Страница:
wreckage of lives endured but never lived."
Kahlan found herself unable to summon the courage to speak, much less
argue; to do so right then would be to ask him to disregard his judgment at
a cost he believed would be a sea of blood. But doing as he saw they must
would cast her people helpless into the jaws of death.
Kahlan, her vision turning to a watery blur, looked away.
"Cara," Richard said, "get the horses hitched to the carnage. I'm going
to scout a circle to make sure we don't have any surprises."
"I will scout while you hitch the horses. I am your guard."
"You're my friend, too. I know this land better than you. Hitch the
horses and don't give me any trouble about it."
Cara rolled her eyes and huffed, but marched off to do his bidding.
The room rang with silence. Richard's shadow slipped off the blanket.
When Kahlan whispered her love to him, he paused and looked back. His
shoulders seemed to betray the weight he carried.
"I wish I could, but I can't make people understand freedom. I'm
sorry."
From somewhere inside, Kahlan found a smile for him. "Maybe it isn't so
hard." She gestured toward the bird he had carved in the wall. "Just show
them that, and they will understand what freedom really means: to soar on
your own wings."
Richard smiled, she thought gratefully, before he vanished through the
doorway.
All the troubling thoughts tumbling through her mind kept Kahlan from
falling back to sleep. She tried not to think about Richard's vision of the
future. As exhausted as she was by pain, his words were too troubling to
contemplate, and besides, there was nothing she could do about it right
then. But she was determined to help him get over the loss of Anderith and
focus on stopping the Imperial Order.
It was more difficult to shake her thoughts about the men who had been
outside, men Richard had grown up with. The haunting memory of their angry
threats echoed in her mind. She knew that ordinary men who had never before
acted violently, could, in the right circumstances, be incited to great
brutality. With the way they viewed mankind as sinful, wretched, and evil,
it was only a small step more to actually doing evil. After all, any evil
they might do, they had already rationalized as being predestined by what
they viewed as man's inescapable nature.
It was unnerving to contemplate an attack by such men when she could do
nothing but lie there waiting to be killed. Kahlan envisioned a grinning,
toothless Tommy Lancaster leaning over her to cut her throat while all she
could do was stare helplessly up at him. She had often been afraid in
battle, but at least then she could fight with all her strength to survive.
That helped counter the fear. It was different to be helpless and have no
means to fight back; it was a different sort of fear.
If she had to, she could always resort to her Confessor's power, but in
her condition that was a dubious proposition. She had never had to call upon
her power when in anything like the condition in which she now found
herself. She reminded herself that the three of them would be long gone
before the men returned, and besides, Richard and Cara would never let them
get near her.
Kahlan had a more immediate fear, though, and that one was all too
real. But she wouldn't feel it for long; she would pass out, she knew. She
hoped.
She tried not to think of it, and instead put her hand gently over her
belly, over their child, as she listened to the nearby splashing and
burbling of a stream. The sound of the water reminded her of how much she
wished she could take a bath. The bandages over the oozing wound in her side
stank and needed to be changed often. The sheets were soaked with sweat. Her
scalp itched. The mat of grass that was the bedding under the sheet was hard
and chafed her back. Richard had probably made the pallet quickly, planning
to improve it later.
As hot as the day was, the stream's cold water would be welcome. She
longed for a bath, to be clean, and to smell fresh. She longed to be better,
to be able to do things for herself, to be healed. She could only hope that
as time passed, Richard, too, would recover from his invisible, but real,
wounds.
Cara finally returned, grumbling about the horses being stubborn today.
She
looked up to see the room was empty. "I had better go look for him and
make sure: he's safe."
"He's fine. He knows what he's doing. Just wait, Cara, or he will then
have toy go out and look for you."
Cara sighed and reluctantly agreed. Retrieving a cool, wet cloth, she
set to mopping Kahlan's forehead and temples. Kahlan didn't like to complain
when people; were doing their best to care for her, so she didn't say
anything about how much it hurt her torn neck muscles when her head was
shifted in that way. Cara never complained about any of it. Cara only
complained when she believed her charges were in needless danger-and when
Richard wouldn't let her eliminate those she viewed as a danger.
Outside, a bird let out a high-pitched trill. The tedious repetition
was becoming, grating. In the distance, Kahlan could hear a squirrel
chattering an objection to something, or perhaps arguing over his territory.
He'd been doing it for what seemed' an hour. The stream babbled on without
letup.
This was Richard's idea of restful.
"I hate this," she muttered.
"You should be happy-lying about without anything to do."
"And I bet you would be happy to trade places?"
"I am Mord-Sith. For a Mord-Sith, nothing could be worse than to die in
bed." Her blue eyes turned to Kahlan's. "Old and toothless," she added. "I
didn't mean; that you-"
"I know what you meant."
Cara looked relieved. "Anyway, you couldn't die-that would be too easy.
You never do anything easy."
"I married Richard."
"See what I mean?"
Kahlan smiled.
Cara dunked the cloth in a pail on the floor and wrung it out as she
stood. "It` isn't too bad, is it? Just lying there?"
"How would you like to have to have someone push a wooden bowl under
yours. bottom every time your bladder was full?"
Cara carefully blotted the damp cloth along Kahlan's neck. "I don't
mind doing it for a sister of the Agiel."
The Agiel, the weapon a Mord-Sith always carried, looked like nothing
more; than a short, red leather rod hanging on a fine chain from her right
wrist. A Mord~. Sith's Agiel was never more than a flick away from her grip.
It somehow functioned: by means of the magic of a Mord-Sith's bond to the
Lord Rahl.
Kahlan had once felt the partial touch of an Agiel. In a blinding
instant, it could inflict the kind of pain that the entire gang of men had
dealt Kahlan. The touch of a, Mord-Sith's Agiel was easily capable of
delivering bone-breaking torture, and just as easily, if she desired, death.
Richard had given Kahlan the Agiel that had belonged to Denna, the
Mord-Sith
who had captured him by order of Darken Rahl. Only Richard had ever
come to understand and empathize with the pain an Agiel also gave the
Mord-Sith who ' ' wielded it. Before he was forced to kill Denna in order to
escape, she had given . him her Agiel, asking to be remembered as simply
Derma, the woman beyond the appellation of Mord-Sith, the woman no one but
Richard had ever before seen a understood. 28
That Kahlan understood, and kept the Agiel as a symbol of that same
respect for women whose young lives had been stolen and twisted to nightmare
purposes and duties, was deeply meaningful to the other Mord-Sith. Because
of that compassion-untainted by pity-and more, Cara had named Kahlan a
sister of the Agiel. It was an informal but heartfelt accolade.
"Messengers have come to see Lord Rahl," Cara said. "You were sleeping,
and Lord Rahl saw no reason to wake you," she added in answer to Kahlan's
questioning look. The messengers were D'Haran, and able to find Richard by
their bond to him as their Lord Rahl. Kahlan, not able to duplicate the
feat, had always found it unsettling.
"What did they have to say?"
Cara shrugged. "Not a lot. Jagang's army of the Imperial Order remains
in Anderith for the time being, with Reibisch's force staying safely to the
north to watch and be ready should the Order decide to threaten the rest of
the Midlands. We know little of the situation inside Anderith, under the
Order's occupation. The rivers flow away from our men, toward the sea, so
they have not seen bodies to indicate if there has been mass death, but
there have been a few people who managed to escape. They report that there
was some death due to the poison which was released, but they don't know how
widespread it was. General Reibisch has sent scouts and spies in to learn
what they will."
"What orders did Richard give them to take back?"
"None."
"None? He sent no orders?"
Cara shook her head and then leaned over to dunk the cloth again. "He
wrote letters to the general, though."
She drew the blanket down, lifted the bandage at Kahlan's side, and
inspected its weak red charge before tossing it on the floor. With a gentle
touch, she cleaned the wound.
When Kahlan was able to get her breath, she asked, "Did you see the
letters?"
"Yes. They say much the same as he has told you-that he has had a
vision that has caused him to come to see the nature of what he must do. He
explained to the general that he could not give orders for fear of causing
the end of our chances."
"Did General Reibisch answer?"
"Lord Rahl has had a vision. D'Harans know the Lord Rahl must deal with
the terrifying mysteries of magic. D'Harans do not expect to understand
their Lord Rahl and would not question his behavior: he is the Lord Rahl.
The general made no comment, but sent word that he would use his own
judgment."
Richard had probably told them it was a vision, rather than say it was
simply a realization, for that very reason. Kahlan considered that a moment,
weighing the possibilities.
"We have that much luck, then. General Reibisch is a good man, and will
know what to do. Before too long, I'll be up and about. By then, maybe
Richard will be better, too."
Cara tossed the cloth into the pail. As she leaned closer, her brow
creased with frustration and concern.
"Mother Confessor, Lord Rahl said he will not act to lead us until the
people prove themselves to him."
"I'm getting better. I hope to help him get over what happened-help him
to see that he must fight."
"But this involves magic." She picked at the frayed edge of the blue
blanket. "Lord Rahl said it's a vision. If it is magic, then it's something
he would know about and must handle in the way he sees it must be done."
"We need to be a little understanding of what he's been through-the
loss we've all suffered to the Order-and remember, too, that Richard didn't
grow up around magic, much less ruling armies."
Cara squatted and rinsed her cloth in the pail. After wringing it out,
she went back to cleaning the wound in Kahlan's side. "He is the Lord Rahl,
though. Hasn't he already proven himself to be a master of magic a number of
times?"
Kahlan couldn't dispute that much of it, but he still didn't have much
experience, and experience was valuable. Cara not only feared magic but was
easily impressed by any act of wizardry. Like most people, she couldn't
distinguish between a simple conjuring and the kind of magic that could
alter the very nature of the world. Kahlan realized now that this wasn't a
vision, as such, but a conclusion Richard had arrived at.
Much of what he'd said made sense, but Kahlan believed that emotion was
clouding his thinking.
Cara looked up from her work. Her voice bore an undertone of
uncertainty, if not despairing bewilderment. "Mother Confessor, how will the
people ever be able to prove themselves to Lord Rahl?"
"I've no idea."
Cara set down the cloth and looked Kahlan in the eye. It was a long,
uncomfortable moment before she finally decided to speak.
"Mother Confessor, I think maybe Lord Rahl has lost his mind."
Kahlan's immediate thought was to wonder if General Reibisch might
believe the same thing.
"I thought D'Harans do not expect to understand their Lord Rahl and
would not question his behavior."
"Lord Rahl also says he wants me to think for myself."
Kahlan put her hand over Cara's. "How many times have we doubted him
before? Remember the chicken that-wasn't-a-chicken? We both thought he was
crazy. He wasn't."
"This is not some monster chasing us. This is something much bigger."
"Care, do you always follow Richard's orders?"
"Of course not. He must be protected and I can't allow his foolishness
to interfere with my duty. I only follow his orders if they do not endanger
him, or if they tell me to do what I would have done anyway, or if it
involves his male pride."
"Did you always follow Darken Rahl's orders?"
Cara stiffened at the unexpected encounter with the name, as if
speaking it might summon him back from the world of the dead. "You followed
Darken Rahl's orders, no matter how foolish they were, or you were tortured
to death."
"Which Lord Rahl do you respect?"
"I would lay down my life for any Lord Rahl." Cara hesitated, and then
touched her fingertips to the red leather over her heart. "But I could never
feel this way for any other. I . . . love Lord Rahl. Not like you love him,
not like a woman loves a man, but it is still love. Sometimes I have dreams
of how proud I am to serve and defend him, and sometimes I have nightmares
that I will fail him."
Cara's brow drew down with sudden dread. "You won't tell him that I
said I love '; him, will you? He must not know."
Kahlan smiled. "Cara, I think he already knows, because he has similar
feelings about you, but if you don't wish it, I won't say anything."
Cara let out a sigh of relief. "Good."
"And what made you come to feel that way about him?"
"Many things .... He wishes us to think for ourselves. He allows us to
serve him by choice. No Lord Rahl has ever done that before. I know that if
I said I wished to quit him, he would let me go. He would not have me
tortured to death for it. He would wish me a good life."
"That, and more, is what you value about him: he never pretended any
claim to your lives. He believes no such claim can ever rightfully exist.
It's the first time since you were captured and trained to be Mord-Sith,
that you have felt the reality of freedom.
"That, Cara, is what Richard wants for everyone."
She swished a hand, as if dismissing the seriousness of the whole
thing. "He would be foolish to grant me my freedom if I asked for it. He
needs me too much."
"You wouldn't need to ask for your freedom, Cara, and you know it. You
already have your freedom, and because of him you know that, too. That's
what makes him a leader you are honored to follow. That's why you feel the
way you do about him. He has earned your loyalty."
Cara mulled it over.
"I still think he has lost his mind."
In the past, Richard had more than once expressed his faith that, given
a chance, people would do the right thing. That was what he had done with
the Mord-Sith. That was also what he had done with the people of Anderith.
Now . . .
Kahlan swallowed back her emotion. "Not his mind, Cara, but maybe his
heart."
Cara, seeing the look on Kahlan's face, dismissed the seriousness of
the matter with a shrug and a smile. "I guess we will simply have to bring
him around to the way things are going to be-talk some sense into him."
Cara dabbed away the remnant of a tear as it rolled down Kahlan's
cheek.
"Before he comes back, how about getting that stupid wooden bowl for
me?"
Cara nodded and bent to retrieve it. Kahlan was already fretting,
knowing how much it was going to hurt, but there was no avoiding it.
Cara came up with the shallow bowl. "Before those men came, I was
planning on making a fire and warming some water. I was going to give you a
bed bath-you know, with a soapy cloth and a bucket of warm water. I guess I
can do it when we get where we are going."
Kahlan half closed her eyes with the dreamy thought of being at least
somewhat clean and fresh. She thought she needed a bath even more than she
needed the wooden bowl to relieve herself.
"Cara, if you would do that for me, I would kiss your feet when I get
better, and name you to the most important post I can think of."
"I am Mord-Sith." Cara looked nonplussed. She finally drew the blanket
down. "That is the most important post there is-except perhaps wife to the
Lord Rahl. Since he already has a wife, and I am already Mord-Sith, I will
have to be content with having my feet kissed."
Kahlan chuckled, but a stab of pain through her abdomen and ribs
brought it to an abrupt halt.
--}----
Richard was a long time in returning. Cara had made Kahlan drink two
cups of cold tea heavily laced with herbs to dull the pain. It wouldn't be
long before she was in a stupor, if not exactly asleep. Kahlan had been just
about to yield to Cara's desire to go look for Richard, when he called from
a distance to let them know it was him.
"Did you see any of the men?" Cara asked when he appeared in the
doorway.
With a straight finger, Richard swiped glistening beads of sweat off
his forehead. His damp hair was plastered to his neck. "No. They're no doubt
off to Hartland to do some drinking and complaining. By the time they come
back we'll be long gone."
"I still say we should lie in wait and end the threat," Cara muttered.
Richard ignored her.
"I cut and stripped some stout saplings and used some canvas to make a
litter." He came closer and with a knuckle nudged Kahlan's chin, as if to
playfully buck up her courage. "From now on we'll just let you stay on the
litter, and then we can move you in and out of the carriage without. . ." He
had that look in his eyes-that look that hurt her to see. He showed her a
smile. "It will make it easier on Cara and me."
Kahlan tried to face the thought with composure. "We're ready then?"
His gaze dropped as he nodded.
"Good," Kahlan said, cheerfully. "I'm in the mood for a nice ride. I'd
like to see some of the countryside."
He smiled, more convincingly this time, she thought. "You shall have
it. And we'll end up at a beautiful place. It's going to take a while to get
there, traveling as slow as we must, but it will be worth the journey,
you'll see."
Kahlan tried to keep her breathing even. She said his name over and
over in her head, telling herself that she would not forget it this time,
that she would not forget her own name. She hated forgetting things; it made
her feel a fool to learn things she should have remembered but had
forgotten. She was going to remember this time.
"Well, do I have to get up and walk? Or are you going to be a gentleman
and carry me?"
He bent and kissed her forehead-the one part on her face that the soft
touch of his lips would not hurt. He glanced at Cara and tilted his head to
signal her to get Kahlan's legs.
"Will those men be drinking a long time?" Kahlan asked.
"It's still midday. Don't worry, we'll be long gone before they ever
get back', here."
"I'm sorry, Richard. I know you thought these people from your
homeland-"
"They're people, just like everyone else."
She nodded as she fondly stroked the back of his big hand. "Cara gave
me some of your herbs. I'll sleep for a long time, so don't go slow on my
account-I won't feel it. I don't want you to have to fight all those men."
"I won't be doing any fighting just traveling my forests."
"That's good." Kahlan felt daggers twist in her ribs as her breathing
started getting too fast. "I love you, you know. In case I forgot to say it,
I love you."
Despite the pain in his gray eyes, he smiled. "I love you, too. Just
try to relax. Cara and I will be as gentle as we can. We'll go easy. There's
no rush. Don't try to help us. Just relax. You're getting better, so it
won't be so hard."
She had been hurt before and knew that it was always better to move
yourself because you knew exactly how to do it. But she couldn't move
herself this time.,
She had come to know that the worst thing when you were hurt was to
have someone else move you.
As he leaned over, she slipped her right arm around his neck while he
carefully slid his left arm under her shoulders. Being lifted even that much
ignited a shock of pain. Kahlan tried to ignore the burning stitch and
attempted to relax as she said his name over and over in her mind.
She suddenly remembered something important. It was her last chance to
remind him.
"Richard," she whispered urgently just before he pushed his right arm
under her bottom to lift her. "Please . . . remember to be careful not to
hurt the baby."
She was startled to see her words stagger him. It took a moment before
his eyes turned up to look into hers. What she saw there nearly stopped her
heart.
"Kahlan . . . you remember, don't you?"
"Remember?"
His eyes glistened. "That you lost the baby. When you were attacked."
The memory slammed into her like a fist, nearly taking her breath.
"...Oh...
"Are you all right?"
"Yes. I forgot for a moment. I just wasn't thinking. I remember, now. I
remember you told me about it."
And she did. Their child, their child that had only begun to grow in
her, was long since dead and gone. Those beasts who had attacked her had
taken that from her, too.
The world seemed to turn gray and lifeless.
"I'm so sorry, Kahlan," he whispered.
She caressed his hair. "No, Richard. I should have remembered. I'm
sorry I forgot. I didn't mean to . . ."
He nodded.
She felt a warm tear drop onto the hollow of her throat, close to her
necklace. The necklace, with its small dark stone, had been a wedding gift
from Shota, the witch woman. The gift was a proposal of truce. Shota said it
would allow them to be together and share their love, as they had always
wanted, without Kahlan getting pregnant. Richard and Kahlan had decided
that, for the time being, they would reluctantly accept Shota's gift, her
truce. They already had worries enough on their hands.
But for a time, when the chimes had been loose in the world, the magic
of the necklace, unbeknownst to Richard and Kahlan, had failed. One small
but miraculous balance to the horrors the chimes had brought had been that
it had given their love the opportunity to bring a child to life.
Now that life was gone.
"Please, Richard, let's go."
He nodded again.
"Dear spirits," he whispered to himself so softly she could hardly hear
him, "forgive me for what I am about to do."
She clutched his neck. She now longed for what was coming-she wanted to
forget.
He lifted her as gently as he could. It felt like wild stallions tied
to each limb all leaped into a gallop at the same instant. Pain ripped up
from the core of her, the shock of it making her eyes go wide as she sucked
in a breath. And then she screamed.
The blackness hit her like a dungeon door slamming shut.
C H A P T E R 4
A sound woke her as suddenly as a slap. Kahlan lay on her back, still
as death, her eyes wide, listening. It wasn't so much that the sound had
been loud, but that it had been something disturbingly familiar. Something
dangerous.
Her whole body throbbed with pain, but she was more awake than she had
been in what seemed like weeks. She didn't know how long she had been
asleep, or perhaps unconscious. She was awake enough to remember that it
would be a grave mistake to try to sit up, because just about the only part
of her not injured was her right arm. One of the big chestnut geldings
snorted nervously and stamped a hoof, jostling the carnage enough to remind
Kahlan of her broken ribs.
The sticky air smelled of approaching rain, though fits of wind still
bore dust to her nostrils. Dark masses of leaves overhead swung fretfully to
and fro, their creaking branches giving voice to their torment. Deep purple
and violet clouds scudded past in silence. Beyond the trees and clouds, the
field of blue-black sky held a lone star, high over her forehead. She wasn't
sure if it was dawn or dusk, but it felt like the death of day.
As the gusts beat strands of her filthy hair across her face, Kahlan
listened as hard as she could for the sound that didn't belong, still hoping
to fit it into a picture of something innocent. Since she'd heard it only
from the deepness of sleep, its conscious identity remained frustratingly
out of her reach.
She listened, too, for sounds of Richard and Cara, but heard nothing.
Surely, they would be close. They would not leave her alone-not for any
reason this side of death. She recoiled from the image. She ached to call
out for Richard and prove the uninvited thought a foolish fear, but instinct
screamed at her to stay silent. She needed no reminder not to move.
A metallic clang came from the distance, then a cry. Maybe it was an
animal, she told herself. Ravens sometimes let out the most awful cries.
Their shrill wails could sound so human it was eerie. But as far as she
knew, ravens didn't make metallic sounds.
The carriage suddenly lurched to the right. Her breath caught as the
unanticipated movement caused a stitch of pain in the back of her ribs.
Someone had put weight on the step. By the careless disregard for the
carriage's injured passenger, she knew it wasn't Richard or Cara. But if it
wasn't Richard, then who? Gooseflesh tickled the nape of her neck. If it
wasn't Richard, where was he?
Stubby fingers grasped the top of the corded chafing strip on the
carriage's side rail. The blunt fingertips were rounded back over grubby,
gnawed-down little halfbutton fingernails. Kahlan held her breath, hoping he
didn't realize she was in the carriage.
A face popped up. Cunning dark eyes squinted at her. The man's four
middle upper teeth were missing, leaving his eyeteeth looking like fangs
when he grinned.
"Well, well. If it ain't the wife of the late Richard Cypher."
Kahlan lay frozen. This was just like her dreams. For an instant, she
couldn't decide if it was only that, just a dream, or real.
His shirt bore a dark patina of dirt, as if it was never removed for
anything. Sparse, wiry hairs on his fleshy cheeks and chin were like early
weeds in the plowed field of his pockmarked face. His upper lip was wet from
his runny nose. He had no lower teeth in front. The tip of his tongue rested
partway out between the yawning gap of his smirk.
He brought up a knife for her to see. He turned it this way and that,
almost as if he were showing off a prized possession to a shy girl he was
courting. His eyes kept flicking back and forth between the knife and
Kahlan. The slipshod job of sharpening appeared to have been done on rough
granite, rather than on a proper whetstone. Dark blotches and rust stained
the poorly kept cheap steel. But the scratched and chipped edge was no less
deadly for any of it. His wicked, toothless grin widened with pleasure as
her gaze followed the blade, watching it carve careful slices of the air
between them.
She made herself look into his dark, sunken eyes, which peered out from
puffy slits. "Where's Richard?" she demanded in a level voice.
"Dancing with the spirits in the underworld." He cocked his head to one
side. "Where's the blond bitch? The one my friends said they saw before. The
one with the smart mouth. The one what needs to have her tongue shortened
before I gut her."
Kahlan glared at him so he would know she had no intention of
answering. As the crude knife advanced toward her, his stench hit her.
"You would have to be Tommy Lancaster."
The knife paused. "How'd you know that?"
Anger welled up from deep inside her. "Richard told me about you."
The eyes glittered with menace. His grin widened. "Yeah? What did he
tell you?"
"That you were an ugly toothless pig who wets his pants whenever he
grins. Smells like he was right."
The smirking grin turned to a scowl. He raised up on the step and
leaned in with the knife. That was what Kahlan wanted him to do-to get close
enough so she could touch him.
With the discipline borne of a lifetime of experience, she mentally
shed her anger and donned the calm of a Confessor committed to a course of
action. Once a Confessor was resolved to releasing her power, the nature of
time itself seemed to change.
She had but to touch him.
A Confessor's power was partly dependent on her strength. In her
injured condition, she didn't know if she would be able to call forth the
required force, and if she could, whether she would survive the unleashing
of it, but she knew she had no choice. One of them was about to die. Maybe
both.
He leaned his elbow on the side rail. His fist with the knife went for
her exposed throat. Rather than watching the knife, Kahlan watched the
little scars, like dusty white cobwebs caught on his knuckles. When the fist
was close enough, she made her move to snatch his wrist.
Unexpectedly, she discovered she was snugly enfolded in the blue
blanket. She 35
hadn't realized Richard had placed her on the litter he'd made. The
blanket was wrapped around her and tightly tucked under the stretcher poles
in order to hold her as still as possible and prevent her from being hurt
when the carriage was moving. Her arm was trapped inside what was about to
become her death shroud.
Hot panic flared up as she struggled to free her right arm. She was in
a desperate race with the blade coming for her throat. Pain knifed her
injured ribs as she battled with the blanket. She had no time to cry out or
to curse in frustration at being so unwittingly snared. Her fingers gathered
a fold of material. She yanked at it, trying to pull some slack from under
the litter she lay atop so she could free her arm.
Kahlan had merely to touch him, but she couldn't. His blade was going
to be the only contact between them. Her only hope was that maybe his
knuckles would brush her flesh, or maybe he just might be close enough as he
started to slice her throat that she could press her chin against his hand.
Then, she could release her power, if she was still alive-if he didn't cut
too deep, first.
As she twisted and pulled at the blanket, it seemed to her an eternity
as she watched the blade poised over her exposed neck, an eternity to wait
before she had any hope of unleashing her power-an eternity to live. But she
knew there was only an instant more before she would feel the ripping slash
of that rough blade.
It didn't happen at all as she expected.
Tommy Lancaster wrenched backward with an earsplitting shriek. The
world around Kahlan crashed back in a riot of sound and motion with the
abrupt readjustment to the discontinuation of her intent. Kahlan saw Cara
behind him, her teeth clenched in a grim commitment of her own. In her
pristine red leather, she was a precious ruby behind a clod of dirt.
Bent into the Agiel pressed against his back, Tommy Lancaster had less
hope of pulling away from Cara than if she had impaled him on a meat hook.
His torment would not have been more brutal to witness, his shrieks more
painful to hear.
Cara's Agiel dragged up and around the side of his ribs as he collapsed
to his knees. Each rib the Agiel passed over broke with a sharp crack, like
the sound of a tree limb snapping. Vivid red, the match of her leather,
oozed over his knuckles and down his fingers. The knife clattered to the
rocky ground. A dark stain of blood grew on the side of his shirt until it
dripped off the untucked tails.
Cara stood over him, an austere executioner, watching him beg for
mercy. Instead of granting it, she pressed her Agiel against his throat and
followed him to the ground. His eyes were wide and white all around as he
choked.
It was a slow, agonizing journey toward death. Tommy Lancaster's arms
and legs writhed as he began to drown in his own blood. Cara could have
ended it quickly, but it didn't appear she had any intention of doing so.
This man had meant to kill Kahlan. Cara meant to extract a heavy price for
the crime.
"Cara!" Kahlan was surprised that she could get so much power into the
shout Cara glanced back over her shoulder. Tommy Lancaster's hands went to
his throat and he gasped for air when she rose up to stand over him. "Cara,
stop it. Where's Richard? Richard may need your help."
Cara leaned down over Tommy Lancaster, pressed her Agiel to his chest,
and gave it a twist. His left leg kicked out once, his arms flopped to the
side, and he went still.
Before either Cara or Kahlan could say anything, Richard, his face set
in cold ferocity, sprinted up toward the carriage. He had his sword to hand.
The blade was dark and wet.
The instant Kahlan saw his sword, she comprehended what had awakened
her. The sound had been the Sword of Truth announcing its arrival in the
evening air. In her sleep, her subconscious recognized the unique ring of
steel made by the Sword of Truth when it was drawn, and she instinctively
grasped the danger that that sound represented.
On his way to Kahlan's side, Richard only glanced at the lifeless body
at Cara's feet.
"Are you all right?"
Kahlan nodded. "Fine." Belatedly, yet feeling triumphant at the
accomplishment, she pulled her arm free of the blanket.
Richard turned to Cara. "Anyone else come up the road?"
"No. Just this one." She gestured with her Agiel toward the knife on
the ground. "He intended to cut the Mother Confessor's throat."
If Tommy Lancaster hadn't already been dead, Richard's glare would have
finished him. "I hope you didn't make it easy on him."
"No, Lord Rahl. He regretted his last vile act-I made certain of it."
With his sword, Richard indicated the surrounding area. "Stay here and
keep your eyes open. I'm sure we got them all, but I'm going to check just
to be certain no one else was holding back and trying to surprise us from
another direction."
"No one will get near the Mother Confessor, Lord Rahl."
Dust rose in the gloomy light when he gave a reassuring pat to the
shoulder of one of the two horses standing in their harnesses. "Soon as I
get back, I want to get going. We should have enough moon-for a few hours,
anyway. I know a safe place to make camp about four hours up the road. That
will get us a good distance away from all this."
He pointed with his sword. "Drag his body past the brush over there and
roll him off the edge, down into the ravine. I'd just as soon the bodies
weren't found until after we're long gone and far away. Probably only the
animals will ever find them way out here, but I don't want to take any
chances."
Cara snatched a fistful of Tommy Lancaster's hair. "With pleasure." He
was stocky, but the weight gave her no difficulty.
Richard trotted soundlessly off into the gathering darkness. Kahlan
listened to the sound of the body scraping across the ground. She heard
small branches snapping as Cara pulled the dead weight through the brush,
and then the muffled thuds and tumbling scree as Tommy Lancaster's body
rolled and bounced down a steep slope. It was a long time before Kahlan
heard the final thump at the bottom of the ravine.
Cara ambled back to the side of the carnage. "Everything all right with
you?" She casually pulled off her armored gloves.
Kahlan blinked at the woman. "Cara, he nearly had me."
Cara flicked her long blond braid back over her shoulder as she scanned
the surrounding area. "No he didn't. I was standing right there behind him
the whole time. I was nearly breathing down his neck. I never took my eyes
from his knife. He had no chance to harm you." She met Kahlan's gaze.
"Surely, you must have seen me."
"No, I didn't."
"Oh. I thought you saw me." Looking a little sheepish, she tucked most
of the cuffs of the gloves behind her belt and folded the rest down over the
front. "I guess maybe you were too low in the carriage to see me there
behind him. I had my attention on him. I didn't mean to let him frighten
you."
"If you were there the whole time, why did you allow him to nearly kill
me?"
"He did not nearly kill you." Cara smiled without humor. "But I wanted
to let him believe it. It's more of a shock, more of a horror, if you let
them think they've won. It crushes a man's spirit to take him then, when
you've caught him dead to rights."
Kahlan's head was swimming in confusion and so she decided not to press
the issue. "What's going on? What's happened? How long have I been asleep?"
"We have been traveling for two days. You have been in and out of
sleep, but you didn't know anything the times you were awake. Lord Rahl was
fretful about hurting you to get you into the carnage, and about having told
you . . . what you forgot."
Kahlan knew what Cara meant: her dead baby. "And the men?"
"They came after us. This time, though, Lord Rahl didn't discuss it
with them." She seemed especially pleased about that. "He knew in enough
time that they were coming, so we weren't taken by surprise. When they came
charging in, some with arrows noched and some with their swords or axes out,
he shouted at them-once-giving them a chance to change their minds."
"He tried to reason with them? Even then?"
"Well, not exactly. He told them to go home in peace, or they would all
die."
"And then what?"
"And then they all laughed. It only seemed to embolden them. They
charged, arrows flying, swords and axes raised. So Lord Rahl ran off into
the woods."
"He did what?"
"Before they came, he had told me that he was going to make them all
chase after him. As Lord Rahl ran, the one who thought he would cut your
throat yelled at the others to `get Richard, and finish him this time.' Lord
Rahl had hoped he would draw them all away from you, but when that one went
after you instead, Lord Rahl gave me a look and I knew what he wanted me to
do."
Cara clasped her hands behind her back as she scrutinized the gathering
darkness, keeping watch, should anyone try to surprise them. Kahlan's
thoughts turned to Richard, and what it must have been like, all alone as
they chased him.
"How many men?"
"I didn't count them." Cara shrugged. "Maybe two dozen."
"And you left Richard alone with two dozen men chasing after him? Two
dozen men intent on killing him?"
Cara shot Kahlan an incredulous look. "And leave you unprotected? When
I knew that toothless brute was going after you? Lord Rahl would have
skinned me alive if I had left you."
Tall and lean, shoulders squared and chin raised, Cara looked as
pleased as a cat licking mouse off its whiskers. Kahlan suddenly understood:
Richard had entrusted Cara with Kahlan's life; the MordSith had proven that
faith justified.
Kahlan felt a smile stretch the partly healed cuts on her lips. "I just
wish I'd , known you were standing there the whole time. Now, thanks to you,
I won't need the wooden bowl."
Cara didn't laugh. "Mother Confessor, you should know that I would
never let R anything happen to either of you."
Richard appeared out of the shadows as suddenly as he had vanished. He
stroked the horses reassuringly. As he moved down beside them, he quickly
checked the neck collars, the trace chains, and the breaching to make sure
it was all secure.
"Anything?" he asked Cara.
"No, Lord Rahl. Quiet and clear."
He leaned in the carnage and smiled. "Well, as long as you're awake,
how about I take you for a romantic moonlight ride?"
She rested her hand on his forearm. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Not a scratch."
"That's not what I meant."
His smile vanished. "They tried to kill us. Westland has just suffered
its first casualties because of the influence of the Imperial Order."
"But you knew them."
"That doesn't entitle them to misplaced sympathy. How many thousands
have I seen killed since I left here? I couldn't even convince men I grew up
with of the truth. I couldn't even get them to listen fairly. All the death
and suffering I've seen is ultimately because of men like this-men who
refuse to see.
"Their willful ignorance does not entitle them to my blood or life.
They picked their own path. For once, they paid the price."
He didn't sound to her like a man who was quitting the fight. He still
held the sword, was still in the grip of its rage. Kahlan caressed his arm,
letting him know that she understood. It was clear to her that even though
he'd been justly defending himself, and though he was still filled with the
sword's rage, he keenly regretted what he'd had to do. The men, had they
been able to kill Richard instead, would have regretted nothing. They would
have celebrated his death as a great victory.
"That was still perilous-making them all chase after you."
"No, it wasn't. It drew them out of the open and into the trees. They
had to dismount. It's rocky and the footing is poor, so they couldn't rush
me together or with speed, like they could out here on the road.
"The light is failing; they thought that was to their advantage. It
wasn't. In the trees it was even darker. I'm wearing mostly black. It's
warm, so I'd left my gold cape behind, here in the carriage. The little bit
of gold on the rest of the outfit only serves to break up the shape of a
man's figure in the near-dark, so they had an even harder time seeing me.
"Once I took down Albert, they stopped thinking and fought with pure
anger until they started seeing blood and death. Those men are used to
brawls, not battles. They had expected an easy time murdering us-they
weren't mentally prepared to fight for their own lives. Once they saw the
true nature of what was happening, they ran for their lives. The ones left,
anyway. These are my woods. In their panic, they became confused and lost
their way in the trees. I cut them off and ended it."
"Did you get them all?" Cara asked, worried about any who might escape
and bring more men after them.
"Yes. I knew most of them, and besides, I had their number in my head.
I counted the bodies to make sure I got them all."
"How many?" Cara asked.
Richard turned to take up the reins. "Not enough for their purpose." He
clicked his tongue and started the horses moving.
Richard rose up and drew his sword. This time, when its distinctive
sound rang out in the night, Kahlan was awake. Her first instinct was to sit
up. Before she even had time to think better of it, Richard had crouched and
gently restrained her with a reassuring hand. She lifted her head just
enough to see that it was Cara, leading a man into the harsh, flickering
light of the campfire. Richard sheathed his sword when he saw who Cara had
with her: Captain Meiffert, the D'Haran officer who had been with them back
in Anderith.
Before any other greeting, the man dropped to his knees and bent
forward, touching his forehead to the soft ground strewn with pine needles.
"Master Rahl guide us. Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us,"
Captain Meiffert beseeched in sincere reverence. "In your light we thrive.
In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only
to serve. Our lives are yours."
When he had gone to his knees to recite the devotion, as it was called,
Kahlan saw Cara almost reflexively go to her knees with him, so ingrained
was the ritual. The supplication to their Lord Rahl was something all
D'Harans did. In the field they commonly recited it once or, on occasion,
three times. At the People's Palace in D'Hara, most people gathered twice a
day to chant the devotion at length.
When he'd been a captive of Darken Rahl, Richard, often in much the
same condition as Tommy Lancaster just before he died, had himself been
forced to his knees by Mord-Sith and made to perform the devotion for hours
at a time. Now, the Mord-Sith, like all D'Harans, paid that same homage to
Richard. If the Mord-Sith saw such a turn of events as improbable, or even
ironic, they never said as much. What many of them had found improbable was
that Richard hadn't had them all executed when he became their Lord Rahl.
It was Richard, though, who had discovered that the devotion to their
Kahlan found herself unable to summon the courage to speak, much less
argue; to do so right then would be to ask him to disregard his judgment at
a cost he believed would be a sea of blood. But doing as he saw they must
would cast her people helpless into the jaws of death.
Kahlan, her vision turning to a watery blur, looked away.
"Cara," Richard said, "get the horses hitched to the carnage. I'm going
to scout a circle to make sure we don't have any surprises."
"I will scout while you hitch the horses. I am your guard."
"You're my friend, too. I know this land better than you. Hitch the
horses and don't give me any trouble about it."
Cara rolled her eyes and huffed, but marched off to do his bidding.
The room rang with silence. Richard's shadow slipped off the blanket.
When Kahlan whispered her love to him, he paused and looked back. His
shoulders seemed to betray the weight he carried.
"I wish I could, but I can't make people understand freedom. I'm
sorry."
From somewhere inside, Kahlan found a smile for him. "Maybe it isn't so
hard." She gestured toward the bird he had carved in the wall. "Just show
them that, and they will understand what freedom really means: to soar on
your own wings."
Richard smiled, she thought gratefully, before he vanished through the
doorway.
All the troubling thoughts tumbling through her mind kept Kahlan from
falling back to sleep. She tried not to think about Richard's vision of the
future. As exhausted as she was by pain, his words were too troubling to
contemplate, and besides, there was nothing she could do about it right
then. But she was determined to help him get over the loss of Anderith and
focus on stopping the Imperial Order.
It was more difficult to shake her thoughts about the men who had been
outside, men Richard had grown up with. The haunting memory of their angry
threats echoed in her mind. She knew that ordinary men who had never before
acted violently, could, in the right circumstances, be incited to great
brutality. With the way they viewed mankind as sinful, wretched, and evil,
it was only a small step more to actually doing evil. After all, any evil
they might do, they had already rationalized as being predestined by what
they viewed as man's inescapable nature.
It was unnerving to contemplate an attack by such men when she could do
nothing but lie there waiting to be killed. Kahlan envisioned a grinning,
toothless Tommy Lancaster leaning over her to cut her throat while all she
could do was stare helplessly up at him. She had often been afraid in
battle, but at least then she could fight with all her strength to survive.
That helped counter the fear. It was different to be helpless and have no
means to fight back; it was a different sort of fear.
If she had to, she could always resort to her Confessor's power, but in
her condition that was a dubious proposition. She had never had to call upon
her power when in anything like the condition in which she now found
herself. She reminded herself that the three of them would be long gone
before the men returned, and besides, Richard and Cara would never let them
get near her.
Kahlan had a more immediate fear, though, and that one was all too
real. But she wouldn't feel it for long; she would pass out, she knew. She
hoped.
She tried not to think of it, and instead put her hand gently over her
belly, over their child, as she listened to the nearby splashing and
burbling of a stream. The sound of the water reminded her of how much she
wished she could take a bath. The bandages over the oozing wound in her side
stank and needed to be changed often. The sheets were soaked with sweat. Her
scalp itched. The mat of grass that was the bedding under the sheet was hard
and chafed her back. Richard had probably made the pallet quickly, planning
to improve it later.
As hot as the day was, the stream's cold water would be welcome. She
longed for a bath, to be clean, and to smell fresh. She longed to be better,
to be able to do things for herself, to be healed. She could only hope that
as time passed, Richard, too, would recover from his invisible, but real,
wounds.
Cara finally returned, grumbling about the horses being stubborn today.
She
looked up to see the room was empty. "I had better go look for him and
make sure: he's safe."
"He's fine. He knows what he's doing. Just wait, Cara, or he will then
have toy go out and look for you."
Cara sighed and reluctantly agreed. Retrieving a cool, wet cloth, she
set to mopping Kahlan's forehead and temples. Kahlan didn't like to complain
when people; were doing their best to care for her, so she didn't say
anything about how much it hurt her torn neck muscles when her head was
shifted in that way. Cara never complained about any of it. Cara only
complained when she believed her charges were in needless danger-and when
Richard wouldn't let her eliminate those she viewed as a danger.
Outside, a bird let out a high-pitched trill. The tedious repetition
was becoming, grating. In the distance, Kahlan could hear a squirrel
chattering an objection to something, or perhaps arguing over his territory.
He'd been doing it for what seemed' an hour. The stream babbled on without
letup.
This was Richard's idea of restful.
"I hate this," she muttered.
"You should be happy-lying about without anything to do."
"And I bet you would be happy to trade places?"
"I am Mord-Sith. For a Mord-Sith, nothing could be worse than to die in
bed." Her blue eyes turned to Kahlan's. "Old and toothless," she added. "I
didn't mean; that you-"
"I know what you meant."
Cara looked relieved. "Anyway, you couldn't die-that would be too easy.
You never do anything easy."
"I married Richard."
"See what I mean?"
Kahlan smiled.
Cara dunked the cloth in a pail on the floor and wrung it out as she
stood. "It` isn't too bad, is it? Just lying there?"
"How would you like to have to have someone push a wooden bowl under
yours. bottom every time your bladder was full?"
Cara carefully blotted the damp cloth along Kahlan's neck. "I don't
mind doing it for a sister of the Agiel."
The Agiel, the weapon a Mord-Sith always carried, looked like nothing
more; than a short, red leather rod hanging on a fine chain from her right
wrist. A Mord~. Sith's Agiel was never more than a flick away from her grip.
It somehow functioned: by means of the magic of a Mord-Sith's bond to the
Lord Rahl.
Kahlan had once felt the partial touch of an Agiel. In a blinding
instant, it could inflict the kind of pain that the entire gang of men had
dealt Kahlan. The touch of a, Mord-Sith's Agiel was easily capable of
delivering bone-breaking torture, and just as easily, if she desired, death.
Richard had given Kahlan the Agiel that had belonged to Denna, the
Mord-Sith
who had captured him by order of Darken Rahl. Only Richard had ever
come to understand and empathize with the pain an Agiel also gave the
Mord-Sith who ' ' wielded it. Before he was forced to kill Denna in order to
escape, she had given . him her Agiel, asking to be remembered as simply
Derma, the woman beyond the appellation of Mord-Sith, the woman no one but
Richard had ever before seen a understood. 28
That Kahlan understood, and kept the Agiel as a symbol of that same
respect for women whose young lives had been stolen and twisted to nightmare
purposes and duties, was deeply meaningful to the other Mord-Sith. Because
of that compassion-untainted by pity-and more, Cara had named Kahlan a
sister of the Agiel. It was an informal but heartfelt accolade.
"Messengers have come to see Lord Rahl," Cara said. "You were sleeping,
and Lord Rahl saw no reason to wake you," she added in answer to Kahlan's
questioning look. The messengers were D'Haran, and able to find Richard by
their bond to him as their Lord Rahl. Kahlan, not able to duplicate the
feat, had always found it unsettling.
"What did they have to say?"
Cara shrugged. "Not a lot. Jagang's army of the Imperial Order remains
in Anderith for the time being, with Reibisch's force staying safely to the
north to watch and be ready should the Order decide to threaten the rest of
the Midlands. We know little of the situation inside Anderith, under the
Order's occupation. The rivers flow away from our men, toward the sea, so
they have not seen bodies to indicate if there has been mass death, but
there have been a few people who managed to escape. They report that there
was some death due to the poison which was released, but they don't know how
widespread it was. General Reibisch has sent scouts and spies in to learn
what they will."
"What orders did Richard give them to take back?"
"None."
"None? He sent no orders?"
Cara shook her head and then leaned over to dunk the cloth again. "He
wrote letters to the general, though."
She drew the blanket down, lifted the bandage at Kahlan's side, and
inspected its weak red charge before tossing it on the floor. With a gentle
touch, she cleaned the wound.
When Kahlan was able to get her breath, she asked, "Did you see the
letters?"
"Yes. They say much the same as he has told you-that he has had a
vision that has caused him to come to see the nature of what he must do. He
explained to the general that he could not give orders for fear of causing
the end of our chances."
"Did General Reibisch answer?"
"Lord Rahl has had a vision. D'Harans know the Lord Rahl must deal with
the terrifying mysteries of magic. D'Harans do not expect to understand
their Lord Rahl and would not question his behavior: he is the Lord Rahl.
The general made no comment, but sent word that he would use his own
judgment."
Richard had probably told them it was a vision, rather than say it was
simply a realization, for that very reason. Kahlan considered that a moment,
weighing the possibilities.
"We have that much luck, then. General Reibisch is a good man, and will
know what to do. Before too long, I'll be up and about. By then, maybe
Richard will be better, too."
Cara tossed the cloth into the pail. As she leaned closer, her brow
creased with frustration and concern.
"Mother Confessor, Lord Rahl said he will not act to lead us until the
people prove themselves to him."
"I'm getting better. I hope to help him get over what happened-help him
to see that he must fight."
"But this involves magic." She picked at the frayed edge of the blue
blanket. "Lord Rahl said it's a vision. If it is magic, then it's something
he would know about and must handle in the way he sees it must be done."
"We need to be a little understanding of what he's been through-the
loss we've all suffered to the Order-and remember, too, that Richard didn't
grow up around magic, much less ruling armies."
Cara squatted and rinsed her cloth in the pail. After wringing it out,
she went back to cleaning the wound in Kahlan's side. "He is the Lord Rahl,
though. Hasn't he already proven himself to be a master of magic a number of
times?"
Kahlan couldn't dispute that much of it, but he still didn't have much
experience, and experience was valuable. Cara not only feared magic but was
easily impressed by any act of wizardry. Like most people, she couldn't
distinguish between a simple conjuring and the kind of magic that could
alter the very nature of the world. Kahlan realized now that this wasn't a
vision, as such, but a conclusion Richard had arrived at.
Much of what he'd said made sense, but Kahlan believed that emotion was
clouding his thinking.
Cara looked up from her work. Her voice bore an undertone of
uncertainty, if not despairing bewilderment. "Mother Confessor, how will the
people ever be able to prove themselves to Lord Rahl?"
"I've no idea."
Cara set down the cloth and looked Kahlan in the eye. It was a long,
uncomfortable moment before she finally decided to speak.
"Mother Confessor, I think maybe Lord Rahl has lost his mind."
Kahlan's immediate thought was to wonder if General Reibisch might
believe the same thing.
"I thought D'Harans do not expect to understand their Lord Rahl and
would not question his behavior."
"Lord Rahl also says he wants me to think for myself."
Kahlan put her hand over Cara's. "How many times have we doubted him
before? Remember the chicken that-wasn't-a-chicken? We both thought he was
crazy. He wasn't."
"This is not some monster chasing us. This is something much bigger."
"Care, do you always follow Richard's orders?"
"Of course not. He must be protected and I can't allow his foolishness
to interfere with my duty. I only follow his orders if they do not endanger
him, or if they tell me to do what I would have done anyway, or if it
involves his male pride."
"Did you always follow Darken Rahl's orders?"
Cara stiffened at the unexpected encounter with the name, as if
speaking it might summon him back from the world of the dead. "You followed
Darken Rahl's orders, no matter how foolish they were, or you were tortured
to death."
"Which Lord Rahl do you respect?"
"I would lay down my life for any Lord Rahl." Cara hesitated, and then
touched her fingertips to the red leather over her heart. "But I could never
feel this way for any other. I . . . love Lord Rahl. Not like you love him,
not like a woman loves a man, but it is still love. Sometimes I have dreams
of how proud I am to serve and defend him, and sometimes I have nightmares
that I will fail him."
Cara's brow drew down with sudden dread. "You won't tell him that I
said I love '; him, will you? He must not know."
Kahlan smiled. "Cara, I think he already knows, because he has similar
feelings about you, but if you don't wish it, I won't say anything."
Cara let out a sigh of relief. "Good."
"And what made you come to feel that way about him?"
"Many things .... He wishes us to think for ourselves. He allows us to
serve him by choice. No Lord Rahl has ever done that before. I know that if
I said I wished to quit him, he would let me go. He would not have me
tortured to death for it. He would wish me a good life."
"That, and more, is what you value about him: he never pretended any
claim to your lives. He believes no such claim can ever rightfully exist.
It's the first time since you were captured and trained to be Mord-Sith,
that you have felt the reality of freedom.
"That, Cara, is what Richard wants for everyone."
She swished a hand, as if dismissing the seriousness of the whole
thing. "He would be foolish to grant me my freedom if I asked for it. He
needs me too much."
"You wouldn't need to ask for your freedom, Cara, and you know it. You
already have your freedom, and because of him you know that, too. That's
what makes him a leader you are honored to follow. That's why you feel the
way you do about him. He has earned your loyalty."
Cara mulled it over.
"I still think he has lost his mind."
In the past, Richard had more than once expressed his faith that, given
a chance, people would do the right thing. That was what he had done with
the Mord-Sith. That was also what he had done with the people of Anderith.
Now . . .
Kahlan swallowed back her emotion. "Not his mind, Cara, but maybe his
heart."
Cara, seeing the look on Kahlan's face, dismissed the seriousness of
the matter with a shrug and a smile. "I guess we will simply have to bring
him around to the way things are going to be-talk some sense into him."
Cara dabbed away the remnant of a tear as it rolled down Kahlan's
cheek.
"Before he comes back, how about getting that stupid wooden bowl for
me?"
Cara nodded and bent to retrieve it. Kahlan was already fretting,
knowing how much it was going to hurt, but there was no avoiding it.
Cara came up with the shallow bowl. "Before those men came, I was
planning on making a fire and warming some water. I was going to give you a
bed bath-you know, with a soapy cloth and a bucket of warm water. I guess I
can do it when we get where we are going."
Kahlan half closed her eyes with the dreamy thought of being at least
somewhat clean and fresh. She thought she needed a bath even more than she
needed the wooden bowl to relieve herself.
"Cara, if you would do that for me, I would kiss your feet when I get
better, and name you to the most important post I can think of."
"I am Mord-Sith." Cara looked nonplussed. She finally drew the blanket
down. "That is the most important post there is-except perhaps wife to the
Lord Rahl. Since he already has a wife, and I am already Mord-Sith, I will
have to be content with having my feet kissed."
Kahlan chuckled, but a stab of pain through her abdomen and ribs
brought it to an abrupt halt.
--}----
Richard was a long time in returning. Cara had made Kahlan drink two
cups of cold tea heavily laced with herbs to dull the pain. It wouldn't be
long before she was in a stupor, if not exactly asleep. Kahlan had been just
about to yield to Cara's desire to go look for Richard, when he called from
a distance to let them know it was him.
"Did you see any of the men?" Cara asked when he appeared in the
doorway.
With a straight finger, Richard swiped glistening beads of sweat off
his forehead. His damp hair was plastered to his neck. "No. They're no doubt
off to Hartland to do some drinking and complaining. By the time they come
back we'll be long gone."
"I still say we should lie in wait and end the threat," Cara muttered.
Richard ignored her.
"I cut and stripped some stout saplings and used some canvas to make a
litter." He came closer and with a knuckle nudged Kahlan's chin, as if to
playfully buck up her courage. "From now on we'll just let you stay on the
litter, and then we can move you in and out of the carriage without. . ." He
had that look in his eyes-that look that hurt her to see. He showed her a
smile. "It will make it easier on Cara and me."
Kahlan tried to face the thought with composure. "We're ready then?"
His gaze dropped as he nodded.
"Good," Kahlan said, cheerfully. "I'm in the mood for a nice ride. I'd
like to see some of the countryside."
He smiled, more convincingly this time, she thought. "You shall have
it. And we'll end up at a beautiful place. It's going to take a while to get
there, traveling as slow as we must, but it will be worth the journey,
you'll see."
Kahlan tried to keep her breathing even. She said his name over and
over in her head, telling herself that she would not forget it this time,
that she would not forget her own name. She hated forgetting things; it made
her feel a fool to learn things she should have remembered but had
forgotten. She was going to remember this time.
"Well, do I have to get up and walk? Or are you going to be a gentleman
and carry me?"
He bent and kissed her forehead-the one part on her face that the soft
touch of his lips would not hurt. He glanced at Cara and tilted his head to
signal her to get Kahlan's legs.
"Will those men be drinking a long time?" Kahlan asked.
"It's still midday. Don't worry, we'll be long gone before they ever
get back', here."
"I'm sorry, Richard. I know you thought these people from your
homeland-"
"They're people, just like everyone else."
She nodded as she fondly stroked the back of his big hand. "Cara gave
me some of your herbs. I'll sleep for a long time, so don't go slow on my
account-I won't feel it. I don't want you to have to fight all those men."
"I won't be doing any fighting just traveling my forests."
"That's good." Kahlan felt daggers twist in her ribs as her breathing
started getting too fast. "I love you, you know. In case I forgot to say it,
I love you."
Despite the pain in his gray eyes, he smiled. "I love you, too. Just
try to relax. Cara and I will be as gentle as we can. We'll go easy. There's
no rush. Don't try to help us. Just relax. You're getting better, so it
won't be so hard."
She had been hurt before and knew that it was always better to move
yourself because you knew exactly how to do it. But she couldn't move
herself this time.,
She had come to know that the worst thing when you were hurt was to
have someone else move you.
As he leaned over, she slipped her right arm around his neck while he
carefully slid his left arm under her shoulders. Being lifted even that much
ignited a shock of pain. Kahlan tried to ignore the burning stitch and
attempted to relax as she said his name over and over in her mind.
She suddenly remembered something important. It was her last chance to
remind him.
"Richard," she whispered urgently just before he pushed his right arm
under her bottom to lift her. "Please . . . remember to be careful not to
hurt the baby."
She was startled to see her words stagger him. It took a moment before
his eyes turned up to look into hers. What she saw there nearly stopped her
heart.
"Kahlan . . . you remember, don't you?"
"Remember?"
His eyes glistened. "That you lost the baby. When you were attacked."
The memory slammed into her like a fist, nearly taking her breath.
"...Oh...
"Are you all right?"
"Yes. I forgot for a moment. I just wasn't thinking. I remember, now. I
remember you told me about it."
And she did. Their child, their child that had only begun to grow in
her, was long since dead and gone. Those beasts who had attacked her had
taken that from her, too.
The world seemed to turn gray and lifeless.
"I'm so sorry, Kahlan," he whispered.
She caressed his hair. "No, Richard. I should have remembered. I'm
sorry I forgot. I didn't mean to . . ."
He nodded.
She felt a warm tear drop onto the hollow of her throat, close to her
necklace. The necklace, with its small dark stone, had been a wedding gift
from Shota, the witch woman. The gift was a proposal of truce. Shota said it
would allow them to be together and share their love, as they had always
wanted, without Kahlan getting pregnant. Richard and Kahlan had decided
that, for the time being, they would reluctantly accept Shota's gift, her
truce. They already had worries enough on their hands.
But for a time, when the chimes had been loose in the world, the magic
of the necklace, unbeknownst to Richard and Kahlan, had failed. One small
but miraculous balance to the horrors the chimes had brought had been that
it had given their love the opportunity to bring a child to life.
Now that life was gone.
"Please, Richard, let's go."
He nodded again.
"Dear spirits," he whispered to himself so softly she could hardly hear
him, "forgive me for what I am about to do."
She clutched his neck. She now longed for what was coming-she wanted to
forget.
He lifted her as gently as he could. It felt like wild stallions tied
to each limb all leaped into a gallop at the same instant. Pain ripped up
from the core of her, the shock of it making her eyes go wide as she sucked
in a breath. And then she screamed.
The blackness hit her like a dungeon door slamming shut.
C H A P T E R 4
A sound woke her as suddenly as a slap. Kahlan lay on her back, still
as death, her eyes wide, listening. It wasn't so much that the sound had
been loud, but that it had been something disturbingly familiar. Something
dangerous.
Her whole body throbbed with pain, but she was more awake than she had
been in what seemed like weeks. She didn't know how long she had been
asleep, or perhaps unconscious. She was awake enough to remember that it
would be a grave mistake to try to sit up, because just about the only part
of her not injured was her right arm. One of the big chestnut geldings
snorted nervously and stamped a hoof, jostling the carnage enough to remind
Kahlan of her broken ribs.
The sticky air smelled of approaching rain, though fits of wind still
bore dust to her nostrils. Dark masses of leaves overhead swung fretfully to
and fro, their creaking branches giving voice to their torment. Deep purple
and violet clouds scudded past in silence. Beyond the trees and clouds, the
field of blue-black sky held a lone star, high over her forehead. She wasn't
sure if it was dawn or dusk, but it felt like the death of day.
As the gusts beat strands of her filthy hair across her face, Kahlan
listened as hard as she could for the sound that didn't belong, still hoping
to fit it into a picture of something innocent. Since she'd heard it only
from the deepness of sleep, its conscious identity remained frustratingly
out of her reach.
She listened, too, for sounds of Richard and Cara, but heard nothing.
Surely, they would be close. They would not leave her alone-not for any
reason this side of death. She recoiled from the image. She ached to call
out for Richard and prove the uninvited thought a foolish fear, but instinct
screamed at her to stay silent. She needed no reminder not to move.
A metallic clang came from the distance, then a cry. Maybe it was an
animal, she told herself. Ravens sometimes let out the most awful cries.
Their shrill wails could sound so human it was eerie. But as far as she
knew, ravens didn't make metallic sounds.
The carriage suddenly lurched to the right. Her breath caught as the
unanticipated movement caused a stitch of pain in the back of her ribs.
Someone had put weight on the step. By the careless disregard for the
carriage's injured passenger, she knew it wasn't Richard or Cara. But if it
wasn't Richard, then who? Gooseflesh tickled the nape of her neck. If it
wasn't Richard, where was he?
Stubby fingers grasped the top of the corded chafing strip on the
carriage's side rail. The blunt fingertips were rounded back over grubby,
gnawed-down little halfbutton fingernails. Kahlan held her breath, hoping he
didn't realize she was in the carriage.
A face popped up. Cunning dark eyes squinted at her. The man's four
middle upper teeth were missing, leaving his eyeteeth looking like fangs
when he grinned.
"Well, well. If it ain't the wife of the late Richard Cypher."
Kahlan lay frozen. This was just like her dreams. For an instant, she
couldn't decide if it was only that, just a dream, or real.
His shirt bore a dark patina of dirt, as if it was never removed for
anything. Sparse, wiry hairs on his fleshy cheeks and chin were like early
weeds in the plowed field of his pockmarked face. His upper lip was wet from
his runny nose. He had no lower teeth in front. The tip of his tongue rested
partway out between the yawning gap of his smirk.
He brought up a knife for her to see. He turned it this way and that,
almost as if he were showing off a prized possession to a shy girl he was
courting. His eyes kept flicking back and forth between the knife and
Kahlan. The slipshod job of sharpening appeared to have been done on rough
granite, rather than on a proper whetstone. Dark blotches and rust stained
the poorly kept cheap steel. But the scratched and chipped edge was no less
deadly for any of it. His wicked, toothless grin widened with pleasure as
her gaze followed the blade, watching it carve careful slices of the air
between them.
She made herself look into his dark, sunken eyes, which peered out from
puffy slits. "Where's Richard?" she demanded in a level voice.
"Dancing with the spirits in the underworld." He cocked his head to one
side. "Where's the blond bitch? The one my friends said they saw before. The
one with the smart mouth. The one what needs to have her tongue shortened
before I gut her."
Kahlan glared at him so he would know she had no intention of
answering. As the crude knife advanced toward her, his stench hit her.
"You would have to be Tommy Lancaster."
The knife paused. "How'd you know that?"
Anger welled up from deep inside her. "Richard told me about you."
The eyes glittered with menace. His grin widened. "Yeah? What did he
tell you?"
"That you were an ugly toothless pig who wets his pants whenever he
grins. Smells like he was right."
The smirking grin turned to a scowl. He raised up on the step and
leaned in with the knife. That was what Kahlan wanted him to do-to get close
enough so she could touch him.
With the discipline borne of a lifetime of experience, she mentally
shed her anger and donned the calm of a Confessor committed to a course of
action. Once a Confessor was resolved to releasing her power, the nature of
time itself seemed to change.
She had but to touch him.
A Confessor's power was partly dependent on her strength. In her
injured condition, she didn't know if she would be able to call forth the
required force, and if she could, whether she would survive the unleashing
of it, but she knew she had no choice. One of them was about to die. Maybe
both.
He leaned his elbow on the side rail. His fist with the knife went for
her exposed throat. Rather than watching the knife, Kahlan watched the
little scars, like dusty white cobwebs caught on his knuckles. When the fist
was close enough, she made her move to snatch his wrist.
Unexpectedly, she discovered she was snugly enfolded in the blue
blanket. She 35
hadn't realized Richard had placed her on the litter he'd made. The
blanket was wrapped around her and tightly tucked under the stretcher poles
in order to hold her as still as possible and prevent her from being hurt
when the carriage was moving. Her arm was trapped inside what was about to
become her death shroud.
Hot panic flared up as she struggled to free her right arm. She was in
a desperate race with the blade coming for her throat. Pain knifed her
injured ribs as she battled with the blanket. She had no time to cry out or
to curse in frustration at being so unwittingly snared. Her fingers gathered
a fold of material. She yanked at it, trying to pull some slack from under
the litter she lay atop so she could free her arm.
Kahlan had merely to touch him, but she couldn't. His blade was going
to be the only contact between them. Her only hope was that maybe his
knuckles would brush her flesh, or maybe he just might be close enough as he
started to slice her throat that she could press her chin against his hand.
Then, she could release her power, if she was still alive-if he didn't cut
too deep, first.
As she twisted and pulled at the blanket, it seemed to her an eternity
as she watched the blade poised over her exposed neck, an eternity to wait
before she had any hope of unleashing her power-an eternity to live. But she
knew there was only an instant more before she would feel the ripping slash
of that rough blade.
It didn't happen at all as she expected.
Tommy Lancaster wrenched backward with an earsplitting shriek. The
world around Kahlan crashed back in a riot of sound and motion with the
abrupt readjustment to the discontinuation of her intent. Kahlan saw Cara
behind him, her teeth clenched in a grim commitment of her own. In her
pristine red leather, she was a precious ruby behind a clod of dirt.
Bent into the Agiel pressed against his back, Tommy Lancaster had less
hope of pulling away from Cara than if she had impaled him on a meat hook.
His torment would not have been more brutal to witness, his shrieks more
painful to hear.
Cara's Agiel dragged up and around the side of his ribs as he collapsed
to his knees. Each rib the Agiel passed over broke with a sharp crack, like
the sound of a tree limb snapping. Vivid red, the match of her leather,
oozed over his knuckles and down his fingers. The knife clattered to the
rocky ground. A dark stain of blood grew on the side of his shirt until it
dripped off the untucked tails.
Cara stood over him, an austere executioner, watching him beg for
mercy. Instead of granting it, she pressed her Agiel against his throat and
followed him to the ground. His eyes were wide and white all around as he
choked.
It was a slow, agonizing journey toward death. Tommy Lancaster's arms
and legs writhed as he began to drown in his own blood. Cara could have
ended it quickly, but it didn't appear she had any intention of doing so.
This man had meant to kill Kahlan. Cara meant to extract a heavy price for
the crime.
"Cara!" Kahlan was surprised that she could get so much power into the
shout Cara glanced back over her shoulder. Tommy Lancaster's hands went to
his throat and he gasped for air when she rose up to stand over him. "Cara,
stop it. Where's Richard? Richard may need your help."
Cara leaned down over Tommy Lancaster, pressed her Agiel to his chest,
and gave it a twist. His left leg kicked out once, his arms flopped to the
side, and he went still.
Before either Cara or Kahlan could say anything, Richard, his face set
in cold ferocity, sprinted up toward the carriage. He had his sword to hand.
The blade was dark and wet.
The instant Kahlan saw his sword, she comprehended what had awakened
her. The sound had been the Sword of Truth announcing its arrival in the
evening air. In her sleep, her subconscious recognized the unique ring of
steel made by the Sword of Truth when it was drawn, and she instinctively
grasped the danger that that sound represented.
On his way to Kahlan's side, Richard only glanced at the lifeless body
at Cara's feet.
"Are you all right?"
Kahlan nodded. "Fine." Belatedly, yet feeling triumphant at the
accomplishment, she pulled her arm free of the blanket.
Richard turned to Cara. "Anyone else come up the road?"
"No. Just this one." She gestured with her Agiel toward the knife on
the ground. "He intended to cut the Mother Confessor's throat."
If Tommy Lancaster hadn't already been dead, Richard's glare would have
finished him. "I hope you didn't make it easy on him."
"No, Lord Rahl. He regretted his last vile act-I made certain of it."
With his sword, Richard indicated the surrounding area. "Stay here and
keep your eyes open. I'm sure we got them all, but I'm going to check just
to be certain no one else was holding back and trying to surprise us from
another direction."
"No one will get near the Mother Confessor, Lord Rahl."
Dust rose in the gloomy light when he gave a reassuring pat to the
shoulder of one of the two horses standing in their harnesses. "Soon as I
get back, I want to get going. We should have enough moon-for a few hours,
anyway. I know a safe place to make camp about four hours up the road. That
will get us a good distance away from all this."
He pointed with his sword. "Drag his body past the brush over there and
roll him off the edge, down into the ravine. I'd just as soon the bodies
weren't found until after we're long gone and far away. Probably only the
animals will ever find them way out here, but I don't want to take any
chances."
Cara snatched a fistful of Tommy Lancaster's hair. "With pleasure." He
was stocky, but the weight gave her no difficulty.
Richard trotted soundlessly off into the gathering darkness. Kahlan
listened to the sound of the body scraping across the ground. She heard
small branches snapping as Cara pulled the dead weight through the brush,
and then the muffled thuds and tumbling scree as Tommy Lancaster's body
rolled and bounced down a steep slope. It was a long time before Kahlan
heard the final thump at the bottom of the ravine.
Cara ambled back to the side of the carnage. "Everything all right with
you?" She casually pulled off her armored gloves.
Kahlan blinked at the woman. "Cara, he nearly had me."
Cara flicked her long blond braid back over her shoulder as she scanned
the surrounding area. "No he didn't. I was standing right there behind him
the whole time. I was nearly breathing down his neck. I never took my eyes
from his knife. He had no chance to harm you." She met Kahlan's gaze.
"Surely, you must have seen me."
"No, I didn't."
"Oh. I thought you saw me." Looking a little sheepish, she tucked most
of the cuffs of the gloves behind her belt and folded the rest down over the
front. "I guess maybe you were too low in the carriage to see me there
behind him. I had my attention on him. I didn't mean to let him frighten
you."
"If you were there the whole time, why did you allow him to nearly kill
me?"
"He did not nearly kill you." Cara smiled without humor. "But I wanted
to let him believe it. It's more of a shock, more of a horror, if you let
them think they've won. It crushes a man's spirit to take him then, when
you've caught him dead to rights."
Kahlan's head was swimming in confusion and so she decided not to press
the issue. "What's going on? What's happened? How long have I been asleep?"
"We have been traveling for two days. You have been in and out of
sleep, but you didn't know anything the times you were awake. Lord Rahl was
fretful about hurting you to get you into the carnage, and about having told
you . . . what you forgot."
Kahlan knew what Cara meant: her dead baby. "And the men?"
"They came after us. This time, though, Lord Rahl didn't discuss it
with them." She seemed especially pleased about that. "He knew in enough
time that they were coming, so we weren't taken by surprise. When they came
charging in, some with arrows noched and some with their swords or axes out,
he shouted at them-once-giving them a chance to change their minds."
"He tried to reason with them? Even then?"
"Well, not exactly. He told them to go home in peace, or they would all
die."
"And then what?"
"And then they all laughed. It only seemed to embolden them. They
charged, arrows flying, swords and axes raised. So Lord Rahl ran off into
the woods."
"He did what?"
"Before they came, he had told me that he was going to make them all
chase after him. As Lord Rahl ran, the one who thought he would cut your
throat yelled at the others to `get Richard, and finish him this time.' Lord
Rahl had hoped he would draw them all away from you, but when that one went
after you instead, Lord Rahl gave me a look and I knew what he wanted me to
do."
Cara clasped her hands behind her back as she scrutinized the gathering
darkness, keeping watch, should anyone try to surprise them. Kahlan's
thoughts turned to Richard, and what it must have been like, all alone as
they chased him.
"How many men?"
"I didn't count them." Cara shrugged. "Maybe two dozen."
"And you left Richard alone with two dozen men chasing after him? Two
dozen men intent on killing him?"
Cara shot Kahlan an incredulous look. "And leave you unprotected? When
I knew that toothless brute was going after you? Lord Rahl would have
skinned me alive if I had left you."
Tall and lean, shoulders squared and chin raised, Cara looked as
pleased as a cat licking mouse off its whiskers. Kahlan suddenly understood:
Richard had entrusted Cara with Kahlan's life; the MordSith had proven that
faith justified.
Kahlan felt a smile stretch the partly healed cuts on her lips. "I just
wish I'd , known you were standing there the whole time. Now, thanks to you,
I won't need the wooden bowl."
Cara didn't laugh. "Mother Confessor, you should know that I would
never let R anything happen to either of you."
Richard appeared out of the shadows as suddenly as he had vanished. He
stroked the horses reassuringly. As he moved down beside them, he quickly
checked the neck collars, the trace chains, and the breaching to make sure
it was all secure.
"Anything?" he asked Cara.
"No, Lord Rahl. Quiet and clear."
He leaned in the carnage and smiled. "Well, as long as you're awake,
how about I take you for a romantic moonlight ride?"
She rested her hand on his forearm. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Not a scratch."
"That's not what I meant."
His smile vanished. "They tried to kill us. Westland has just suffered
its first casualties because of the influence of the Imperial Order."
"But you knew them."
"That doesn't entitle them to misplaced sympathy. How many thousands
have I seen killed since I left here? I couldn't even convince men I grew up
with of the truth. I couldn't even get them to listen fairly. All the death
and suffering I've seen is ultimately because of men like this-men who
refuse to see.
"Their willful ignorance does not entitle them to my blood or life.
They picked their own path. For once, they paid the price."
He didn't sound to her like a man who was quitting the fight. He still
held the sword, was still in the grip of its rage. Kahlan caressed his arm,
letting him know that she understood. It was clear to her that even though
he'd been justly defending himself, and though he was still filled with the
sword's rage, he keenly regretted what he'd had to do. The men, had they
been able to kill Richard instead, would have regretted nothing. They would
have celebrated his death as a great victory.
"That was still perilous-making them all chase after you."
"No, it wasn't. It drew them out of the open and into the trees. They
had to dismount. It's rocky and the footing is poor, so they couldn't rush
me together or with speed, like they could out here on the road.
"The light is failing; they thought that was to their advantage. It
wasn't. In the trees it was even darker. I'm wearing mostly black. It's
warm, so I'd left my gold cape behind, here in the carriage. The little bit
of gold on the rest of the outfit only serves to break up the shape of a
man's figure in the near-dark, so they had an even harder time seeing me.
"Once I took down Albert, they stopped thinking and fought with pure
anger until they started seeing blood and death. Those men are used to
brawls, not battles. They had expected an easy time murdering us-they
weren't mentally prepared to fight for their own lives. Once they saw the
true nature of what was happening, they ran for their lives. The ones left,
anyway. These are my woods. In their panic, they became confused and lost
their way in the trees. I cut them off and ended it."
"Did you get them all?" Cara asked, worried about any who might escape
and bring more men after them.
"Yes. I knew most of them, and besides, I had their number in my head.
I counted the bodies to make sure I got them all."
"How many?" Cara asked.
Richard turned to take up the reins. "Not enough for their purpose." He
clicked his tongue and started the horses moving.
Richard rose up and drew his sword. This time, when its distinctive
sound rang out in the night, Kahlan was awake. Her first instinct was to sit
up. Before she even had time to think better of it, Richard had crouched and
gently restrained her with a reassuring hand. She lifted her head just
enough to see that it was Cara, leading a man into the harsh, flickering
light of the campfire. Richard sheathed his sword when he saw who Cara had
with her: Captain Meiffert, the D'Haran officer who had been with them back
in Anderith.
Before any other greeting, the man dropped to his knees and bent
forward, touching his forehead to the soft ground strewn with pine needles.
"Master Rahl guide us. Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us,"
Captain Meiffert beseeched in sincere reverence. "In your light we thrive.
In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only
to serve. Our lives are yours."
When he had gone to his knees to recite the devotion, as it was called,
Kahlan saw Cara almost reflexively go to her knees with him, so ingrained
was the ritual. The supplication to their Lord Rahl was something all
D'Harans did. In the field they commonly recited it once or, on occasion,
three times. At the People's Palace in D'Hara, most people gathered twice a
day to chant the devotion at length.
When he'd been a captive of Darken Rahl, Richard, often in much the
same condition as Tommy Lancaster just before he died, had himself been
forced to his knees by Mord-Sith and made to perform the devotion for hours
at a time. Now, the Mord-Sith, like all D'Harans, paid that same homage to
Richard. If the Mord-Sith saw such a turn of events as improbable, or even
ironic, they never said as much. What many of them had found improbable was
that Richard hadn't had them all executed when he became their Lord Rahl.
It was Richard, though, who had discovered that the devotion to their