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The men, grim, daunting, fierce, were all in the grip of a wild lust for the
fight as they ran headlong out of the night.
In the moonlight, Kahlan could see for the first time since she had
joined up with the army the full extent of the enemy forces. The reports had
told the story, but could not fully convey the reality of the sight. The
numbers were so far removed from her experience as to defy comprehension.
Eyes wide, jaw hanging open, she gasped in awe.
Kahlan realized with alarm that the enemy was much closer than she had
expected. Throughout the ocean of men, torches meant to be used to set fires
sparkled like moonlight off the vast sea flooding into the valley. At the
horizon, that moonlight gleaming off uncountable weapons blurred into a flat
line over which she almost expected to see ships sailing.
The undulating leading edge, bristling shields and spears, threatened
to close off her path. Kahlan used her right heel, back against her horse's
flank, to guide him a little to the right so as to clear the wave of
soldiers. After she had corrected his course, she thumped her heels against
the animal's ribs, urging him on.
And then she realized, as arrows zipped past and spears plunged to the
ground just in front of her, that in the light of the wizard's fire, the
enemy could see her, too.
The ball of wizard's fire that had revealed her to the enemy wailed off
into the darkness, leaving her in shadow and lighting tens of thousands of
men at a time as it passed over their heads. Far in the distance, behind the
advancing horde, the fire finally crashed to the ground, igniting a
conflagration in the midst of the cavalry. Horsemen were often held back,
ready to charge forth when their men encountered the D'Haran lines. The
distant mortal screams of man and beast rose into the night.
An arrow skipped off her leather leg armor. More zipped past. One stuck
in the saddle just below her stomach as she leaned forward over the
galloping horse's withers. Apparently, in the moonlight they could still
spot her and Verna racing past.
"Why aren't they blind?" Kahlan called over her shoulder.
She could see a cloud billowing out behind them. It looked little
different than
the dust the horse raised as it galloped, except Kahlan saw that it was
coming from the bucket Verna rested against her thigh as she tipped it
toward the enemy lines, a little more, a little less, controlling the amount
that poured out, keeping it in a steady stream. Cara had already been past,
yet the men showed no ill effect.
"It takes a little while to work," Verna said in Kahlan's ear. "They
have to blink a bit."
Fire raced past right behind them. Fiery droplets splashed down onto
the snow, splattering when they hit, hissing like rain on hot stones round a
fire. The horse snorted as he raced onward in near panic. As she leaned over
his withers, Kahlan stroked his neck reassuringly, reminding him that he
wasn't alone.
Kahlan let her gaze sweep along the advancing enemy line as she raced
before them. She saw that the men were doing little blinking. Their eyes
were wide in their fervor for the coming battle.
The wizard's fire that had so spooked the horse from behind exploded
through the enemy ranks. Liquid flames spilled across the mass of soldiers,
touching off a shrill roar of ghastly cries. When burning men crashed into
soldiers around them, fire splashed onto them, too, spreading the horror.
Around the fire, the advancing line buckled. Yet other men running headlong
through the night trampled those on the ground, only to lose their own
footing and topple.
Another sphere of wizard's fire droned past to crash down, spilling its
flame like water from a burst dam. So massive was the eruption that the
surge swept men away, carrying them off in a flaming current.
A huge knot of fire erupted out of the enemy line not far in front of
Kahlan, headed toward the D'Haran lines. Immediately, a small sphere of blue
flame roared in from her right, meeting the ponderous globe of yellow flame
in midair. The collision sent a shower of fire raining down around her as
she rode past. Kahlan gasped and yanked the reins left as a fat gob of the
plummeting fire crashed to the ground right before them, splattering flame
everywhere.
They missed the fire by inches, but she now found herself closing with
the enemy soldiers at an alarming rate. Kahlan could read some of the
obscene oaths on their lips. She spurred the terrified horse to the right.
He turned a little but not enough to divert them from angling in toward the
enemy lines.
Glowing bits of fire rained down on the men as well as the open ground.
The horse was running in a panic, too frightened to take direction from
Kahlan. The stench of burning leather was adding fuel to the horse's fear.
She glanced down and saw a bit of fire burning on the leather armor
protecting her thigh. The small but fierce flame fluttered wildly in the
wind. She dared not try to brush the glowing spot off lest it then stick to
her hand. She feared to imagine what it would feel like when it finally
burned through the leather. She would have to endure the pain when it did;
she had no choice.
Verna didn't realize what was happening. She was twisted sideways,
still releasing the glass dust. Kahlan could see the plume of it carried
away behind them. The long trail curved, carried by the breeze, into the
enemy, past the front lines, back through the ranks of soldiers, off into
the blackness. Farther back in the Order's ranks, the torches lit the cloud
as it mingled with the dust churned up from the frozen ground.
An arrow nicked the horse's shoulder and skipped up into the air. A
surge of men, seeing her coming, ran with wild abandon in an effort to block
her way. Kahlan yanked on the reins, trying to haul the powerful horse's
head to the right. In the grip
of terror, the horse galloped on. She felt helpless as she tried to get
it to turn. It was doing no good. They were headed right toward a wall of
men.
"We're getting too close!" Verna yelled in her ear.
Kahlan was too busy to answer. Her arm was shaking with the effort of
pulling on the right rein, trying to turn the horse's head over and to the
right, but the horse had the bit in his teeth and was stronger than she by
far. Sweat trickled down her neck. She stretched her right leg back and dug
her heel into the horse's right flank to turn him. The men before them
brought their pikes and swords around to bear. Fighting was one thing, but
not having any control and just watching her fate come at her was different.
"Kahlan! What are you doing!"
With the pressure of her heel in front of his right rear leg, she was
finally forcing the horse to turn. It wasn't enough. She wasn't going to be
able to divert the runaway horse. The enemy looked like a steel porcupine
rushing at them.
Three strides away, the horse lowered his head.
"Good boy!" she cried.
Maybe he had a chance to clear the pikes. Kahlan took her weight off
the saddle and angled forward, flattening her back. She bent her arms,
giving the reins slack with her hands to either side of the horse's neck.
She kept pressure on him with her lower legs, but let him have the freedom
he needed.
She didn't know if it would work with the extra weight. If only the
pikes were shorter. Kahlan screamed for Verna to hold on.
Wizard's fire suddenly streamed past in front of them, coming in low.
The men who had rushed ahead in a line to block Kahlan's way dove to the
ground. The entire line before them collapsed. The fire wailed past just
over top of them, finally touching down off to Kahlan's left. The cries of a
thousand men filled her ears.
The horse stretched his lowered head, getting his hocks underneath his
body. At the last instant, his neck shortened and his head came up as he
sprang upward, using his powerful hindquarters to launch himself. His back
rounded as they sailed over the leading edge of men. Verna cried out, her
arm like a hook around Kahlan's middle. They came down beyond the soldiers
who had dropped flat. With her weight on the stirrups, Kahlan used her legs
to absorb the shock-Verna couldn't. With the extra load, the horse nearly
stumbled as it landed, but kept his balance and continued running. They were
at last clear of the Order soldiers.
"What's the matter with you!" Verna yelled. "Don't do that or I won't
be able to let it out evenly!"
"Sorry," Kahlan called over her shoulder.
Despite the cold wind in her face, sweat ran from her scalp. The Order
soldiers seemed to fall away to their rear quarter. Giddy relief washed over
her as she realized they had made it past the bulge in the Imperial Order's
front lines.
In the distance behind them, a storm of fire lit the night. Zedd and
Warren were showing them a good old-fashioned firefight, as Zedd had put it.
It was a terrifying demonstration, if insufficient to stop an enemy as large
as the Order. As the Order's gifted raced to the scene and threw up shields,
it limited the death and devastation. The two wizards had bought Kahlan and
Verna the time they had needed.
Kahlan heard Cara calling "Whoa!" as she galloped up close.
This time, with Cara's horse heading them off, the lathered mount
rapidly came to a halt: The horse was exhausted, as was Kahlan. As they
dismounted beside Cara and Sister Philippa, Verna tossed the empty bucket to
the ground. Kahlan was glad
it was dark, so that the others couldn't see her legs trembling. She
was relieved to see that the spot of fire had expended itself before burning
through.
The four of them watched as the night went mad with flame, most
exploding against shields of magic, yet still doing damage to anyone too
close. Zedd and Warren sent forth one tumbling sphere of fiery death after
another. The cries of men could be heard all along the line. The fire was
being returned, reaping death in the D'Haran lines, but the Sisters were
throwing up their own shields.
Still the vast enemy army advanced. At most, the deadly flames only
slowed them and disrupted their orderly attack.
As the gifted on both sides gained control, they managed to nullify
each other's fiery attacks. Kahlan knew that the forward D'Haran lines had
no hope of holding the onrushing flood of the Order. They had no hope of
even slowing them. In the moonlight, she could see them beginning to abandon
their positions.
"Why isn't it working?" Kahlan whispered, half to herself. She leaned
toward Verna. "Are you sure it was made properly?"
Watching the enemy's headlong rush, and in the din of battle cries,
Verna didn't seem to hear the question. Kahlan checked her sword. She
realized how futile it would be to try to fight. She felt Richard's sword on
her back, and considered drawing it, but decided that it would be better to
run. She pushed Verna, urging her to their spent horse. Cara did the same
with Sister Philippa.
Before she stepped into the stirrup, Kahlan noticed the Order slowing.
She saw men stumbling. Some groped with outstretched arms. Others fell.
Verna pointed. "Look!"
An endless moan of frightened agony began rising up into the night,
growing in intensity. Staggering men fell over one another. Some swung their
swords at an invisible enemy, hacking instead their blinded fellow soldiers.
The progress of the men at the front slowed to a crawl. Soldiers kept
coming, colliding with the stalled front line. Cavalry horses panicked,
bucking off riders. Spooked horses ran off in every direction, oblivious of
the men they trampled. Racing wagons overturned. Confusion swept the enemy's
ranks.
The advance buckled. The Imperial Order ground to a halt.
Zedd and Warren rode up and dismounted, both sweating despite the
frigid night air. Kahlan gave Zedd's bony hand a squeeze.
"You two saved our necks at the end, there."
Zedd gestured to Warren. "Him, not me."
Warren shrugged. "I saw your predicament."
They all stared in wonder, watching the army gone blind.
"You did it, Verna," Kahlan said. "You and your glass saved us."
At last, she and Verna threw their arms around each other, tears of
relief coursing down their cheeks.
Kahlan was one of the last to cross over the pass. The valley beyond
was well protected by towering rock walls around the southern half. It was a
long and difficult route around those mountains if the Order had any
thoughts of attacking them here. While the troops of the D'Haran Empire had
no intention of letting themselves get trapped in that valley, for the time
being it was a safe place.
Big old spruces filled the lap of the surrounding mountains, so they
were somewhat protected from the wind, as well. Tents carpeted the forest
floor. It was good to see all the campfires and smell the woodsmoke-a sign
that they were safe enough for the men to have fires. The aroma of cooking
filled the late-night air, too. It had been a lot of work moving the army
and their equipment over the pass, and the men were hungry.
General Meiffert looked as pleased as any general would when the army
he feared lost was at last safe-at least for the time being. He guided
Kahlan and Cara through the darkness dotted by thousands of campfires to
tents he had set up for them. Along the way, he filled them in on how
everything with the army had gone, and ran through a list of what few things
they had had to leave behind.
"It's going to be a cold night," General Meiffert said when they had
reached the tents he had set aside for them between two towering spruce. "I
had a sack of pebbles heated by a fire for you, Mother Confessor. You, too,
Mistress Cara."
Kahlan thanked him before he left to see to his duties. Cara went off
to go get something to eat. Kahlan told her to go ahead, that she just
wanted to sleep.
Inside her tent, Kahlan found Spirit standing on a little table, the
lamp hanging from the ridgepole lighting her proud pose. She paused to trace
a finger down the flowing robes.
Kahlan, her teeth chattering, could hardly wait to crawl into bed and
pull that sack of heated pebbles under the fur mantle with her. She thought
about how cold she was, and then instead of climbing into her bed, went back
outside and searched through the dark camp until she found a Sister. After
following the Sister's directions, going between tents until she reached the
area with the thick young trees, Kahlan found the small lean-to shelter set
among the boughs for protection from the wind and weather.
She squatted down, peering inside at the bundle of blankets she could
just make out in the light coming from nearby campfires.
"Holly? Are you in there?"
A little head poked out. "Mother Confessor?" The girl was shivering.
"What is it? Do you need me?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Come with me please."
Holly climbed out, swaddled in a blanket. Kahlan took her little hand
and walked
her back to her tent in silence. Holly's eyes grew big and round as
Kahlan ushered in inside. Before the small table, the girl paused to stand
still as a stump while she stared in wonder at Spirit.
"Like it?" Kahlan asked.
Trembling with the cold, Holly reverently ran her frail fingers down
Spirit's arm. "Where ever did you get something so beautiful?"
"Richard carved it for me."
Holly finally pulled her gaze from the statue and looked up at Kahlan.
"I miss Richard." Kahlan could see Holly's breath in the motionless air of
the tent. "He was always nice to me. A lot of people were mean, but Richard
was always nice."
Kahlan felt an unexpected stab of anguish. She hadn't expected the
subject to turn to Richard.
"What was it you needed, Mother Confessor?"
Kahlan turned her thoughts away from her sorrow and smiled. "I was
proud of the work you did to help save us today. I promised you that you
would be warm. Tonight, you will be."
The girl's teeth were chattering. "Really?"
Kahlan laid the Sword of Truth on the far side of the bed. She stripped
off some of her heavier clothing, doused the lamp, and then sat down on the
straw-filled pallet. Light from nearby campfires lent a soft glow to the
tent's walls.
"Come. Climb into bed with me. It's going to be very cold tonight. I
need you to keep me warm."
Holly only had to consider for a second.
As Kahlan lay down on her side, she pulled Holly's back against her
stomach and then drew the sack of heated pebbles up against the girl's
front. Holly hugged the sack and moaned with the thrill of warmth. The
satisfied moan made Kahlan smile.
For a long time, she smiled, enjoying the simple pleasure of seeing
Holly warm and safe. Having the girl there, holding her close, helped Kahlan
to forget all the terrible things she had seen that day.
Far up in the mountains, a single wolf sang out in a long, lonely call.
The cry echoed through the valley, trailing off, to be renewed again and
again with forlorn persistence.
With his sword at her back, Kahlan's thoughts turned to Richard.
Thinking about him, wondering where he was and if he was safe, she silently
wept herself to sleep.
--]----
The next day, snow moved down from the higher mountains to rampage
across the southern regions of the Midlands. The storms raged for two days.
The second night of the blizzard, Kahlan shared her tent with Holly, Valery,
and Helen. They sat under blankets, ate camp stew, sang songs, told stories
of princes and princesses, and slept together to keep warm.
When the snowstorm finally ended in a bleak golden sunrise, most of the
taller tents had snow drifted to their eaves on their downwind side. The
smaller ones were completely covered over. The men dug themselves out,
looking like so many woodchucks come up out of their burrows for a peek.
Over the next several weeks, the storms continued to roll past, dumping
more snow. In such weather, fighting, or even moving an army very far, was
difficult.
Scouts reported that the Imperial Order had withdrawn a week's march
back to the south.
It would be a burden to care for blinded men. Within a days walk all
around the place where the special glass had been released, the D'Haran
scouts reported that they had seen well over sixty thousand frozen corpses,
now drifted over with the snow-blind men unable to care for themselves in
the harsh conditions. The Imperial Order had probably abandoned them to
their fate. A few dozen of the blind had managed to make it over the pass,
looking for help, begging for mercy. Kahlan had ordered them executed.
It was hard telling the exact number blinded by Verna's special glass;
it could be that there were many who did in fact retreat with the Imperial
Order, brought along to perform menial tasks. It was likely, though, that
the corpses reported by the scouts were the bulk of those blinded. Kahlan
could imagine that Jagang might not want them in his camp, using food and
supplies, reminding his men of their stinging retreat.
She knew, though, that for Jagang retreat was but a momentary setback
and not a reappraisal of his objectives. The Order had men enough to shrug
off the loss of the hundred thousand killed since the fighting had started.
For the time being, the weather prevented Jagang from striking back.
Kahlan didn't intend to sit and wait for him. A month later, when the
representative from Herjborgue arrived, she met with him immediately in the
small trappers' lodge they had found up in the trees to the west side of the
valley. The lodge sat under the protection of towering, ancient pines, away
from the open areas where the tents were congregated. The lodge had become
Kahlan's frequent quarters, and often also served as their command center.
It greatly relieved General Meiffert when Kahlan would stay in the
lodge, rather than a tent. It made him feel as if the army was doing
something about providing better accommodations for the Mother Confessor-the
wife of Lord Rahl. Kahlan and Cara did appreciate the nights they slept in
the lodge, but Kahlan didn't want anyone to think she wasn't up to the
conditions the rest of them had to endure. Sometimes, she would instead have
the girls sleep in the lodge along with some of the Sisters, and sometimes
she insisted Verna sleep there with Holly, Valery, and Helen. It didn't take
a great deal of effort to persuade the Prelate.
Kahlan greeted Representative Theriault from the land of Herjborgue,
inviting him into the cozy lodge. He was accompanied by a small guard unit,
who waited outside. Herjborgue was a small country. Their contribution to
the war effort was in the area of their only product: wool. Kahlan had need
of the man.
After Representative Theriault knelt before the Mother Confessor,
receiving the traditional greeting, he at last stood and pushed his heavy
hood back on his shoulders. He broke into a broad grin.
"Mother Confessor, so good to see you well."
She returned a sincere smile. "And you, Representative Theriault. Here,
come over by the fire and warm yourself."
By the stone fireplace, he pulled off his gloves and held his hands
before the crackling flames. He glanced to the gleaming hilt of the sword
sticking up behind her shoulder. His eye was caught by Spirit standing
proudly on the mantel. He stared in wonder, as did everyone who saw the
proud figure.
"We heard about Lord Rahl being captured," he finally said. "Has there
been any word?"
Kahlan shook her head. "We know they haven't harmed him, but that's
about all. I know my husband; he's resourceful. I expect he will find a way
to get back to help us."
The man nodded, his brow furrowed as he listened earnestly.
Cara, standing beside the table, reminded of her Lord Rahl by Kahlan's
words, idly rolled her Agiel in her fingers. Kahlan could tell by the look
in Cara's blue eyes, and by the way she casually let the weapon dangle once
more by the small gold chain around her wrist, that the Agiel, being linked
to the living Lord Rahl, still possessed its power. As long as it worked,
they knew Richard was alive. That was all they knew.
The man opened his heavy traveling cloak. "How goes the war? Everyone
anxiously awaits word."
"As near as we can figure, we've managed to kill over a hundred
thousand of their troops."
The man gasped.-Such numbers were staggering to someone from a place as
small as his homeland of Herjborgue.
"Then, they must be defeated. Have they run back to the Old World?"
Rather than meet his gaze, Kahlan stared at the logs checkering in the
wavering glow of the flames. "I'm afraid that losing that many men is hardly
crippling to the Imperial Order. We're taking their numbers down, but they
have an army of well over ten times that many. They remain a threat, a
week's march to the south of here."
Kahlan looked up to see him staring at her. She could tell by the look
in his eyes that he was having difficulty trying to imagine that many
people. His wind-reddened face had paled considerably.
"Dear spirits . . ." he whispered. "We've heard rumors, but to learn
they are true . . ." With a despondent look, he shook his head. "How is it
ever going to be possible to defeat a foe of that size?"
"Seems that I remember, a number of years back, you were in Aydindril
to see the Council and you had a bit of trouble after a grand dinner. That
big man from Kelton-I forget his name-was boasting and speaking ill of your
small land. He called you some name. Do you remember that night?-what he
called you?"
Representative Theriault's eyes sparkled as he smiled.
"Puny.,,
"Puny. That was it. I guess he felt that because he was twice your
size, that made him your better. I recall men clearing off a table, and the
two of you arm wrestling."
"Ah, well, I was younger back then, and I had a few glasses of wine
with dinner, besides."
"You won."
He laughed softly. "Not by strength. He was cocky. I was clever,
perhaps, and quick-that's all."
"You won; that was the result. Those hundred thousand Order troops
aren't any less dead because they outnumbered us."
The smile left his lips. "Point taken. I guess the Imperial Order ought
to quit now, while they have men left. I recall how those five thousand
Galean recruits you led went after that force of fifty thousand, and
eliminated them." He leaned an arm on the rough-hewn mantel. "Anyway, I see
your point. When you are facing superior strength, you must use your wits."
"I need your help," Kahlan told the man.
His big brown eyes reflected the firelight as they turned toward her.
"Anything, Mother Confessor. If it be in my power to do, anything."
Kahlan bent and shoved another log onto the fire. Sparks swirled around
before ascending the chimney.
"We need wool cloaks--hooded cloaks-for the men."
He considered only briefly. "Just tell me the numbers, and I will see
to it. I'm sure it can be arranged."
"I'll need at least a hundred thousand-our entire force down here at
present. We're expecting more men any time, so if you could add half again
that number, it would go a long way to helping destroy the Order."
As he went through mental calculations, Kahlan used the poker to set
the new log to the back of the fire. "I know I'm not asking for something
easy."
He scratched his scalp through his thick gray hair. "You've no need of
hearing how difficult it will be, that won't help you win, so let me just
say that you will have them."
Representative Theriault's word was a pledge as sound as gold, and as
valuable. She stood and faced him.
"And I want them made from bleached wool."
He lifted an eyebrow in curiosity. "Bleached wool?"
"We need to be clever, as you can understand. The Imperial Order comes
from far to the south. Richard was down there, once, and told me about how
the weather is very different than it is up here, in the New World. Their
winters are nothing like we have. If I don't miss my bet, the Order is not
familiar with winter, nor is it used to surviving, much less fighting, in
such weather. Winter conditions may be difficult, but this puts it to our
advantage."
Kahlan made a fist before him. "I want to harry them mercilessly. I
want to use
the winter weather to make them suffer. I want to draw them out make
them have to fight-in conditions they don't understand as well as we do.
"I want the hooded cloaks to help disguise our men. I want to be able
to use the conditions to get in close on raids, and then disappear right
before their eyes."
"They don't have gifted?"
"Yes, but they're not going to have a sorceress telling every archer
where to aim his arrow."
He stroked his chin. "Yes, I see your point." He slapped the mantel as
if to seal his promise. "I'll have our people begin at once. Your men will
need warm mittens, too.
Kahlan smiled appreciatively. "They will be grateful. Have your people
start sending the cloaks down to us as soon as they have some made. Don't
wait for them all. We can start our raids with any number and add to them as
you deliver more."
Representative Theriault pulled his hood up and fastened his heavy wool
cloak. "Winter has just set in. The more time you have to whittle them down
while you have the advantage of weather, the better. I had best be on my way
at once."
Kahlan clasped arms with the man-not something the Mother Confessor
typically did, but something anyone else might do in sincere appreciation of
aid.
--]----
As she and Cara stood outside the door, watching the representative and
his guards trudging off through the snow, Kahlan hoped the supply of white
cloaks would start arriving soon, and that they would be as effective as she
hoped.
"Do you really think we can press the war effectively in winter?" Cara
asked.
Kahlan turned back to the door. "We have to."
Before she went back inside, Kahlan caught sight of a procession coming
up through the trees. When they were a little closer, she saw that it was
General Meiffert, on foot, leading. She was able to pick out Adie, Verna,
Warren, and Zedd, all walking along beside four riders. The midday sun
sparkled off the hilt of the lead rider's sword.
Kahlan gasped when she saw who it was.
Without bothering to go back inside to get her cloak or fur mantle, she
raced down through the snow to great him. Cara was right on Kahlan's heels.
"Harold!" she called out as she got closer. "Oh, Harold! Are we ever
glad to see you!"
It was her half brother, come from Galea. Kahlan then saw some of the
other men riding behind him, and gasped again in surprise. Captain Bradley
Ryan, commander of the Galean recruits she had fought with was there, and
his lieutenant, Flin Hobson. She thought she recognized Sergeant Frost, in
the rear. Her face hurt from grinning as she ran up to them through the deep
snow.
Kahlan wanted to pull her half brother off his horse and hug him. In a
Galean field-officer uniform, far more muted than their dress uniform, he
looked grand on his well-bred mount. She only now fully realized how worried
she had been over his late arrival.
Carrying himself like the prince he was, Harold tipped his head to her
as he bowed in his saddle. He offered only a small, private smile.
"Mother Confessor. I'm gratified to find you well."
Captain Ryan was grinning, even if Prince Harold wasn't. Kahlan had
fond memories of Bradley and Flin, of their bravery, courage, and heart. The
fighting had been horrifying, but the company of those fine soldiers, fine
young men all, was a cherished memory. They had done the impossible before,
and had come to help do it again.
Standing beside his horse, Kahlan reached up for Harold's hand. "Come
inside. We've a good fire going." She motioned to the captain, the
lieutenant, and the sergeant. "You, too. Come inside and get warm."
Kahlan turned to the others, who didn't look nearly as happy as Kahlan
thought they should. "We'll all fit. Come inside."
Prince Harold stepped down out of the stirrup. "Mother Confessor, I-"
Kahlan couldn't resist. She threw her arms around her half brother. He
was a big bear of a man, much like their father, King Wyborn. "Harold, I'm
so relieved to see you. How's Cyrilla?"
Cyrilla, Harold's sister and Kahlan's half sister, was a dozen years
older than Kahlan. Cyrilla had been ill for ages, it seemed. When she had
been captured by the Order she had been thrown into the pit with a gang of
murderers and rapists. Harold had rescued her, but the abuse she suffered
had left her in an incoherent state, oblivious of those around her. She
regained her senses only infrequently. When she came awake, she more often
than not screamed and cried uncontrollably. One of the times when she was
lucid, she had asked Kahlan to promise to be the queen of Galea and keep her
people safe.
Harold, wishing to remain commander of the Galean army, refused the
crown. Kahlan reluctantly had acceded to his wish.
Harold's eyes shifted to the others, briefly. "Mother Confessor, we
need to have a talk."
At Prince Harold's instructions, Captain Ryan and his two men went to
see to their troops and horses while the rest of them crowded into the small
trapper's lodge. Zedd and Warren sat on a bench made of a board laid atop
two log rounds. Verna and Adie sat against the opposite wall on another
bench. Cara gazed out the small window. Standing near Cara, General Meiffert
watched as the prince ran a finger back and forth along the front edge of
the table. Kahlan folded her hands on the table before her.
"So," she began, fearing the worst, "how is Cyrilla?"
Harold smoothed the front of his coat. "The queen has . . . recovered."
"Queen . . . ?" Kahlan rose out of her chair. "Cyrilla has recovered?
Harold, that's wonderful news. And she has at last taken her crown back?
Even better!"
Kahlan was delighted to be relieved of the role of queen to Galea. As
Mother Confessor, it was an awkward duty better served by Cyrilla. More than
that, though, she was relieved to learn that her half sister had finally
recovered. While the two of them were never close, they shared a mutual
respect.
More than her cheer at Cyrilla's recovery, though, Kahlan felt a sense
of deliverance that Harold had at last brought his troops down to join with
them. She hoped he had been able to raise the hundred thousand they had
previously discussed; it would be a good beginning for the army Kahlan
needed to raise.
Harold licked his weather-cracked lips. By the slump in his shoulders,
she was sure that the task of collecting his army had been trying, and the
journey arduous. She had never seen his face looking so worn. He had a
vague, empty look that reminded her of her father.
Kahlan smiled exuberantly, determined to show her appreciation. "How
many troops did you bring? We could certainly use the whole hundred
thousand. That would just about double what we have down here so far. The
spirits know we need them."
No one was saying anything. As she looked from one person to the next,
no one would meet her gaze.
Kahlan's sense of relief was sloughing away.
"Harold, how many troops did you bring?"
He ran his meaty fingers back through his long, thick, dark hair.
"About a thousand."
She stared dumbly, sinking back into her chair. "A thousand?"
He nodded, still not meeting her eyes. "Captain Bradley and his men.
The ones you led and fought beside, before."
Kahlan could feel her face heating. "We need all your troops. Harold,
what's going on?"
He at last met her gaze.
"Queen Cyrilla refused my plan to take our troops south. Shortly after
you were there and visited her, she came out of her illness. She was herself
again-full of ambition and fire. You know what she was like. She was always
tireless in her advocacy for Galea." His fingers idly tapped the table. "But
I'm afraid she has been changed by her infirmity. She fears the Imperial
Order."
"So do I," Kahlan said with quiet bottled rage. She could feel
Richard's sword pressed against the back of her shoulder. She saw Harold's
eyes take it in. "Everyone in the Midlands fears the Order. That is why we
need those troops."
He was nodding as she spoke. "I told her all that. I did. She said that
she is Queen of Galea, and as such, she must put our land first."
"Galea has joined the D'Haran Empire!"
He opened his hands in a helpless gesture. "When she was ill, she was .
. . unaware of that event taking place. She said she only gave you the crown
for the safekeeping of her people, not to surrender their sovereignty." His
hands dropped to his sides. "She claims you never had any such authority and
refuses to abide by the agreement."
Kahlan glanced at the others in the room, sitting mute, like a panel of
grim judges.
"Harold, you and I have discussed all this in the past. The Midlands is
under threat." She swept her arm out. "The entire New World is threatened!
We must turn back that threat, not take to defending one land at a time--or
have each land try to fend for itself. If we do that, we will all fall, one
at a time. We must stand together."
"I agree with you, in principle, Mother Confessor. Queen Cyrilla does
not."
"Then Cyrilla is not recovered, Harold. She is still sick."
"That may be, but it is not for me to say."
Elbow on the table, Kahlan rested her forehead against her fingertips.
Thoughts were screaming around inside her head, demanding that this not be
happening.
"What about Jebra?" Zedd asked from the side of the room. Kahlan was
relieved to hear his voice, as if reason were returning to the lunacy of
what she was hearing, as if the weight of another voice would set things
straight. "We left the seer there to help care for Cyrilla and to advise
you. Surely, Jebra must have advised Cyrilla against such actions."
Harold hung his head again. "I'm afraid that Queen Cyrilla ordered
Jebra thrown into a dungeon. Moreover, the queen gave orders that if Jebra
speaks one word of her blasphemy-as Queen Cyrilla calls it-she is to have
her tongue cut out."
Kahlan had to tell herself to blink. It was no longer Cyrilla's
behavior that so stunned her. Her words came sparse and brittle, the naked
bones of dead respect.
"Harold, why would you follow the orders of a madwoman?"
His jaw took a set, as if injured by her tone. "Mother Confessor, she
is not only my sister, but my queen. I am sworn to obey my queen in order to
protect the Galean people. All those men of ours out there who have been
fighting with your army are also sworn to protect the people of Galea above
all else. I've already given them our queen's orders. We must all return to
Galea at once. I'm sorry, but that is the way it must be."
Kahlan pounded her fist on the table and shot to her feet.
"Galea stands at the head of the Callisidrin Valley! It's a gateway
right up the center of the Midlands! Don't you see what a tempting route it
might be for the Imperial Order? Don't you see how they might want to split
the Midlands?"
"Of course I do, Mother Confessor."
She aimed a stiff arm, pointing at the camp beyond the lodge.
"So you just expect all those men out there to put their lives between
you and the Order? You and Queen Cyrilla callously expect all those men out
there to die protecting you?-while you sit back in Galea?-hoping they
prevent the Order from ever reaching you?"
"Of course not, Mother Confessor."
"What's the matter with you! Don't you see that if you fight with us to
halt the Order, you are protecting the people of your homeland?"
Harold licked his lip. "Mother Confessor, all you say is probably true.
It is also irrelevant. I am commander of the Galean army. My entire life has
been devoted to serving the people of Galea and my sovereign-first my mother
and father, and then my sister. From the time I was a boy at my father's
knee, I was taught to protect Galea above all else."
Kahlan did her best to control her voice. "Harold, Cyrilla is obviously
still sick. If you are honestly interested in protecting your people, you
must see that what you're doing is not the way to accomplish it."
"Mother Confessor, I have been charged by my queen with protecting the
people of Galea. I know my duty."
"Duty?" Kahlan wiped a hand across her face. "Harold, you can't blindly
follow that woman's whim. The route to life and liberty exists only through
reason. She may be queen, but reason can be your only true sovereign. To
fail to use reason in this, to fail to think, is intellectual anarchy."
He looked at her as if she were some poor child who didn't understand
the world of adult responsibility.
"She is my queen. The queen is devoted to the people."
Kahlan drummed her fingers on the table. "What Cyrilla is, is deluded
by ghosts that still haunt her. She is going to bring harm to your people.
You are going to aid her in delivering your people into ruin because you
wish something to be true, even though it is not. You are seeing her as she
once was, not as she is now."
He shrugged. "Mother Confessor, I can understand why you think what you
think, but it can change nothing. I must do as my queen commands."
Elbows on the table, Kahlan held her face in her hands for a time,
trembling with anger at the insanity of what she was hearing. She finally
looked up, meeting her half brother's gaze.
"Harold, Galea is part of the D'Haran Empire. Galea has a queen only at
the indulgence of the Empire. Queen though she may be, even if she does not
recognize the rule of the D'Haran Empire, she is still, as she always has
been, subordinate to the Mother Confessor of the Midlands. As Mother
Confessor, as well as the leader of the D'Haran Empire in Lord Rahl's
absence, I formally terminate that indulgence. Cyrilla is now without
authority and is removed from office. She is no longer the queen of
anything, much less Galea.
"You are ordered to return to Ebinissia, to put Cyrilla under arrest
for her own protection, to release Jebra, and to return to this army with
the seer and all Galean forces except a home guard for the crown city."
"Mother Confessor, I'm sorry, but my queen has ordered-"
Kahlan slammed the flat of her hand down on the table. "Enough!"
He fell silent as Kahlan rose. With her fingertips pressed to the
table, she leaned closer to him.
"As Mother Confessor, I am commanding you to carry out my orders at
once. That is final. I will hear no more."
The room seemed gripped by the grave consequence of what was happening.
Each forbidding face watched, waiting to see how it was going to go.
Harold spoke in a voice that reminded Kahlan of her father's.
"I realize that it may make no sense to you, Mother Confessor, but I
must choose my duty to my people above my duty to you. Cyrilla is my sister.
King Wyborn always told me to run a good army. An officer must obey his
queen. My men down here are ordered by their queen to return at once to
protect Galea. I am a man bound by my honor to protect my people, as ordered
by my queen."
"You pompous fool. How dare you speak to me of your honor? You are
sacrificing the lives of innocent people to your delusions of honor. Honor
is honesty to what is, not blind duty to what you wish to be. You have no
honor, Harold."
Kahlan sank into 'her chair. She looked past him, to the side, staring
into the hearth, into the flames.
"I have given you my orders. Do you refuse to obey them?"
"I must refuse, Mother Confessor. Let me say only that it is not out of
malice."
"Harold," she said in a flat tone without looking at him, "you are
committing treason."
"I realize that you may see it that way, Mother Confessor."
"Oh, I do. I do indeed. Treason to your people, treason to the
Midlands, treason to our D'Haran union against the Imperial Order, and
treason against the Mother Confessor. What do you suppose I ought to do
about it?"
"I would expect that if you feel so strongly, you would have me put to
death, Mother Confessor."
She looked up at him. "If you have enough sense to realize that, then
what good will it do for you to stick to the orders of a madwoman? It will
only bring your death, and then you will not be able to carry out your
queen's orders. Staying to your course can only leave your people without
your aid, which is what you claim to put above all else. Why not simply do
the right thing and help us to help your people? Since you refuse, you have
shown yourself, in truth, to be without common sense, much less honor."
His eyes turned to her, filled with smoldering anger. The knuckles of
his fists went white.
"I will be heard, now, Mother Confessor. If I stand by my honor, even
if it costs me my life, it will be honoring my family, my sister, my queen,
and my homeland. A homeland forged by my father, King Wyborn, and my mother,
Queen Bernadine. When I was young, my father, my sovereign king, was taken
from my mother, my family, and my homeland of Galea, by the Confessors,
taken by a Confessor's power for their selfish desire of a husband for your
mother, for her selfish desire for a strong man to father her a child-you.
Now, you, Mother Confessor-the daughter of that theft of that beloved man
from us when I was but a boy-you would take me from my sister? 'hake her,
too, from our land? Take me from my duty to serve my queen, my land, and
above all my people? The last duty my father charged me with before your
mother took him from us and destroyed him for no reason but that he was good
and she wanted him, was that I should always honor my duty to my sister and
my land. I will carry out my father's last charge to me, even if you think
it madness."
Kahlan stared at him in cold shock.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Harold."
His face had aged and hardened. "I know that you are not responsible
for all that happened before you came to be, and I will always love that
part of you that is my father, but I am still the one who must live with it
all. Now I must be true to myself, to my own feelings."
"Your feelings," she repeated.
"Yes, Mother Confessor. Those are my feelings, and I must put my faith
in them."
Kahlan swallowed past the painful constriction in her throat. Her
fight as they ran headlong out of the night.
In the moonlight, Kahlan could see for the first time since she had
joined up with the army the full extent of the enemy forces. The reports had
told the story, but could not fully convey the reality of the sight. The
numbers were so far removed from her experience as to defy comprehension.
Eyes wide, jaw hanging open, she gasped in awe.
Kahlan realized with alarm that the enemy was much closer than she had
expected. Throughout the ocean of men, torches meant to be used to set fires
sparkled like moonlight off the vast sea flooding into the valley. At the
horizon, that moonlight gleaming off uncountable weapons blurred into a flat
line over which she almost expected to see ships sailing.
The undulating leading edge, bristling shields and spears, threatened
to close off her path. Kahlan used her right heel, back against her horse's
flank, to guide him a little to the right so as to clear the wave of
soldiers. After she had corrected his course, she thumped her heels against
the animal's ribs, urging him on.
And then she realized, as arrows zipped past and spears plunged to the
ground just in front of her, that in the light of the wizard's fire, the
enemy could see her, too.
The ball of wizard's fire that had revealed her to the enemy wailed off
into the darkness, leaving her in shadow and lighting tens of thousands of
men at a time as it passed over their heads. Far in the distance, behind the
advancing horde, the fire finally crashed to the ground, igniting a
conflagration in the midst of the cavalry. Horsemen were often held back,
ready to charge forth when their men encountered the D'Haran lines. The
distant mortal screams of man and beast rose into the night.
An arrow skipped off her leather leg armor. More zipped past. One stuck
in the saddle just below her stomach as she leaned forward over the
galloping horse's withers. Apparently, in the moonlight they could still
spot her and Verna racing past.
"Why aren't they blind?" Kahlan called over her shoulder.
She could see a cloud billowing out behind them. It looked little
different than
the dust the horse raised as it galloped, except Kahlan saw that it was
coming from the bucket Verna rested against her thigh as she tipped it
toward the enemy lines, a little more, a little less, controlling the amount
that poured out, keeping it in a steady stream. Cara had already been past,
yet the men showed no ill effect.
"It takes a little while to work," Verna said in Kahlan's ear. "They
have to blink a bit."
Fire raced past right behind them. Fiery droplets splashed down onto
the snow, splattering when they hit, hissing like rain on hot stones round a
fire. The horse snorted as he raced onward in near panic. As she leaned over
his withers, Kahlan stroked his neck reassuringly, reminding him that he
wasn't alone.
Kahlan let her gaze sweep along the advancing enemy line as she raced
before them. She saw that the men were doing little blinking. Their eyes
were wide in their fervor for the coming battle.
The wizard's fire that had so spooked the horse from behind exploded
through the enemy ranks. Liquid flames spilled across the mass of soldiers,
touching off a shrill roar of ghastly cries. When burning men crashed into
soldiers around them, fire splashed onto them, too, spreading the horror.
Around the fire, the advancing line buckled. Yet other men running headlong
through the night trampled those on the ground, only to lose their own
footing and topple.
Another sphere of wizard's fire droned past to crash down, spilling its
flame like water from a burst dam. So massive was the eruption that the
surge swept men away, carrying them off in a flaming current.
A huge knot of fire erupted out of the enemy line not far in front of
Kahlan, headed toward the D'Haran lines. Immediately, a small sphere of blue
flame roared in from her right, meeting the ponderous globe of yellow flame
in midair. The collision sent a shower of fire raining down around her as
she rode past. Kahlan gasped and yanked the reins left as a fat gob of the
plummeting fire crashed to the ground right before them, splattering flame
everywhere.
They missed the fire by inches, but she now found herself closing with
the enemy soldiers at an alarming rate. Kahlan could read some of the
obscene oaths on their lips. She spurred the terrified horse to the right.
He turned a little but not enough to divert them from angling in toward the
enemy lines.
Glowing bits of fire rained down on the men as well as the open ground.
The horse was running in a panic, too frightened to take direction from
Kahlan. The stench of burning leather was adding fuel to the horse's fear.
She glanced down and saw a bit of fire burning on the leather armor
protecting her thigh. The small but fierce flame fluttered wildly in the
wind. She dared not try to brush the glowing spot off lest it then stick to
her hand. She feared to imagine what it would feel like when it finally
burned through the leather. She would have to endure the pain when it did;
she had no choice.
Verna didn't realize what was happening. She was twisted sideways,
still releasing the glass dust. Kahlan could see the plume of it carried
away behind them. The long trail curved, carried by the breeze, into the
enemy, past the front lines, back through the ranks of soldiers, off into
the blackness. Farther back in the Order's ranks, the torches lit the cloud
as it mingled with the dust churned up from the frozen ground.
An arrow nicked the horse's shoulder and skipped up into the air. A
surge of men, seeing her coming, ran with wild abandon in an effort to block
her way. Kahlan yanked on the reins, trying to haul the powerful horse's
head to the right. In the grip
of terror, the horse galloped on. She felt helpless as she tried to get
it to turn. It was doing no good. They were headed right toward a wall of
men.
"We're getting too close!" Verna yelled in her ear.
Kahlan was too busy to answer. Her arm was shaking with the effort of
pulling on the right rein, trying to turn the horse's head over and to the
right, but the horse had the bit in his teeth and was stronger than she by
far. Sweat trickled down her neck. She stretched her right leg back and dug
her heel into the horse's right flank to turn him. The men before them
brought their pikes and swords around to bear. Fighting was one thing, but
not having any control and just watching her fate come at her was different.
"Kahlan! What are you doing!"
With the pressure of her heel in front of his right rear leg, she was
finally forcing the horse to turn. It wasn't enough. She wasn't going to be
able to divert the runaway horse. The enemy looked like a steel porcupine
rushing at them.
Three strides away, the horse lowered his head.
"Good boy!" she cried.
Maybe he had a chance to clear the pikes. Kahlan took her weight off
the saddle and angled forward, flattening her back. She bent her arms,
giving the reins slack with her hands to either side of the horse's neck.
She kept pressure on him with her lower legs, but let him have the freedom
he needed.
She didn't know if it would work with the extra weight. If only the
pikes were shorter. Kahlan screamed for Verna to hold on.
Wizard's fire suddenly streamed past in front of them, coming in low.
The men who had rushed ahead in a line to block Kahlan's way dove to the
ground. The entire line before them collapsed. The fire wailed past just
over top of them, finally touching down off to Kahlan's left. The cries of a
thousand men filled her ears.
The horse stretched his lowered head, getting his hocks underneath his
body. At the last instant, his neck shortened and his head came up as he
sprang upward, using his powerful hindquarters to launch himself. His back
rounded as they sailed over the leading edge of men. Verna cried out, her
arm like a hook around Kahlan's middle. They came down beyond the soldiers
who had dropped flat. With her weight on the stirrups, Kahlan used her legs
to absorb the shock-Verna couldn't. With the extra load, the horse nearly
stumbled as it landed, but kept his balance and continued running. They were
at last clear of the Order soldiers.
"What's the matter with you!" Verna yelled. "Don't do that or I won't
be able to let it out evenly!"
"Sorry," Kahlan called over her shoulder.
Despite the cold wind in her face, sweat ran from her scalp. The Order
soldiers seemed to fall away to their rear quarter. Giddy relief washed over
her as she realized they had made it past the bulge in the Imperial Order's
front lines.
In the distance behind them, a storm of fire lit the night. Zedd and
Warren were showing them a good old-fashioned firefight, as Zedd had put it.
It was a terrifying demonstration, if insufficient to stop an enemy as large
as the Order. As the Order's gifted raced to the scene and threw up shields,
it limited the death and devastation. The two wizards had bought Kahlan and
Verna the time they had needed.
Kahlan heard Cara calling "Whoa!" as she galloped up close.
This time, with Cara's horse heading them off, the lathered mount
rapidly came to a halt: The horse was exhausted, as was Kahlan. As they
dismounted beside Cara and Sister Philippa, Verna tossed the empty bucket to
the ground. Kahlan was glad
it was dark, so that the others couldn't see her legs trembling. She
was relieved to see that the spot of fire had expended itself before burning
through.
The four of them watched as the night went mad with flame, most
exploding against shields of magic, yet still doing damage to anyone too
close. Zedd and Warren sent forth one tumbling sphere of fiery death after
another. The cries of men could be heard all along the line. The fire was
being returned, reaping death in the D'Haran lines, but the Sisters were
throwing up their own shields.
Still the vast enemy army advanced. At most, the deadly flames only
slowed them and disrupted their orderly attack.
As the gifted on both sides gained control, they managed to nullify
each other's fiery attacks. Kahlan knew that the forward D'Haran lines had
no hope of holding the onrushing flood of the Order. They had no hope of
even slowing them. In the moonlight, she could see them beginning to abandon
their positions.
"Why isn't it working?" Kahlan whispered, half to herself. She leaned
toward Verna. "Are you sure it was made properly?"
Watching the enemy's headlong rush, and in the din of battle cries,
Verna didn't seem to hear the question. Kahlan checked her sword. She
realized how futile it would be to try to fight. She felt Richard's sword on
her back, and considered drawing it, but decided that it would be better to
run. She pushed Verna, urging her to their spent horse. Cara did the same
with Sister Philippa.
Before she stepped into the stirrup, Kahlan noticed the Order slowing.
She saw men stumbling. Some groped with outstretched arms. Others fell.
Verna pointed. "Look!"
An endless moan of frightened agony began rising up into the night,
growing in intensity. Staggering men fell over one another. Some swung their
swords at an invisible enemy, hacking instead their blinded fellow soldiers.
The progress of the men at the front slowed to a crawl. Soldiers kept
coming, colliding with the stalled front line. Cavalry horses panicked,
bucking off riders. Spooked horses ran off in every direction, oblivious of
the men they trampled. Racing wagons overturned. Confusion swept the enemy's
ranks.
The advance buckled. The Imperial Order ground to a halt.
Zedd and Warren rode up and dismounted, both sweating despite the
frigid night air. Kahlan gave Zedd's bony hand a squeeze.
"You two saved our necks at the end, there."
Zedd gestured to Warren. "Him, not me."
Warren shrugged. "I saw your predicament."
They all stared in wonder, watching the army gone blind.
"You did it, Verna," Kahlan said. "You and your glass saved us."
At last, she and Verna threw their arms around each other, tears of
relief coursing down their cheeks.
Kahlan was one of the last to cross over the pass. The valley beyond
was well protected by towering rock walls around the southern half. It was a
long and difficult route around those mountains if the Order had any
thoughts of attacking them here. While the troops of the D'Haran Empire had
no intention of letting themselves get trapped in that valley, for the time
being it was a safe place.
Big old spruces filled the lap of the surrounding mountains, so they
were somewhat protected from the wind, as well. Tents carpeted the forest
floor. It was good to see all the campfires and smell the woodsmoke-a sign
that they were safe enough for the men to have fires. The aroma of cooking
filled the late-night air, too. It had been a lot of work moving the army
and their equipment over the pass, and the men were hungry.
General Meiffert looked as pleased as any general would when the army
he feared lost was at last safe-at least for the time being. He guided
Kahlan and Cara through the darkness dotted by thousands of campfires to
tents he had set up for them. Along the way, he filled them in on how
everything with the army had gone, and ran through a list of what few things
they had had to leave behind.
"It's going to be a cold night," General Meiffert said when they had
reached the tents he had set aside for them between two towering spruce. "I
had a sack of pebbles heated by a fire for you, Mother Confessor. You, too,
Mistress Cara."
Kahlan thanked him before he left to see to his duties. Cara went off
to go get something to eat. Kahlan told her to go ahead, that she just
wanted to sleep.
Inside her tent, Kahlan found Spirit standing on a little table, the
lamp hanging from the ridgepole lighting her proud pose. She paused to trace
a finger down the flowing robes.
Kahlan, her teeth chattering, could hardly wait to crawl into bed and
pull that sack of heated pebbles under the fur mantle with her. She thought
about how cold she was, and then instead of climbing into her bed, went back
outside and searched through the dark camp until she found a Sister. After
following the Sister's directions, going between tents until she reached the
area with the thick young trees, Kahlan found the small lean-to shelter set
among the boughs for protection from the wind and weather.
She squatted down, peering inside at the bundle of blankets she could
just make out in the light coming from nearby campfires.
"Holly? Are you in there?"
A little head poked out. "Mother Confessor?" The girl was shivering.
"What is it? Do you need me?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Come with me please."
Holly climbed out, swaddled in a blanket. Kahlan took her little hand
and walked
her back to her tent in silence. Holly's eyes grew big and round as
Kahlan ushered in inside. Before the small table, the girl paused to stand
still as a stump while she stared in wonder at Spirit.
"Like it?" Kahlan asked.
Trembling with the cold, Holly reverently ran her frail fingers down
Spirit's arm. "Where ever did you get something so beautiful?"
"Richard carved it for me."
Holly finally pulled her gaze from the statue and looked up at Kahlan.
"I miss Richard." Kahlan could see Holly's breath in the motionless air of
the tent. "He was always nice to me. A lot of people were mean, but Richard
was always nice."
Kahlan felt an unexpected stab of anguish. She hadn't expected the
subject to turn to Richard.
"What was it you needed, Mother Confessor?"
Kahlan turned her thoughts away from her sorrow and smiled. "I was
proud of the work you did to help save us today. I promised you that you
would be warm. Tonight, you will be."
The girl's teeth were chattering. "Really?"
Kahlan laid the Sword of Truth on the far side of the bed. She stripped
off some of her heavier clothing, doused the lamp, and then sat down on the
straw-filled pallet. Light from nearby campfires lent a soft glow to the
tent's walls.
"Come. Climb into bed with me. It's going to be very cold tonight. I
need you to keep me warm."
Holly only had to consider for a second.
As Kahlan lay down on her side, she pulled Holly's back against her
stomach and then drew the sack of heated pebbles up against the girl's
front. Holly hugged the sack and moaned with the thrill of warmth. The
satisfied moan made Kahlan smile.
For a long time, she smiled, enjoying the simple pleasure of seeing
Holly warm and safe. Having the girl there, holding her close, helped Kahlan
to forget all the terrible things she had seen that day.
Far up in the mountains, a single wolf sang out in a long, lonely call.
The cry echoed through the valley, trailing off, to be renewed again and
again with forlorn persistence.
With his sword at her back, Kahlan's thoughts turned to Richard.
Thinking about him, wondering where he was and if he was safe, she silently
wept herself to sleep.
--]----
The next day, snow moved down from the higher mountains to rampage
across the southern regions of the Midlands. The storms raged for two days.
The second night of the blizzard, Kahlan shared her tent with Holly, Valery,
and Helen. They sat under blankets, ate camp stew, sang songs, told stories
of princes and princesses, and slept together to keep warm.
When the snowstorm finally ended in a bleak golden sunrise, most of the
taller tents had snow drifted to their eaves on their downwind side. The
smaller ones were completely covered over. The men dug themselves out,
looking like so many woodchucks come up out of their burrows for a peek.
Over the next several weeks, the storms continued to roll past, dumping
more snow. In such weather, fighting, or even moving an army very far, was
difficult.
Scouts reported that the Imperial Order had withdrawn a week's march
back to the south.
It would be a burden to care for blinded men. Within a days walk all
around the place where the special glass had been released, the D'Haran
scouts reported that they had seen well over sixty thousand frozen corpses,
now drifted over with the snow-blind men unable to care for themselves in
the harsh conditions. The Imperial Order had probably abandoned them to
their fate. A few dozen of the blind had managed to make it over the pass,
looking for help, begging for mercy. Kahlan had ordered them executed.
It was hard telling the exact number blinded by Verna's special glass;
it could be that there were many who did in fact retreat with the Imperial
Order, brought along to perform menial tasks. It was likely, though, that
the corpses reported by the scouts were the bulk of those blinded. Kahlan
could imagine that Jagang might not want them in his camp, using food and
supplies, reminding his men of their stinging retreat.
She knew, though, that for Jagang retreat was but a momentary setback
and not a reappraisal of his objectives. The Order had men enough to shrug
off the loss of the hundred thousand killed since the fighting had started.
For the time being, the weather prevented Jagang from striking back.
Kahlan didn't intend to sit and wait for him. A month later, when the
representative from Herjborgue arrived, she met with him immediately in the
small trappers' lodge they had found up in the trees to the west side of the
valley. The lodge sat under the protection of towering, ancient pines, away
from the open areas where the tents were congregated. The lodge had become
Kahlan's frequent quarters, and often also served as their command center.
It greatly relieved General Meiffert when Kahlan would stay in the
lodge, rather than a tent. It made him feel as if the army was doing
something about providing better accommodations for the Mother Confessor-the
wife of Lord Rahl. Kahlan and Cara did appreciate the nights they slept in
the lodge, but Kahlan didn't want anyone to think she wasn't up to the
conditions the rest of them had to endure. Sometimes, she would instead have
the girls sleep in the lodge along with some of the Sisters, and sometimes
she insisted Verna sleep there with Holly, Valery, and Helen. It didn't take
a great deal of effort to persuade the Prelate.
Kahlan greeted Representative Theriault from the land of Herjborgue,
inviting him into the cozy lodge. He was accompanied by a small guard unit,
who waited outside. Herjborgue was a small country. Their contribution to
the war effort was in the area of their only product: wool. Kahlan had need
of the man.
After Representative Theriault knelt before the Mother Confessor,
receiving the traditional greeting, he at last stood and pushed his heavy
hood back on his shoulders. He broke into a broad grin.
"Mother Confessor, so good to see you well."
She returned a sincere smile. "And you, Representative Theriault. Here,
come over by the fire and warm yourself."
By the stone fireplace, he pulled off his gloves and held his hands
before the crackling flames. He glanced to the gleaming hilt of the sword
sticking up behind her shoulder. His eye was caught by Spirit standing
proudly on the mantel. He stared in wonder, as did everyone who saw the
proud figure.
"We heard about Lord Rahl being captured," he finally said. "Has there
been any word?"
Kahlan shook her head. "We know they haven't harmed him, but that's
about all. I know my husband; he's resourceful. I expect he will find a way
to get back to help us."
The man nodded, his brow furrowed as he listened earnestly.
Cara, standing beside the table, reminded of her Lord Rahl by Kahlan's
words, idly rolled her Agiel in her fingers. Kahlan could tell by the look
in Cara's blue eyes, and by the way she casually let the weapon dangle once
more by the small gold chain around her wrist, that the Agiel, being linked
to the living Lord Rahl, still possessed its power. As long as it worked,
they knew Richard was alive. That was all they knew.
The man opened his heavy traveling cloak. "How goes the war? Everyone
anxiously awaits word."
"As near as we can figure, we've managed to kill over a hundred
thousand of their troops."
The man gasped.-Such numbers were staggering to someone from a place as
small as his homeland of Herjborgue.
"Then, they must be defeated. Have they run back to the Old World?"
Rather than meet his gaze, Kahlan stared at the logs checkering in the
wavering glow of the flames. "I'm afraid that losing that many men is hardly
crippling to the Imperial Order. We're taking their numbers down, but they
have an army of well over ten times that many. They remain a threat, a
week's march to the south of here."
Kahlan looked up to see him staring at her. She could tell by the look
in his eyes that he was having difficulty trying to imagine that many
people. His wind-reddened face had paled considerably.
"Dear spirits . . ." he whispered. "We've heard rumors, but to learn
they are true . . ." With a despondent look, he shook his head. "How is it
ever going to be possible to defeat a foe of that size?"
"Seems that I remember, a number of years back, you were in Aydindril
to see the Council and you had a bit of trouble after a grand dinner. That
big man from Kelton-I forget his name-was boasting and speaking ill of your
small land. He called you some name. Do you remember that night?-what he
called you?"
Representative Theriault's eyes sparkled as he smiled.
"Puny.,,
"Puny. That was it. I guess he felt that because he was twice your
size, that made him your better. I recall men clearing off a table, and the
two of you arm wrestling."
"Ah, well, I was younger back then, and I had a few glasses of wine
with dinner, besides."
"You won."
He laughed softly. "Not by strength. He was cocky. I was clever,
perhaps, and quick-that's all."
"You won; that was the result. Those hundred thousand Order troops
aren't any less dead because they outnumbered us."
The smile left his lips. "Point taken. I guess the Imperial Order ought
to quit now, while they have men left. I recall how those five thousand
Galean recruits you led went after that force of fifty thousand, and
eliminated them." He leaned an arm on the rough-hewn mantel. "Anyway, I see
your point. When you are facing superior strength, you must use your wits."
"I need your help," Kahlan told the man.
His big brown eyes reflected the firelight as they turned toward her.
"Anything, Mother Confessor. If it be in my power to do, anything."
Kahlan bent and shoved another log onto the fire. Sparks swirled around
before ascending the chimney.
"We need wool cloaks--hooded cloaks-for the men."
He considered only briefly. "Just tell me the numbers, and I will see
to it. I'm sure it can be arranged."
"I'll need at least a hundred thousand-our entire force down here at
present. We're expecting more men any time, so if you could add half again
that number, it would go a long way to helping destroy the Order."
As he went through mental calculations, Kahlan used the poker to set
the new log to the back of the fire. "I know I'm not asking for something
easy."
He scratched his scalp through his thick gray hair. "You've no need of
hearing how difficult it will be, that won't help you win, so let me just
say that you will have them."
Representative Theriault's word was a pledge as sound as gold, and as
valuable. She stood and faced him.
"And I want them made from bleached wool."
He lifted an eyebrow in curiosity. "Bleached wool?"
"We need to be clever, as you can understand. The Imperial Order comes
from far to the south. Richard was down there, once, and told me about how
the weather is very different than it is up here, in the New World. Their
winters are nothing like we have. If I don't miss my bet, the Order is not
familiar with winter, nor is it used to surviving, much less fighting, in
such weather. Winter conditions may be difficult, but this puts it to our
advantage."
Kahlan made a fist before him. "I want to harry them mercilessly. I
want to use
the winter weather to make them suffer. I want to draw them out make
them have to fight-in conditions they don't understand as well as we do.
"I want the hooded cloaks to help disguise our men. I want to be able
to use the conditions to get in close on raids, and then disappear right
before their eyes."
"They don't have gifted?"
"Yes, but they're not going to have a sorceress telling every archer
where to aim his arrow."
He stroked his chin. "Yes, I see your point." He slapped the mantel as
if to seal his promise. "I'll have our people begin at once. Your men will
need warm mittens, too.
Kahlan smiled appreciatively. "They will be grateful. Have your people
start sending the cloaks down to us as soon as they have some made. Don't
wait for them all. We can start our raids with any number and add to them as
you deliver more."
Representative Theriault pulled his hood up and fastened his heavy wool
cloak. "Winter has just set in. The more time you have to whittle them down
while you have the advantage of weather, the better. I had best be on my way
at once."
Kahlan clasped arms with the man-not something the Mother Confessor
typically did, but something anyone else might do in sincere appreciation of
aid.
--]----
As she and Cara stood outside the door, watching the representative and
his guards trudging off through the snow, Kahlan hoped the supply of white
cloaks would start arriving soon, and that they would be as effective as she
hoped.
"Do you really think we can press the war effectively in winter?" Cara
asked.
Kahlan turned back to the door. "We have to."
Before she went back inside, Kahlan caught sight of a procession coming
up through the trees. When they were a little closer, she saw that it was
General Meiffert, on foot, leading. She was able to pick out Adie, Verna,
Warren, and Zedd, all walking along beside four riders. The midday sun
sparkled off the hilt of the lead rider's sword.
Kahlan gasped when she saw who it was.
Without bothering to go back inside to get her cloak or fur mantle, she
raced down through the snow to great him. Cara was right on Kahlan's heels.
"Harold!" she called out as she got closer. "Oh, Harold! Are we ever
glad to see you!"
It was her half brother, come from Galea. Kahlan then saw some of the
other men riding behind him, and gasped again in surprise. Captain Bradley
Ryan, commander of the Galean recruits she had fought with was there, and
his lieutenant, Flin Hobson. She thought she recognized Sergeant Frost, in
the rear. Her face hurt from grinning as she ran up to them through the deep
snow.
Kahlan wanted to pull her half brother off his horse and hug him. In a
Galean field-officer uniform, far more muted than their dress uniform, he
looked grand on his well-bred mount. She only now fully realized how worried
she had been over his late arrival.
Carrying himself like the prince he was, Harold tipped his head to her
as he bowed in his saddle. He offered only a small, private smile.
"Mother Confessor. I'm gratified to find you well."
Captain Ryan was grinning, even if Prince Harold wasn't. Kahlan had
fond memories of Bradley and Flin, of their bravery, courage, and heart. The
fighting had been horrifying, but the company of those fine soldiers, fine
young men all, was a cherished memory. They had done the impossible before,
and had come to help do it again.
Standing beside his horse, Kahlan reached up for Harold's hand. "Come
inside. We've a good fire going." She motioned to the captain, the
lieutenant, and the sergeant. "You, too. Come inside and get warm."
Kahlan turned to the others, who didn't look nearly as happy as Kahlan
thought they should. "We'll all fit. Come inside."
Prince Harold stepped down out of the stirrup. "Mother Confessor, I-"
Kahlan couldn't resist. She threw her arms around her half brother. He
was a big bear of a man, much like their father, King Wyborn. "Harold, I'm
so relieved to see you. How's Cyrilla?"
Cyrilla, Harold's sister and Kahlan's half sister, was a dozen years
older than Kahlan. Cyrilla had been ill for ages, it seemed. When she had
been captured by the Order she had been thrown into the pit with a gang of
murderers and rapists. Harold had rescued her, but the abuse she suffered
had left her in an incoherent state, oblivious of those around her. She
regained her senses only infrequently. When she came awake, she more often
than not screamed and cried uncontrollably. One of the times when she was
lucid, she had asked Kahlan to promise to be the queen of Galea and keep her
people safe.
Harold, wishing to remain commander of the Galean army, refused the
crown. Kahlan reluctantly had acceded to his wish.
Harold's eyes shifted to the others, briefly. "Mother Confessor, we
need to have a talk."
At Prince Harold's instructions, Captain Ryan and his two men went to
see to their troops and horses while the rest of them crowded into the small
trapper's lodge. Zedd and Warren sat on a bench made of a board laid atop
two log rounds. Verna and Adie sat against the opposite wall on another
bench. Cara gazed out the small window. Standing near Cara, General Meiffert
watched as the prince ran a finger back and forth along the front edge of
the table. Kahlan folded her hands on the table before her.
"So," she began, fearing the worst, "how is Cyrilla?"
Harold smoothed the front of his coat. "The queen has . . . recovered."
"Queen . . . ?" Kahlan rose out of her chair. "Cyrilla has recovered?
Harold, that's wonderful news. And she has at last taken her crown back?
Even better!"
Kahlan was delighted to be relieved of the role of queen to Galea. As
Mother Confessor, it was an awkward duty better served by Cyrilla. More than
that, though, she was relieved to learn that her half sister had finally
recovered. While the two of them were never close, they shared a mutual
respect.
More than her cheer at Cyrilla's recovery, though, Kahlan felt a sense
of deliverance that Harold had at last brought his troops down to join with
them. She hoped he had been able to raise the hundred thousand they had
previously discussed; it would be a good beginning for the army Kahlan
needed to raise.
Harold licked his weather-cracked lips. By the slump in his shoulders,
she was sure that the task of collecting his army had been trying, and the
journey arduous. She had never seen his face looking so worn. He had a
vague, empty look that reminded her of her father.
Kahlan smiled exuberantly, determined to show her appreciation. "How
many troops did you bring? We could certainly use the whole hundred
thousand. That would just about double what we have down here so far. The
spirits know we need them."
No one was saying anything. As she looked from one person to the next,
no one would meet her gaze.
Kahlan's sense of relief was sloughing away.
"Harold, how many troops did you bring?"
He ran his meaty fingers back through his long, thick, dark hair.
"About a thousand."
She stared dumbly, sinking back into her chair. "A thousand?"
He nodded, still not meeting her eyes. "Captain Bradley and his men.
The ones you led and fought beside, before."
Kahlan could feel her face heating. "We need all your troops. Harold,
what's going on?"
He at last met her gaze.
"Queen Cyrilla refused my plan to take our troops south. Shortly after
you were there and visited her, she came out of her illness. She was herself
again-full of ambition and fire. You know what she was like. She was always
tireless in her advocacy for Galea." His fingers idly tapped the table. "But
I'm afraid she has been changed by her infirmity. She fears the Imperial
Order."
"So do I," Kahlan said with quiet bottled rage. She could feel
Richard's sword pressed against the back of her shoulder. She saw Harold's
eyes take it in. "Everyone in the Midlands fears the Order. That is why we
need those troops."
He was nodding as she spoke. "I told her all that. I did. She said that
she is Queen of Galea, and as such, she must put our land first."
"Galea has joined the D'Haran Empire!"
He opened his hands in a helpless gesture. "When she was ill, she was .
. . unaware of that event taking place. She said she only gave you the crown
for the safekeeping of her people, not to surrender their sovereignty." His
hands dropped to his sides. "She claims you never had any such authority and
refuses to abide by the agreement."
Kahlan glanced at the others in the room, sitting mute, like a panel of
grim judges.
"Harold, you and I have discussed all this in the past. The Midlands is
under threat." She swept her arm out. "The entire New World is threatened!
We must turn back that threat, not take to defending one land at a time--or
have each land try to fend for itself. If we do that, we will all fall, one
at a time. We must stand together."
"I agree with you, in principle, Mother Confessor. Queen Cyrilla does
not."
"Then Cyrilla is not recovered, Harold. She is still sick."
"That may be, but it is not for me to say."
Elbow on the table, Kahlan rested her forehead against her fingertips.
Thoughts were screaming around inside her head, demanding that this not be
happening.
"What about Jebra?" Zedd asked from the side of the room. Kahlan was
relieved to hear his voice, as if reason were returning to the lunacy of
what she was hearing, as if the weight of another voice would set things
straight. "We left the seer there to help care for Cyrilla and to advise
you. Surely, Jebra must have advised Cyrilla against such actions."
Harold hung his head again. "I'm afraid that Queen Cyrilla ordered
Jebra thrown into a dungeon. Moreover, the queen gave orders that if Jebra
speaks one word of her blasphemy-as Queen Cyrilla calls it-she is to have
her tongue cut out."
Kahlan had to tell herself to blink. It was no longer Cyrilla's
behavior that so stunned her. Her words came sparse and brittle, the naked
bones of dead respect.
"Harold, why would you follow the orders of a madwoman?"
His jaw took a set, as if injured by her tone. "Mother Confessor, she
is not only my sister, but my queen. I am sworn to obey my queen in order to
protect the Galean people. All those men of ours out there who have been
fighting with your army are also sworn to protect the people of Galea above
all else. I've already given them our queen's orders. We must all return to
Galea at once. I'm sorry, but that is the way it must be."
Kahlan pounded her fist on the table and shot to her feet.
"Galea stands at the head of the Callisidrin Valley! It's a gateway
right up the center of the Midlands! Don't you see what a tempting route it
might be for the Imperial Order? Don't you see how they might want to split
the Midlands?"
"Of course I do, Mother Confessor."
She aimed a stiff arm, pointing at the camp beyond the lodge.
"So you just expect all those men out there to put their lives between
you and the Order? You and Queen Cyrilla callously expect all those men out
there to die protecting you?-while you sit back in Galea?-hoping they
prevent the Order from ever reaching you?"
"Of course not, Mother Confessor."
"What's the matter with you! Don't you see that if you fight with us to
halt the Order, you are protecting the people of your homeland?"
Harold licked his lip. "Mother Confessor, all you say is probably true.
It is also irrelevant. I am commander of the Galean army. My entire life has
been devoted to serving the people of Galea and my sovereign-first my mother
and father, and then my sister. From the time I was a boy at my father's
knee, I was taught to protect Galea above all else."
Kahlan did her best to control her voice. "Harold, Cyrilla is obviously
still sick. If you are honestly interested in protecting your people, you
must see that what you're doing is not the way to accomplish it."
"Mother Confessor, I have been charged by my queen with protecting the
people of Galea. I know my duty."
"Duty?" Kahlan wiped a hand across her face. "Harold, you can't blindly
follow that woman's whim. The route to life and liberty exists only through
reason. She may be queen, but reason can be your only true sovereign. To
fail to use reason in this, to fail to think, is intellectual anarchy."
He looked at her as if she were some poor child who didn't understand
the world of adult responsibility.
"She is my queen. The queen is devoted to the people."
Kahlan drummed her fingers on the table. "What Cyrilla is, is deluded
by ghosts that still haunt her. She is going to bring harm to your people.
You are going to aid her in delivering your people into ruin because you
wish something to be true, even though it is not. You are seeing her as she
once was, not as she is now."
He shrugged. "Mother Confessor, I can understand why you think what you
think, but it can change nothing. I must do as my queen commands."
Elbows on the table, Kahlan held her face in her hands for a time,
trembling with anger at the insanity of what she was hearing. She finally
looked up, meeting her half brother's gaze.
"Harold, Galea is part of the D'Haran Empire. Galea has a queen only at
the indulgence of the Empire. Queen though she may be, even if she does not
recognize the rule of the D'Haran Empire, she is still, as she always has
been, subordinate to the Mother Confessor of the Midlands. As Mother
Confessor, as well as the leader of the D'Haran Empire in Lord Rahl's
absence, I formally terminate that indulgence. Cyrilla is now without
authority and is removed from office. She is no longer the queen of
anything, much less Galea.
"You are ordered to return to Ebinissia, to put Cyrilla under arrest
for her own protection, to release Jebra, and to return to this army with
the seer and all Galean forces except a home guard for the crown city."
"Mother Confessor, I'm sorry, but my queen has ordered-"
Kahlan slammed the flat of her hand down on the table. "Enough!"
He fell silent as Kahlan rose. With her fingertips pressed to the
table, she leaned closer to him.
"As Mother Confessor, I am commanding you to carry out my orders at
once. That is final. I will hear no more."
The room seemed gripped by the grave consequence of what was happening.
Each forbidding face watched, waiting to see how it was going to go.
Harold spoke in a voice that reminded Kahlan of her father's.
"I realize that it may make no sense to you, Mother Confessor, but I
must choose my duty to my people above my duty to you. Cyrilla is my sister.
King Wyborn always told me to run a good army. An officer must obey his
queen. My men down here are ordered by their queen to return at once to
protect Galea. I am a man bound by my honor to protect my people, as ordered
by my queen."
"You pompous fool. How dare you speak to me of your honor? You are
sacrificing the lives of innocent people to your delusions of honor. Honor
is honesty to what is, not blind duty to what you wish to be. You have no
honor, Harold."
Kahlan sank into 'her chair. She looked past him, to the side, staring
into the hearth, into the flames.
"I have given you my orders. Do you refuse to obey them?"
"I must refuse, Mother Confessor. Let me say only that it is not out of
malice."
"Harold," she said in a flat tone without looking at him, "you are
committing treason."
"I realize that you may see it that way, Mother Confessor."
"Oh, I do. I do indeed. Treason to your people, treason to the
Midlands, treason to our D'Haran union against the Imperial Order, and
treason against the Mother Confessor. What do you suppose I ought to do
about it?"
"I would expect that if you feel so strongly, you would have me put to
death, Mother Confessor."
She looked up at him. "If you have enough sense to realize that, then
what good will it do for you to stick to the orders of a madwoman? It will
only bring your death, and then you will not be able to carry out your
queen's orders. Staying to your course can only leave your people without
your aid, which is what you claim to put above all else. Why not simply do
the right thing and help us to help your people? Since you refuse, you have
shown yourself, in truth, to be without common sense, much less honor."
His eyes turned to her, filled with smoldering anger. The knuckles of
his fists went white.
"I will be heard, now, Mother Confessor. If I stand by my honor, even
if it costs me my life, it will be honoring my family, my sister, my queen,
and my homeland. A homeland forged by my father, King Wyborn, and my mother,
Queen Bernadine. When I was young, my father, my sovereign king, was taken
from my mother, my family, and my homeland of Galea, by the Confessors,
taken by a Confessor's power for their selfish desire of a husband for your
mother, for her selfish desire for a strong man to father her a child-you.
Now, you, Mother Confessor-the daughter of that theft of that beloved man
from us when I was but a boy-you would take me from my sister? 'hake her,
too, from our land? Take me from my duty to serve my queen, my land, and
above all my people? The last duty my father charged me with before your
mother took him from us and destroyed him for no reason but that he was good
and she wanted him, was that I should always honor my duty to my sister and
my land. I will carry out my father's last charge to me, even if you think
it madness."
Kahlan stared at him in cold shock.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Harold."
His face had aged and hardened. "I know that you are not responsible
for all that happened before you came to be, and I will always love that
part of you that is my father, but I am still the one who must live with it
all. Now I must be true to myself, to my own feelings."
"Your feelings," she repeated.
"Yes, Mother Confessor. Those are my feelings, and I must put my faith
in them."
Kahlan swallowed past the painful constriction in her throat. Her