back of his mind, Zedd tried to recall if he
felt the twinge of magic that would tell him the horns were genuine. In the
fog of fatigue, he had forgotten to pay attention. That was how people ended
up dead, he knew-inattention to such details.
Men were rushing all about, carrying supplies, water, and linen for
bandages, or messages and reports: Here and there Zedd saw a Sister working
at healing. Other men struggled with repairs to wagons and gear in case they
had to depart in a hurry. Some men sat staring at nothing. A few wandered as
if in a daze.
It was difficult to see in the poor light, but Zedd was able to see
well enough to tell that the ground was littered with the dead, the wounded,
or the simply spent. Fires, both the common orange and yellow flames of
burning wagons and the unnatural green blazes that were the remnants of
magic, were left to burn out on their own. Horses as well as men lay
everywhere, still and lifeless, torn open by ghastly wounds. The
battlefields changed, but battle didn't. Now was a time of helpless shock.
He remembered from his youth the stench of blood and death mingled with
greasy smoke. It was still the same. He remembered in battles past thinking
the world had gone mad. It still felt the same.
The rumble of horses was getting closer. He could hear quite a
commotion, but he couldn't tell what sort of ruckus it was. Off to his
right, he spotted a stooped woman shuffling toward him. He recognized Adie's
familiar limp. A woman more distant, catching up to Adie from behind, was
probably Verna. A little farther off, Zedd saw Captain Meiffert being
lectured to by General Leiden. Both men turned to look toward the clatter of
hooves.
Zedd squinted into the murk and saw in the distance soldiers scattering
before a mass of approaching riders. Men waved their arms, as if in
greeting. A few offered weak cheers. Many pointed in Zedd's direction,
funneling the horsemen his way. As First Wizard, he had become a focal point
for everyone. The D'Harans, in Richard's absence, relied on Zedd to be their
magic against magic. The Sisters relied on his experience in the nasty art
of magic in warfare.
In the wavering glow of fires still burning out of control, Zedd
watched the column of horsemen coming relentlessly onward, points of light
glinting off row upon row of armor and weapons, shimmering off chain mail
and polished boots, as they each in turn passed the burning wagons and
barricades. The thundering column slowed for nothing, expecting men to get
out of its way. At their fore, long pennons flew atop perfectly upright
lances. Standards and flags flapped in the cold night air. The ground
thundered with thousands of horses charging over the blood-soaked ground.
They rolled onward, like a ghost company riding out of the grave.
Orange and green smoke, lit from behind by the eerie light of fires,
curled away to each side as the column of riders charged though the middle
of the camp at an easy gallop.
Zedd saw, then, who was leading them.
"Dear spirits . . ." he whispered aloud.
Sitting tall atop a huge horse at the head of the column was a woman in
leather armor with fur billowing out behind her like an angry pennant.
It was Kahlan.
Even at that distance, Zedd could see, sticking up behind her left
shoulder, the gleam of light off the silver and gold hilt of the Sword of
Truth.
His flesh went cold with tingling dread.
He felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Adie, her completely white
eyes transfixed by the sight she beheld through her gift alone. Verna was
still weaving her way through the wounded. Captain Meiffert and General
Leiden rushed to follow in Verna's footsteps.
The column stretched out behind Kahlan as far as Zedd could see. They
charged onward, collecting cheering men as they came. Zedd waved his arms as
they all bore down on him, so that Kahlan would notice him, but it seemed as
if she had had her eyes on him the whole time.
The horses skidded to a halt before him, snorting and stamping, tossing
their armored heads. Plumes of steam rose from their nostrils when they blew
great hot breaths in the icy air. Powerful muscles flexed beneath glossy
hides as they pawed the ground. The eager beasts stood at the ready, their
tails lashing side to side, slapping their flanks like whips.
Kahlan swept the scene with a careful gaze. Men were rushing up from
all directions. Those gathering around stared in wonder. The horsemen were
Galeans.
Kahlan had provisionally taken the place of her half sister, Cyrilla,
as queen of Galea, until Cyrilla was well again-if that ever happened.
Kahlan's half brother, Harold, was the commander of the Galean army, and
didn't want the crown, feeling himself more fit to serve his land in the
soldier's life. Kahlan had Galean blood in her veins, although, to a
Confessor, matters of blood were irrelevant. They were not so irrelevant to
Galeans.
Kahlan swung her right leg forward over the horse's neck and dropped to
the ground. Her boots resounded like a hammer strike announcing the Mother
Confessor's arrival. Cara, in her red leather, and similarly cloaked in a
fur mantle, likewise jumped down off her horse.
Battle-weary men all around stood in rapt silence. This was not merely
the Mother Confessor. This was Lord Rahl's wife.
For just an instant, as Zedd stared into her green eyes, he thought she
might run into his arms and break down in helpless tears. He was wrong.
Kahlan pulled off her gloves. "Report."
She wore stealth-black light leather armor, a royal Galean sword at her
left hip, and a long knife at her right. Her thick fall of hair cascaded
boldly over the wolf's fur mantle topping a black wool cloak. In the
Midlands, the length of a woman's hair denoted rank and social standing. No
Midlands woman wore hair as long as Kahlan's. But it was the hilt of the
sword sticking up behind her shoulder that held Zedd's gaze.
"Kahlan," he whispered as she stepped closer, "where's Richard?"
Whatever pain he had seen for that instant was gone. She swept a brief
glare Verna's way, as the young Prelate still hurried toward them between
the wounded, then met Zedd's gaze with eyes like green fire.
"The enemy has him. Report."
"The enemy? What enemy?"
Again her glare slid to Verna. Its power straightened Verna's back and
slowed her approach.
Kahlan returned her attention to Zedd. Her eyes softened with a vestige
of sympathy for the anguish she must have seen on his face. "A Sister of the
Dark took him, Zedd." The respite of warmth in her voice and eyes faded as
her countenance returned to the cold, empty mask of a Confessor. "I would
like a report, please."
"Took him? But is he-is he all right? You mean she took him as a
prisoner? Do they want ransom? He's still all right?"
She touched the side of her mouth and Zedd saw then that she. had a
swollen cut. "He's all right as far as I know."
"Well, what's going on?" Zedd threw up his skinny arms. "What's this
about? What does she intend?"
Verna finally made it up to Zedd's left side. Captain Meiffert and
General Leiden ran up to the other side of Adie, on his right.
"What Sister?" Verna asked, still getting her breath back. "You said a
Sister took him. What Sister?"
"Nicci."
"Nicci. . ." Captain Meiffert gasped. "Death's Mistress?"
Kahlan met his gaze. "That's the one. Now, is someone going to give me
a report?"
There was no mistaking the command, or the rage, in her voice. Captain
Meiffert lifted an arm to the south.
"Mother Confessor, the Imperial Order forces, all of them, finally
moved up from Anderith." He rubbed his brow as he tried to think. "Yesterday
morning, I guess it was."
"We wanted to pull them up here, into the valley country," Zedd put in.
"Our idea was to get them out of the grassland, where we couldn't contain
them, up into country where we had a better chance to do so."
"We knew," Captain Meiffert went on, "that it would be a fatal mistake
to let them get by us and stream into the Midlands unopposed. We had to draw
them into action to prevent them from unleashing their might against the
populace. We had to engage them and bog them down. The only way to do that
was to taunt them into following us out of the open, where they had the
advantage, into terrain that helped even the odds."
Kahlan nodded as she scanned the dismal scene. "How many men did we
lose?"
"I'd guess maybe fifteen thousand," Captain Meiffert said. "But that's
just a guess. It may be more."
"They flanked you, didn't they." It didn't sound like a question.
"That's right, Mother Confessor."
"What went wrong?"
The Galean troops behind her formed a grim wall of leather, chain mail,
and steel. Officers with incisive eyes watched and listened.
"What didn't?" Zedd growled.
"Somehow," the captain explained, "they knew what we planned. Although,
I guess it wouldn't be all that hard to figure out, since anyone would know
it was our only chance against their numbers. They were confident they could
defeat us, regardless, so they obliged our plan."
"Like I asked, what went wrong?"
"What went wrong!" General Leiden interrupted heatedly. "We were
outnumbered beyond all hope! That's what went wrong!"
Kahlan settled her cool gaze on the man. He seemed to catch himself and
fell to one knee.
"My queen," he added in formal address before falling silent.
Kahlan's gaze lost some of its edge as it moved back to Captain
Meiffert.
Zedd noticed the captain's fists tightening as he went on with his
report. "Somehow, Mother Confessor, near as we can tell they managed to get
a division across the river. We're pretty sure they didn't use the open
ground to the east-we had preparations should they try that, as we feared
they might."
"So," Kahlan said, "they reasoned you would think it impossible, so
they sent a division across the river-probably a great deal more, willing to
bear their losses in the crossing-went north through the mountains,
unsuspected, unseen, and undetected, and crossed back to this side of the
river. When you got here, they were waiting for you, holding the ground you
had planned to hold. With the Order hot on your heels, you had nowhere else
to go. The Order intended to crush you between that division holding this
defendable ground and their army on your tail."
"That's the gist of it," Captain Meiffert confirmed.
"What happened to the division waiting here?" she asked.
"We wiped them out," the captain said with a cool rage of his own.
"Once we realized what had happened, we knew it was our only chance."
Kahlan gave him a nod. She knew full well what a mighty effort his
simple words conveyed.
"They cut us to pieces from behind as we did so!" General Leiden's
temper was getting frayed around the edges. "We had no chance."
"Apparently you did," she answered. "You gained the valley."
"What of it? We can't fight a force their size. It was insane to throw
men into that meat grinder. What for? We gained this valley, but at a
terrible price. We won't be able to hold a force that huge! They had their
way with us from the first until the last. We didn't stop them, they just
got tired of hacking us to pieces for the night!"
Some men looked away. Some stared at the ground. Only the crackle of
fires and the moans of the wounded filled the frigid night air.
Kahlan glanced around again. "What are you doing sitting here, now?"
Zedd's brow went up, along with his own anger. "We've been at it for
two days, Kahlan."
"Fine. But I don't allow the enemy to go to bed with victory. Is that
clear?"
Captain Meiffert clapped a fist to his heart in salute. "Clear; Mother
Confessor."
He glanced over his shoulders. Fists of attentive men near and far
likewise went to their hearts.
"Mother Confessor," General Leiden said, dropping her title of queen,
"the men have been up for two days, now."
"I understand," Kahlan said. "We have been riding without pause for
three days, now. Neither changes what must be done."
In the harsh reflection of firelight, the creases in General Leiden's
face looked like angry gashes. He pressed his lips together and bowed to his
queen, but when he came up, he spoke again.
"My queen, Mother Confessor, you can't seriously be expecting us to
carry out a night attack. There's no moon and clouds mostly hide the stars.
In the dark such an attack would be a disaster. It's lunacy!"
Kahlan finally withdrew her cold glare from the Keltish general and
passed a gaze among those assembled around her. "Where is General Reibisch?"
Zedd swallowed. "I'm afraid that's him."
She looked where Zedd pointed, at the corpse he had fallen asleep atop
while trying to heal. The rust-colored beard was matted with dried blood.
The grayishgreen eyes stared without seeing, no longer showing pain. It had
been a fool's task, Zedd knew, but he couldn't help trying to heal what
could not be healed, giving it everything he had left. It hadn't been
enough.
"Who is next in command," Kahlan asked.
"That would be me, my queen," General Leiden said as he took a stride
forward. "But as the ranking officer, I can't allow my men to-"
Kahlan lifted a hand. "That will be all, Lieutenant Leiden."
He cleared his throat. "General Leiden, my queen."
She fixed him with an implacable stare. "To question me once is a
simple mistake, Lieutenant. Twice is treason. We execute traitors."
Cara's Agiel spun up into her fist. "Step aside, Lieutenant."
Even in the haunting orange and green light of fires, Zedd could see
the man's face pale. He took a step back and wisely, if belatedly, fell
silent.
"Who is next in command?" the Mother Confessor asked again.
"Kahlan," Zedd said, "I'm afraid the Order used their gifted to single
out men of rank. Despite our best efforts, I believe we lost all our senior
officers. It cost them dearly, at least."
"Then who is next in command?"
Captain Meiffert looked around and finally lifted his hand.
"I'm not positive, Mother Confessor, but I believe that would be me."
"Very well, General Meiffert."
He inclined his head. "Mother Confessor," he said in a quiet,
confidential voice, "that isn't necessary."
"No one said it was, General."
The new general softly struck a fist to his heart. Zedd saw Cara smile
in grim approval. Of the thousands of faces watching, that was the only
smile. It wasn't that the men disapproved, but rather that they were
relieved to have someone so firmly in command. D'Harans respected iron
authority. If they couldn't have Lord Rahl, they would take his wife, and an
iron one at that. They might not have smiled, but Zedd knew they would be
pleased.
"As I said, I don't allow the enemy to go to bed with victory." Kahlan
scanned the faces watching her. "I want a cavalry raid ready to go within
the hour."
"And who do you intend to send on such an attack, my queen?"
Everyone knew what the former General Leiden meant by the question. He
was asking who she was sending to their death.
"There will be two wings. One to make their way unseen around the
Order's camp so as to come in from their south, where they will least expect
it, and another wing to hold back until the first is in place, and then come
in from this side, from the north. I intend to have us spill some of their
blood before bed."
She looked back to the new Lieutenant Leiden's eyes and answered his
question. "I will be leading the southern wing."
Everyone, except the new general, began voicing objections. Leiden
spoke up louder.
"My queen, why would you want us to get our men together for a calvary
raid?"
He pointed to the wall of men, all on horses behind her: all
Galeans-traditional adversaries of the Keltans, Leiden's homeland. "When we
have these?"
"These men will be helping get this army back together, relieving those
on duty to get needed rest, helping dig defensive ditches, and filling in
wherever they are needed. The men who were bloodied are the ones who need to
go to bed with the sweet taste of vengeance. I would not dare to deny
D'Harans that to which they are so entitled."
A cheer went up.
Zedd thought that if war was madness, madness had just found its
mistress.
General Meiffert took a step closer to her. "I'll have my best men
ready within the hour, Mother Confessor. Everyone will want to go; I'll have
to disappoint a lot of volunteers."
Kahlan's face softened when she nodded. "Pick your man for the northern
wing, then, General."
"I will be leading the northern wing, Mother Confessor."
Kahlan smiled. "Very well."
She ordered the Galean troops off to their duties. With a sweep of her
finger, she dismissed everyone but the immediate group and called that inner
circle closer.
"What about Richard's admonition not to directly attack the Order?"
Verna asked.
"I remember well what Richard said. I'm not going to directly attack
their main force."
Zedd supposed she did remember it well. She had been there with
Richard-they hadn't. Zedd brought up a touchy issue.
"The main force will be in the center, well protected. At their edges,
where you attack, will be defenses, of course, but mostly the camp followers
will be at the tail end of the Order's camp-the fringe to the south,
mostly."
"I don't really care," she said with cold fury. "If they're with the
Order, then they are the enemy. There will be no mercy." She was looking at
her new general as she spoke her orders. "I don't care if we kill their
whores or their generals. I want every baker and cook dead as much as I want
every officer and archer dead. Every camp follower we kill will deprive them
of the comforts they enjoy. I want to strip them of everything, including
their lives. Is that understood?"
General Meiffert gave his nod. "No mercy. You'll get no argument from
us, Mother Confessor; that is the D'Haran code of warfare."
Zedd knew that, in war, Kahlan's way was usually the only way to
prevail. The enemy would grant no mercy, and would need none themselves had
they not invaded. Every whore and hawker chose to be a part of that
invasion, to make what they could off the blood and plunder spilled at the
Order's feet.
Verna spoke up. "Mother Confessor, Ann was going to see you and
Richard. We last heard from her over a month ago. Have you seen her?"
"Yes."
Verna licked her lips in caution at the steely look in Kahlan's eyes.
"Was she all right?"
"The last I saw her, she was."
"Would you know why she hasn't sent any word to us?"
"I threw her journey book in the fire."
Verna stepped forward, making to snatch Kahlan by the shoulder. Cara's
Agiel came up like lightning, barring her way.
"No one touches the Mother Confessor." Cara's cold blue eyes were as
deadly as her words. "Is that clear? No one."
"You have one Mord-Sith and one Mother Confessor, here, both in very
bad moods," Kahlan said in a level voice. "I would suggest you not give us
an excuse to lose our temper, or we may never find it again in your
lifetime."
Zedd's fingers found Verna's arm and gently urged her back.
"We're all tired," he said. "We have enough troubles with the Order."
He shot Kahlan a scowl. "No matter how tired or distraught we are, though,
let's remember we're all on the same side here."
Kahlan's eyes told him she challenged that statement, but she said
nothing.
Verna changed the subject. "I will get together some of the gifted to
escort you on the raid."
"Thank you, but we will be taking no gifted."
"But you will at least need them to help you find your way in the
dark."
"We will have the enemy campfires to show us our way."
"Kahlan," Zedd said, hoping to interject some reason, "the Order will
have gifted-including Sisters of the Dark. You will need protection from
them."
"No. I don't want any gifted with us. They are expecting any attack to
be accompanied by our gifted. Their gifted will be watching for shields of
magic. Any riders they do see without detecting magic they will be more
likely to discount. We'll be able to get in deeper and draw more blood
without gifted along."
Verna sighed at such foolishness, but didn't argue. General Meiffert
liked her plan. Zedd knew she was right about getting in deeper, but he
knew, too, that getting back out would be more difficult, once the enemy was
on to them.
"Zedd, I would like one bit of magic."
He scratched his brow in resignation. "What would you like me to do?"
Kahlan gestured at the ground. "Make that dust glow. I want it to show
up in the dark, and I want it sticky."
"For how long?"
She shrugged. "The rest of the night would be enough."
After Zedd had spun a web over the dusty patch of ground, giving it a
green glow, Kahlan bent and rubbed her hand in it. She walked around back of
her horse and slapped the hand on each flank, leaving a glowing green
handprint on each hindquarter.
"What are you doing?" Zedd asked.
"It's dark. I want them to be able to see me. They can't come after me
if they can't find me in the dark."
Zedd sighed at the madness.
General Meiffert squatted and rubbed his hand in the glowing dust. "I'd
also hate for them to miss me in the dark."
"Be sure to wash your hand clean before we go," she said.
After she had explained her plan to the new general, Kahlan, Cara, and
General Meiffert started off to their tasks.
Before they could get far, Zedd halted Kahlan with a softly spoken
question.
"Kahlan, do you have any idea how we can get Richard back?"
She gazed boldly into his eyes. "Yes. I have a plan."
"Would you mind sharing it with me?"
"It's simple. I plan on killing every Imperial Order man, woman, and
child until I get to the very last one left alive, and then if she doesn't
give him back, I'm going to kill her, too."
Kahlan focused past the black void to the glowing points of the fires
as she leaned forward over the withers of her galloping horse, urging him
onward, faster and faster. The muscles in her thighs strained as she pressed
her weight against the stirrups and squeezed her legs against the feverish
warmth of the massive body rhythmically, incessantly, frantically flexing
and stretching, feeling its every pounding strike against the ground. Her
ears were filled with the hammering of her own heart and the thunder of yet
more hooves behind her. She was distantly aware of the weight of the Sword
of Truth sheathed in its scabbard, an ever-present reminder of Richard.
She gripped the reins in one fist. With her other, she lifted her royal
Galean sword high. The lights were coming. Unexpectedly, the first came out
of nowhere and exploded into her vision.
Racing past what looked to be the light of a single candle, she was
there, at last. Crying out with the sudden power of emotions that could no
longer be stifled, she slammed her sword down against the dark shape of a
man. The impact of the blade against bone jarred her wrist. The hilt stung
against her palm.
On their way by, the men behind her unleashed their fury against the
remaining sentries at the outpost. Kahlan held tight, knowing the greater
unleashing of her need was yet to come. She would not be denied, now.
The fires of the outer fringes of the camp flew toward her. Her muscles
were rigid with expectation. She felt at the brink of control. And then she
was upon them. At last, she was there. She met them with all her strength.
Her blade came down again and again, lashing against their bodies, slashing
anyone within her reach. The outer fires shot past the sides of her horse
with dizzying speed. She gasped for breath.
Laying the reins over, Kahlan pulled her big warhorse around in a tight
circle. He was not as agile as she would have preferred, but he was well
trained and for this job he would do. He bellowed with the excitement of
battle begun.
Tents and wagons were scattered everywhere, with little apparent order.
Kahlan could hear the merry laughter of those not yet aware of the enemy in
their midst. She had brought a small attack force, keeping them tight and
close on the way in so it wouldn't raise the kind of alarm a broad attack
would. It had worked. She saw men around fires tipping up bottles, or eating
meat off skewers. She saw men sleeping, with their feet sticking out of
tents. She saw a man walking with his arm around the waist of a woman. In
the dim light she saw men in tents between the legs of other women.
The couple, arm in arm-undoubtedly at a price-was close. The man was on
the far side of the woman as Kahlan raced up behind them, so with a mighty
swing
she took off the woman's head, instead. The stupefied man clutched the
headless body as it began to fall. The cavalry man right behind Kahlan took
the startled man down.
Kahlan dug in her heels and charged her big warhorse over a haphazard
row of tents with men and women inside. She could feel the huge hooves
crushing bone. Screams rose around her and her mount.
A soldier with a pike stood with his legs spread in a stance of sudden
alarm. On her way past, Kahlan snatched the pike from his grip, stabbed it
into a small tent, twisting it, getting the canvas tangled up on its barbs,
and then backed her horse, hauling the tent off a man and woman. Her men
following behind stabbed the exposed couple as Kahlan pulled the remnants of
the tent through a fire. As soon as it lit, she dragged the flaming canvas
to a wagon, setting that wagon's tarp afire, and then threw the blazing
remains in another wagon full of supplies.
With a backhanded swing of her sword, Kahlan smashed the face of a
burly man who ran up to pull her off her horse. She had to yank the blade
free of his skull. Before more men could snatch at her, she dug in her heels
again and charged off toward another fire, where men were just jumping to
their feet. The horse knocked down several, and her sword cut another. By
now, the shrieks of women sent up an effective alarm, and men were rushing
out of tents and wagons with weapons in their fists. The whole scene was one
of erupting pandemonium.
Kahlan wheeled her mount, stabbing anyone within reach. Many were not
soldiers. Her sword felled leatherworkers and wagon masters, whores and
soldiers. High-stepping at her command, her horse trampled down a line of
big tents where wounded were being cared for. Beside a lamp, Kahlan spotted
a surgeon with needle and thread working on a man's leg. She drove her horse
around to trample the surgeon and the man he was sewing up. The surgeon held
his arms up before his face, but his arms were no good at warding the weight
of a huge warhorse.
Kahlan signaled her men in. Army surgeons were valuable. The D'Harans
killed every one they saw. She knew that killing each was as good as killing
untold numbers of enemy soldiers. Kahlan and her men wreaked havoc through
the whores' tents, toppled cook wagons, cut down soldiers and civilians
alike. When her men saw lamps, they leaped off their horses and snatched
them up to use to start fires. Kahlan hacked at an enraged cook who came at
her with a butcher knife. It took three rapid cuts to dispatch him.
To her left, Cara's horse cut off a man about to throw a spear. Cara
coolly went about killing him and anyone else within her reach. A twist of
her Agiel usually seized up their hearts, and if not, Kahlan could at least
hear bones snap. Their cries of death and pain seemed frightful enough to
send a shiver up the spines of the dead, and did add to the general
confusion and panic. It was glorious music to Kahlan's ears.
The Agiel would only function through the bond to the Lord Rahl.
Because it worked, she and Cara knew Richard was alive. That alone gave
Kahlan heart. It was almost as if he were there with her. His sword strapped
to her back was like his hand touching her, encouraging her to throw herself
into the fight, telling her to cut.
The indiscriminate nature of the killing in among the camp followers
confused the enemy soldiers, and terrorized the people who commonly believed
themselves impervious to the violence they ultimately fed off of. Now,
rather than being the vultures picking at the carcasses, they were the
hapless prey. Life in the Imperial Order's camp would never be the
same-Kahlan would see to that. No more would
the enemy soldiers enjoy the comforts provided by these people. They
would now know they were no less targets than officers. They would know the
price of their participation. The price was a merciless death and payment
had come due.
Slashing her way through the running crowds of screaming people, Kahlan
kept an eye on a large group of the Imperial Order's horses, stabled not far
off, watching as soldiers threw saddles on their mounts. She drove her horse
over men and tents, getting closer, until she was sure she was within
earshot of those cavalry men saddling their horses.
Kahlan stood in her stirrups, waving her sword high in the air. Men
paused to stare.
"I am the Mother Confessor! For the crime of invading the Midlands, I
condemn you all to death! Every one of you!"
The hundred men with her sent up a cheer. Their voices joined in a
chant.
"Death to the Order! Death to the Order! Death to the Order!"
Kahlan and her men charged their horses around in an ever-widening
circle, trampling anyone they could, hacking anyone within reach, stabbing
anyone who rushed them, setting fire to anything that would burn. These
D'Haran soldiers were the best at what they did, and they did it with
brilliant effectiveness. When they found a wagon with oil, they broke the
barrels open and tossed on flaming logs they plucked up with lances from
fires. Night whooshed into day. Everyone could plainly see Kahlan, now, as
she charged through their midst, screaming her pronouncement of death.
Kahlan saw the Order's cavalry mounting up, pulling their lances from
racks, drawing their swords. She reared her horse, holding her sword high.
"You are all cowards! You will never catch me or best me! You will all
die like the cowards you are at the hands of the Mother Confessor!"
When her horse came down, she thumped its ribs with her boots. The
horse charged off at a dead run, Cara right at her side, her hundred men at
her heels, a few thousand infuriated Imperial Order cavalry right behind
them, with more mounting up all the time.
Being at the edge of the Order's camp, they wouldn't have much ground
to cover before they were out of the camp, again, and into the open
countryside. As they raced away, Kahlan took the opportunity to kill anyone
who presented themselves. It was too dark to tell if they were men or woman,
and it didn't matter anyway. She wanted them all dead. Each time her sword
made contact, slashing muscle or breaking bone, was a delicious release.
Running at full speed, past the last of the campfires, they plunged
suddenly into the black void of night. Kahlan leaned forward over her
horse's muscular neck, as they ran west, hoping there were no holes in the
ground. If they hit one, it would be all over not just for her horse, but,
most likely, for her as well.
She knew this land well enough, the gentle hills, the bluffs ahead. She
knew where she was, even in the dark, and she knew where she was going. She
was counting on the enemy not knowing. In the disorienting sweep of
darkness, they would fixate on following the glowing handprints on her
horse's rump, thinking one of their gifted had gotten close enough to mark
her horse for them. They would be gleeful with the blinding anticipation of
having her naked to their swords.
Kahlan used the flat of her own sword to smack her horse's flanks,
urging him on, whipping him into a wild state. They were away from the
excitement of battle, now, and out in the lonely openness of the
countryside. Horses dreaded predators
nipping at their flanks, especially in the dark. She encouraged him to
think teeth were snapping at his hindquarters.
Her men were right behind her, but, as instructed, rode to each side so
there was a gap, allowing the enemy to see the glowing marks on her horse.
When Kahlan feared she was as close as they dared get, she signaled with a
whistle. Over her shoulders, she watched her men, her protection, peeling
away, off into the night. She would not see them again until she returned to
the D'Haran camp.
With her advantage of the distant fires of the Order's camp in back of
them, Kahlan was able to see the silhouette of the enemy cavalry close
behind, coming at a full charge, their hungry gazes no doubt fixed on the
glowing handprints on her horse's flanks, the only thing they could see out
in the wide-open countryside on a moonless night.
"How far?" Cara called over from close beside her.
"Should be-"
Kahlan's words cut off when she suddenly spotted briefly what was right
there before her.
"Now, Cara!"
Kahlan pulled her leg up just in time as Cara rammed her horse over.
The two huge animals jostled dangerously. Kahlan threw her arm around Cara's
shoulders. Cara's arm seized Kahlan's waist and yanked her over, off her
horse. Kahlan gave her horse one last smack with the flat of her sword. The
horse snorted in panic as it charged onward at full speed into the
blackness.
Kahlan threw her leg over the rump of Cara's horse, sheathed her sword,
and then held tight to Cara's waist as the Mord-Sith pulled her horse's head
hard to the left, forcing it, at a full gallop, to turn away just in time.
For an instant, through a break in the clouds, Kahlan spied the dull
slur of starlight reflecting off the churning, icy waters of the Drun River
below.
She felt a pang of sorrow for her startled, bewildered, terrified horse
as it sailed out over the bluff. It was giving its life to take many more
with it. The beast would probably never know what had happened.
Neither would the Imperial Order cavalry as they followed the glowing
handprints on into the dark. This was her Midlands; Kahlan knew what was
there; they were invaders, and did not. Even if they did see it coming in
the last twinkling of their lives, at a full charge into pitch blackness
they would never have a chance to avert their doom.
She hoped, though, that those men did realize what was happening just
before they gasped in the frigid dark waters, or before their lungs burst
with the need of air as the merciless river dragged them down into its inky
embrace. She hoped every one of those men suffered a horrifying death in the
dark depths of those treacherous currents.
Kahlan turned her thoughts away from the heat of battle. The forces of
the D'Haran Empire could sleep, now, with a victory over their enemy and