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more lean and defined since he came to the Old World. All that labor of
loading iron and now moving rock and swinging a hammer had built him up even
more. When he went out back to the washtubs and removed his shirt to rinse
off the stone dust, the sight of him made her knees weak.
Nicci heard footsteps passing down the hallway, and the excited voices
of Kamil and Nabbi asking questions. She couldn't understand Richard's
words, but she easily recognized the timbre of his voice calmly giving the
two the answers to their questions.
As tired as he was, as much as he was away at his work, he still took
time to talk to Kamil and Nabbi, and to the people of the building. He was
no doubt now on his way out back to give pointers to the two young men on
their carving. During the day, they worked around the building, cleaning and
caring for the place. They turned over the dirt in the garden, mixing in
compost when it was ready. The women appreciated having the heavy spade work
done for them. The two washed, painted, and repaired, hoping Richard would
approve and then show them how to do new things. Kamil and Nabbi always
offered to help Nicci with anything she might need-she was, after all,
Richard's wife.
. Richard came in the door as Nicci stood at the table cutting up
carrots and onions
into a pot. He slumped down into the chair across the table. He looked
spent from his day of work-after having been up hours earlier working on the
statue.
"I came home to get something to eat. I have to go back and work on the
statue."
"This is for tomorrow's stew. I have some millet cooked."
"Is there anything more in it?"
She shook her head. "I only had enough money for the millet today."
He nodded without complaint.
Despite how exhausted he looked, there was some remarkable quality in
his eyes, some inner passion, that made her pulse race faster. Whatever it
was that she had seen in him from the first moment seemed to have only
gotten stronger since that night she had almost put the knife through his
heart.
"Tomorrow, we'll have this stew." she said. His gray eyes were staring
off into his private visions. "From the garden."
She retrieved the cook pot after setting a wooden bowl on the table
before him and spooned millet into his bowl until it was full. There was
little left, but he needed it more than she. She had spent the morning
waiting in line for the millet, and then had spent the afternoon picking all
the worms out of it. Some of the women just cooked it until you couldn't
tell. Nicci didn't like to feed that to Richard.
Standing close to-the table, cutting up carrots, she could finally
stand it no more. "Richard, I want to come to the site with you and see this
statue that you're carving for the Order."
He was silent for a moment as he chewed and then swallowed. When he
finally did speak, it was with a quiet quality that matched that
inexplicable look in his eyes.
"I want you to see the statue, Nicci-I want everyone to see it. But not
until I'm finished."
"Why?"
He stirred his spoon around in his bowl. "Please, Nicci, will you grant
me this? Let me finish it, then you will see it."
Her heart pounded against her ribs. This was important to him.
"You aren't carving what they told you to carve, are you?"
Richard's face turned up until his gaze met hers.
"No, I'm not. I'm carving what I need to carve, what people need to
see."
Nicci swallowed. She knew: this was what she had been waiting for. He
had been ready to give up, then he wanted to live, and now he was willing to
die for this.
Nicci nodded, having to look away from those gray eyes of his. "I'll
wait until it's ready."
Now she knew why he seemed so driven, lately. That quality hinted at in
her father's eyes, and blazing in Richard's, she felt was somehow tied to
this. The very idea was intoxicating.
In more ways than one, this was a matter of life and death.
"Are you sure about this, Richard?"
"I am."
She nodded again. "All right, I will honor your request."
The next day, Nicci got an early start to buy bread. She wanted Richard
to have bread with the stew she was cooking. Kamil offered to go for her,
but she wanted to get out of the house. She asked him to keep an eye on
Richard's stew as it simmered on the banked coals.
It was an overcast day, and cool-a hint of the rapidly approaching
winter. The streets were crowded with people out looking for work, with
carts hauling everything from manure to bolts of coarse dark cloth, and with
wagons, mostly carrying building materials for the palace. She had to step
carefully to avoid the dung in the road and squeeze between all the people
moving as slowly as the sludge of the open sewers as she made her way
through the city.
There were crowds of needy people in the street, many come to
Altur'Rang for
work, no doubt, although there were few people at the workers' group
hall. The lines at the bakeries were long. At least the Order saw to it that
people got bread, even if it was gray, tough bread. You had to go early,
though, before they ran out. With more people all the time, the shops ran
out earlier every week.
Someday, it was rumored, they were going to be able to provide more
than one kind of bread. She hoped that this day, at least, they might have
some butter, too. Sometimes, they sold butter. The bread, and the butter,
were inexpensive, so she knew she could afford to buy a little for
Richard-if they had any. They almost never had any butter.
Nicci had spent a hundred and eighty years trying to help people, and
people seemed no better off now than they ever were. Those in the New World
were prosperous enough, though. Someday, when the Order ruled the world, and
those with the means were made to contribute their fair share to their
fellow man, then everything would finally fall into place and all of mankind
could at last live with the dignity they deserved. The Order would see to
it.
The bread shop stood at an intersection of two roads, so the line
turned around the corner onto another street. Nicci was around that corner,
leaning a shoulder against the wall, watching the passing throngs, when a
face in the crowd caught her attention.
Her eyes went wide as she straightened. She could hardly believe what
she was seeing. What was she doing in Altur'Rang?
Nicci didn't really want to find out-not now, when it seemed she was
getting close to finding her answers. Matters seemed to be at a critical
state with Richard. She felt sure that it would soon come to resolution.
Nicci flipped her dark shawl up over her head of blond hair and tied it
snug under her chin. She sank back behind a wide woman and hugged the wall
as she peeked out between the people in line.
Nicci watched Sister Alessandra, her nose held high as her calculating
gaze swept the faces of all the people on the street. She looked like a
mountain lion on the prowl.
Nicci knew who Alessandra was hunting.
Ordinarily, Nicci would have been only too happy to cross paths with
the woman, but not now.
Nicci sank back against the rough clapboards, staying low behind the
people ahead of her, until Sister Alessandra had vanished into the vast sea
of people crowding the street.
As Kahlan rode out of her home city of Aydindril for the last time, she
pulled her wolf-fur mantle up over her shoulders for protection against the
bitter wind. She recalled that the last, time the weather had been about to
close in for the winter was the last time she had seen Richard. With the
world in such constant turmoil and the battle burning hot, her thoughts, by
necessity, always seemed to be on urgent matters. The unexpected memory of
Richard was a welcome, if bittersweet, respite from the worries of war.
She took a last look before cresting the hill, to see the splendor of
the Confessors' Palace on the distant rise. It made her ache with the sense
of home whenever she saw the soaring white marble columns and rows of tall
windows. Other people were stricken with awe or fear at the sight of the
palace, but Kahlan's heart was always warmed by it. She had grown up there,
and it was a place of many happy memories for her.
"It won't be forever, Kahlan."
Kahlan glanced over at Verna. "No, it won't."
She wished she could believe that.
"Besides," Verna said, offering a smile, "we will be denying the
Imperial Order the people, and that is what they are really after. The rest
is just stone and wood. What matters stone and wood, if the people are
safe?"
Kahlan, despite her desolate tears, was overcome with a smile. "You're
right, Verna. That really is all that matters. Thank you for reminding me."
"Don't worry, Mother Confessor," Cara said, "Berdine and the rest of
the MordSith, along with the troops, will watch over the people and see them
safely to D'Hara."
Kahlan's smile widened. "I wish I could see Jagang's face when he
finally gets here next spring to be greeted by ghosts."
The season of war was drawing to an end. If the summer with Richard in
their mountain home had been a wonderful dream, then the summer of endless
warfare had been a nightmare.
The fighting had been desperate, intense, and bloody. There were times
when Kahlan thought she and the army could not go on, that they were
finished. Each of those times, they had managed to pull through. There were
occasions when she almost welcomed death, just to have the nightmare end,
just to stop seeing people in agony and pain, to stop seeing all the
precious lives in ruins.
Against the seemingly indomitable millions of the Imperial Order, the
forces of the D'Haran Empire had managed to slow the enemy enough to keep
them from taking Aydindril this year. With thousands of lives lost in the
fighting, they had
bought the hundreds of thousands of people of Aydindril and other
cities that lay along the path of the Order the time they needed to escape.
As autumn had turned bitter, the immense force of the Imperial Order
had reached a broad valley at a convergence of the Kern River and a large
tributary, where the lay of the land provided space to accommodate their
entire force. With winter closing in, Jagang knew better than to be caught
unprepared. They had dug in while they had the opportunity. The D'Haran
forces had set up their defensive lines to the north, bulwarking the way to
Aydindril.
Just as Warren had forecast, Aydindril was more than Jagang's army
could take in this season of war. Jagang, once again, had proven his prudent
patience; he had chosen to preserve the viability of his army so he would be
able to press on successfully when conditions allowed. In the short run, it
gave Kahlan and her forces breathing room, but in the long run, it would
spell their doom.
Kahlan felt sweet relief that Warren's prediction, of Aydindril falling
the following year, at least would not be at the cost of a slaughter of the
city's citizens. She didn't know what hardships the people would have to
endure escaping to D'Hara, but it was better than the certain slavery and
widespread death of remaining behind in Aydindril.
Some people, she knew, would refuse to leave. In cities along the
Order's march up the Midlands, some people put their faith in "Jagang the
Just." Some people believed that the good spirits, or the Creator, would
watch over them no matter what. Kahlan knew they couldn't save everyone from
themselves. Those who wished to live, and were willing to see reason, stood
a chance. Those who saw only what they wished to see, would, at the least,
fall under the pall of the Order's domination.
Kahlan reached back and touched the hilt of the Sword of Truth sticking
up behind her shoulder. It was comforting, sometimes, to touch it. The
Confessors' Palace was no longer her home. Home was wherever Richard and she
were together.
The fighting was often so intense, the fear so palpable, that there
were timesdays at a stretch-when she never thought of him. Sometimes, she
had to devote all her physical and mental effort to just staying alive one
more day.
Some men, feeling the war was hopeless, had deserted. Kahlan could
understand the way they felt. All they ever did, it seemed, was to fight for
their lives against overwhelming odds as they backed their way up through
the Midlands.
Galea had fallen. That there was no word from any city in Galea
probably said it all.
They had lost Kelton, too. Many of the Keltans in Winstead, Penverro,
and other cities had fled, first. Most of Kelton's army were still with
them, though some had rushed home in desperation.
Kahlan tried not to think too long on everything that had gone wrong,
lest she give up. They had saved a good many people-gotten them out of the
way of the Order. At least for the time being. It was the best they could
do.
Along the long retreat north, tens of thousands of their joint forces
had lost their lives in the fierce battles. The Order had lost many times
that number. In the high summer heat, the Order had lost a quarter million
men to fever alone. It made little difference; they continued to grow and to
roll onward.
Kahlan recalled the things Richard had told her, that they could not
win, that the New World was going to fall to the Order, and if they
resisted, it would only cause greater bloodshed. She was reluctantly coming
to understand that hopeless outlook.
She feared she was only getting people killed to no good end. Yet
giving up still was out of the question for her.
Kahlan looked over her shoulder, past the long column of men escorting
her, past the trees and up the mountain, to the great dark mass of the
Wizard's Keep looming up on the mountain overlooking Aydindril.
--]----
Zedd would have to go there; they could not stop the Imperial Order
from having Aydindril, but they dared not let them have the Keep.
It was dusk, ten days later, when Kahlan and her company rode back into
the D'Haran camp. It was obvious from the first instant that something was
wrong. Men were running through camp, swords drawn. Others were rushing pole
weapons to the barricades. Men were donning leather and chain mail as they
ran to their posts. It was a tense scene, but one Kahlan had seen repeated
so often that it seemed almost routine.
"I wonder what this is all about," Verna said with a scowl. "I'll not
like it if Jagang spoils my dinner."
Kahlan, not wearing her leather armor, suddenly felt naked. It was
uncomfortable to wear on long rides, so, going through friendly territory,
she had tied it to her saddle. Cara moved close as they dismounted. They
handed the reins to soldiers as men closed in protectively.
Kahlan couldn't remember what color cloth would be used to mark the
command tents. She had lost track of the exact number of days she had been
gone. It had been somewhat over a month. She took the arm of an officer
among the men who had swept in around her.
"Where are the commanders?"
He pointed with his sword. "Down that way, Mother Confessor."
"Do you know what's going on?"
"No, Mother Confessor. The alarm sounded. As a Sister rushed past, I
heard her say it was genuine."
"Do you know where my Sisters, or Warren, are?" Verna asked the
officer.
"I've seen Sisters running around everywhere, Prelate. I've not seen
Wizard Warren."
Darkness was settling in, leaving only the fires to guide them through
camp. Most of the fires, though, had been doused at the alarm, so the camp
was becoming a black maze.
Horses with D'Haran riders flashed past, headed out on patrol. Foot
soldiers raced out of camp to scout. No one seemed to know what the threat
was, but that wasn't unusual. Besides being frequent and varied, attacks
were usually confusing, in addition to being frightening.
It was over an hour before Kahlan, Cara, Verna, and their heavy ring of
guards made it through the sprawling camp that was the size of a city, to
the officers' tents. None of the officers were there.
"This is a foolish way to go about it," Kahlan muttered. She found her
tent, with Spirit standing on the little table, and tossed her saddlebags
inside, along with her armor. "Let's just wait here so people can find us."
"I agree," Verna said.
Kahlan gestured to include a number of the group of men who had set up
a defensive guard around her. "Spread out and find the officers. Tell them
that the Mother Confessor and the Prelate are at the command tents. We'll
wait here for reports."
"Tell any Sisters you see," Verna added. "And if you see Warren or
Zedd, tell them, too, that we've returned."
The men raced off into the night to carry out their instructions.
"I don't like this," Cara muttered.
"I don't, either," Kahlan said as she stepped into her tent.
Cara stood guard, along with a small army of men, as Kahlan took off
her fur mantle and slipped on her leather armor. It had saved her from
taking wounds often enough that she was not shy about wearing it. All it
would take was one man to slip up close and thrust a sword into her, and
that might well be the end. If she got lucky, and they ran it through a leg,
or even her belly, she had a chance of being healed by a Sister, but if it
was in some other place-heart, head, some major artery so that the loss of
blood was too fast-then even the gifted wouldn't be able to heal her.
The leather was extremely tough, and while not impervious to blades,
spears, or arrows, it afforded a good degree of protection while allowing
enough freedom of movement to enable her to fight. A blow with a blade had
to be landed just right, or it would glance harmlessly off the leather. Many
of the men wore chain mail, which afforded better protection, but it was too
heavy for Kahlan to be practical for her to wear. In combat, speed and
maneuverability were life.
Kahlan knew better than to risk her life needlessly. She was more
valuable to their cause in her capacity as a leader than as a combatant.
Still, while she rarely went directly into combat, the fighting had often
enough come to her.
A sergeant finally arrived to give her a report.
"Assassins" was all he said.
That one chilling word was enough. It was what she had figured, and
explained the state of the camp.
"How many casualties?" Kahlan asked.
"I only know for sure that one attacked Captain Zimmer. He was eating
at a campfire with his men. The captain managed to miss a killing blow, but
took a nasty wound in the leg. He's lost a lot of blood. The surgeons are
seeing to him right now."
"What about the assassin?" Verna asked.
The sergeant looked surprised at the question. "Commander Zimmer killed
the assassin." He screwed up his face with the distaste of the rest of what
he had to say. "The assassin was dressed in a D'Haran uniform. He walked
through the camp without notice until he found a target-Captain Zimmer-and
attacked."
Verna let out a worried breath. "A Sister might be able help the
captain."
Kahlan dismissed him with a nod. The sergeant saluted with a fist to
his heart before rushing off to his duties.
It was then that Kahlan spotted Zedd approaching. The front of his
robes was wet and darkundoubtedly with blood. Tears ran down his face.
Gooseflesh tingled up Kahlan's arms and legs.
Verna gasped when Zedd suddenly saw her and for an instant faltered
before rushing toward them. Verna clutched Kahlan's arm.
Zedd seized Verna's hand. "Hurry" was all he said.
It was all he needed to say; they all understood.
Verna let out a mournful cry as she was pulled along after the old
wizard. Kahlan and Cara ran behind as Zedd led them on a winding charge
through the confusion of shouting men, galloping horses, squads in formation
dashing in every direction, and unit officers taking roll call.
The roll call was needed because the assassins were in D'Haran uniforms
so they could sneak up close to their quarry. It was necessary to account
for every man in order to single out those who didn't belong. It was tedious
and difficult, but essential.
They rushed into the swirl of turmoil around the tents where wounded
men were being treated. Men shouted orders as others brought in men crying
out in pain, or men with their limp arms dragging the ground. Each tent
could hold up to ten or twelve men.
Verna's composure was frayed with panic. Zedd stopped her, holding her
by her arms. His voice was choked with his emotion.
"A man stabbed Holly. Warren was nearby and tried to protect the girl.
Verna, I swear to you on my dead wife's soul . . . I did everything I could
do. Dear spirits forgive me, but I must be the one to tell you . . . he is
beyond my power to help him. He asked for you and Kahlan."
Kahlan stood in a stupor, her heart in her throat. Zedd's hand on her
back urged her to move quickly. She followed Verna, ducking into the tent.
Half a dozen dead men lay at the far end of the tent, covered with
blankets. Here and there a bloody hand stuck out from under a cover. One man
was missing a boot. Kahlan stared, unable to make her mind work, unable to
understand how the soldier had lost a boot. It seemed so silly-dying and
losing a boot. Tragedy and comedy together under a shroud.
Warren lay on his back on a pallet on the ground. Sister Philippa was
on the far side of him, her tall frame bent over the youthful wizard,
holding his hand. Sister Phoebe was on the near side, holding his other
hand. Both women turned tearstained faces up to see Verna above them.
"Warren," Sister Philippa said, "it's Verna. She's here. And Kahlan,
too."
The two Sisters quickly moved out of the way for Verna and Kahlan to
take their places. They covered their mouths to hold in their cries as they
fled the tent.
Warren was as white as the stacks of clean bandages lying nearby. His
eyes were open wide as he stared up . . . as if he could no longer see. His
curly blond hair was matted in sweat. His robes were soaked in blood.
"Warren," Verna moaned. "Oh, Warren."
"Verna? Kahlan?" he asked in a breathy whisper.
"Yes, my love." Verna kissed his hand a dozen times.
Kahlan squeezed his other limp hand. "I'm here, too, Warren."
"I had to hold on. Till you both came back. To tell you both."
"Tell us what, Warren?" Verna asked through her tears.
"Kahlan . . ." he whispered.
She leaned in. "I'm here, Warren. Don't try to talk, just-"
"Listen to me."
Kahlan pressed his hand to her cheek. "I'm listening, Warren."
"Richard is right. His vision. I had to tell you."
Kahlan didn't know what to say.
A smile came to his ashen face. "Verna. . ."
"What is it, my love?"
"I love you. Always have."
Verna could hardly get her words past her choking tears. "Warren, don't
die. Don't die. Please don't die."
"Give me a kiss," Warren whispered, "while I still live. And don't
mourn what ends, but what a good life we've had. Kiss me, my love."
Verna bent over him and met his lips with hers, giving him a gentle,
loving kiss as her tears dripped onto his face.
Unable to bear the scene, Kahlan staggered out of the tent, finding
Zedd's protective arms waiting. She hid her weeping against his shoulder.
"What are we doing?" she cried. "What's it all for? What good is any of
it? We're losing everything."
Zedd had no answer for her tears at the futility of it all.
The minutes dragged on. Kahlan forced herself to be strong, to be the
Mother Confessor. She couldn't let the men see her giving up.
Silent men stood nearby, not wanting to look in the direction of the
tent where Warren lay dying.
When General Meiffert materialized out of the darkness, the relief on
Cara's face was evident. He rushed up close to Cara, but didn't touch her.
"I'm glad to see you safely returned," he said to Kahlan. "How is
Warren?"
Kahlan couldn't speak.
Zedd shook his head. "I didn't think he would live this long. I think
he held on so he could see his wife."
The general nodded sorrowfully. "We caught the man who did it."
Kahlan came to full attention. "Bring him to me," she growled.
Without hesitation the general hurried off to retrieve the assassin.
When Kahlan gestured, Cara went with him.
"What did he say to you?" Zedd asked in a quiet voice so that others
wouldn't hear. "He wanted to tell you something."
Kahlan took a purging breath. "He said, `Richard is right.' "
Zedd looked away in forlorn misery. Warren was his friend. Kahlan never
knew Zedd to take a liking to anyone the way he had taken to Warren. They
shared things she knew she could never understand. Despite his young
appearance, Warren was over a hundred and fifty years old, close to the same
age as Verna. To Zedd, who was always looked up to as the wise old wizard,
it must have been a particular comfort to share wizardly matters with one
who understood such things, instead of constantly needing explanation and
direction.
"He said the same to me," Zedd whispered tearfully.
"Why didn't Warren use his gift?" Kahlan asked.
Zedd wiped a finger across his cheek. "He was walking past, just as the
man seized and stabbed Holly. Perhaps the assassin couldn't find his target,
or maybe he became lost and confused, or he could have just panicked and
decided to stab someone and Holly was handy at that moment."
Kahlan wiped her hands back across her cheeks. "Maybe he had been told
to look for a wizard in such robes, and when he saw Warren, he stabbed Holly
to cause a commotion so he could get at Warren."
"That could be. Warren doesn't really know. It all happened in an
instant. Warren was right there, and just reacted. I asked, but he didn't
know why he didn't use his power. Perhaps in that terrible flash of the
knife, he feared to kill Holly in the
process, since the man had her and was stabbing her. His instinct to
save her just caused him to snatch for the knife. It was a fatal mistake."
"Maybe Warren simply hesitated before using his power."
Zedd shrugged painfully. "A split-second hesitation has been the end of
a lot of wizards."
"If I hadn't hesitated," Kahlan said as she stared off into bitter
memories, "Nicci wouldn't have had me. She wouldn't have Richard, now."
"Don't try to fix the past, dear one-it can't be done."
"What about the future?"
Zedd's gaze sought hers. "Meaning?"
"Remember at the end of last winter, when we left camp-when the Order
began moving?" When Zedd nodded, she went on. "Warren pointed at this place
on the map. He said we had to be here to stop the Order."
"Are you suggesting he knew he would die here?"
"You tell me."
"I'm a wizard, not a prophet."
"But Warren is." When he said nothing, Kahlan asked in a whisper, "What
about Holly?"
"I don't know. I was just arriving to talk to Warren. It had just
happened. Soldiers were jumping the man. Warren yelled orders for them not
to kill him. I guess he was thinking the assassin might have valuable
information. I saw Holly, bleeding from her wounds, in shock. I immediately
had Warren brought in here and started to work on him. Sisters rushed in and
took Holly to another tent."
Zedd's heartsick gaze sank to the cold ground. "I did everything I know
to do. It wasn't enough."
Kahlan enclosed his shoulders protectively in her arm. "It was out of
your hands from the first, Zedd."
It was disorienting to see her source of strength in a state of such
painful weakness. It was irrational to expect him to be unemotional and
strong in such circumstances, but it was still disconcerting. In that
moment, Kahlan was overcome with a sense of all the loss Zedd had suffered
in his life; it was all there in his wet hazel eyes.
Men made way for the returning General Meiffert and Cara. Behind them,
two burly soldiers had a wiry young man-little more than a boy, really. He
was muscular, but no match for the men who had him. His hair tumbled down
across a forehead above dark contemptuous eyes. He wore a proud sneer.
"So," the lad said, trying to sound tough, "I guess that in my service
to the Order I knifed someone important. That makes me a hero of the Order."
"Make him kneel before the Mother Confessor," General Meiffert said
with quiet command.
The two soldiers kicked the back of the young man's knees to take him
down. He snickered as he knelt before her.
"So, you're the big important whore I've heard so much about. Too bad
you weren't around-I'd have loved to have cut you. I guess I showed some
people I'm pretty good with a knife."
"So in my absence," Kahlan said, "you cut a child, instead."
"Just for practice. I'd have cut a lot more people if these big dumb
oxen wouldn't have lucked into jumping me. But I still did my duty to the
Order and the Creator."
It was the bravado of someone who knew he was about to pay the ultimate
price for his actions. He was trying to convince himself that he had
fulfilled a valuable service. He wanted to die a hero, and then go straight
to the Creator for his reward in the afterlife.
Verna emerged from the tent. There was no hurry in her movements. Her
face was ashen and drawn. Kahlan took hold of her arm, ready to help if
Verna should need it.
Verna stopped when she saw the young man on his knees.
"This is him?" she asked.
Kahlan put her other hand tenderly to Verna's back, silently offering
support.
"This is him," Kahlan confirmed.
"That's right." The lad sneered up at Verna. "I'm the one who knifed
the enemy wizard. I'm a hero. The Order will bring relief and justice to the
people, and I helped do it. Your kind is always trying to keep us down."
"Keep you down," Verna repeated in a dead tone.
"Those who are born with all the luck and advantages-they never want to
share. I waited, but no one ever gave me a chance in life until the Order
did. I'm a hero of downtrodden people everywhere. I've struck a blow against
the oppressors of mankind. I've helped bring justice to those who are never
given a chance. I killed an evil man. I'm a hero!"
The silence of everyone nearby was all the more grim with the backdrop
of activity going on as men searched the camp for other assassins. Officers
called out names, getting quick replies. Troops searching for invaders
trotted through the night, their chain mail and weapons jingling like
thousands of tiny bells.
The man on his knees grinned at Verna. "The Creator will give me my
reward in the next life. I'm not afraid to die. I've earned eternity in his
everlasting Light."
Verna passed her gaze among the eyes of all those gathered.
"I don't care what you do to him," she said, "but I want to hear his
screams the entire night. I want this camp to hear his screams the entire
night. I want the Order's scouts to hear his screams. That will be my
tribute to Warren."
The young man licked his lips, realizing things weren't going as he had
expected.
"That isn't fair!" the young assassin shouted in protest.
Panic began to tremble through his body. He had been prepared for a
martyr's death, a quick end. This was something unforeseen.
"He died quick. I should have the same consideration! This isn't fair!"
"Fair? What isn't fair," Verna said with terrible calmness, "is that
your mother ever opened her legs for your father. We shall now
belatedly.correct her mistake. What isn't fair is that a good and kind man
died at the hands of a sniveling little coward so lacking in sense that he
is incapable of recognizing the lies he now spews out at us.
"You wish to trade your life for the one you have taken? You wish to
die in a cause you foolishly believe to be noble? You shall have your wish,
young man. But before you die, you shall fully understand what it is you
have surrendered, how precious is your life, and how utterly wasted. You
shall come to regret your mother's act of creation as much as do we."
Verna swept a look of finality over the group watching. "This is my
wish. Please see to its execution."
Cara took a step forward. "Let me do it, then." Her grim face held no
hint of relish. "I would be best at carrying out your wish as you intend it,
Verna."
The lad laughed hysterically. "A woman? You all think you're going to
have some big blond bitch try to teach me a lesson? You're all as crazy as
I've heard."
Verna nodded. "I will be indebted to you, Cara." She started to leave,
but paused. "Don't let him die before morning, when I will come to witness
it. I wish to look into his eyes and see if this young man has come to
understand the nature of reality, and its lack of fairness, before he
forfeits his fife for nothing of worth and for his part in a great evil."
"I promise you," Cara said softly to Verna, "that even though this
night will seem forever to you in your grief, it will be infinitely longer
for him."
Verna simply touched Cara's shoulder in appreciation on her way past.
After Verna had walked off into the darkness, Cara turned to Kahlan. "I
would ask to use a tent. No one should have to see what I do to him. His
screams will be knowledge enough."
"As you wish."
"Mother Confessor!" The young man struggled frantically, but the
soldiers had him in a firm grip. "If you're so good as you claim, then show
me mercy!"
Drool ran from the corner of the boy's mouth and hung swinging in
rhythm with his panting.
"But I have," Kahlan said. "I am allowing you to suffer the sentence
Verna has named, and not the one I would impose."
Cara snapped her fingers and pointed at the young man as she marched
off. The soldiers dragged the shrieking boy after her.
"The others we captured?" the general asked Kahlan.
Kahlan started for her tent. "Cut their throats."
Kwan sat up when she realized that she didn't hear the distant screams
any longer. It was still hours till dawn. Maybe his heart had stopped
unexpectedly.
No, Cara was Mord-Sith, and was well trained in what Mord-Sith did.
As she had lain fully dressed in her bed, listening to the
bloodcurdling screams, aching for Verna, missing Warren, sweat had
occasionally beaded her brow whenever she thought about how Richard had once
been the one under a Mord-Sith's Agiel.
To banish the uninvited, ghastly images invading her thoughts, she
looked up at Spirit. The lamp hanging from the ridgepole cast a warm light
on the carving, stressing the graceful lines of her flowing robes, her
fisted hands, her head thrown back. No matter how many times Kahlan looked
at the statue, she never tired of it. Every time, it was a thrill.
Richard had chosen this view of life over the terrible bitterness he
could have fallen into. Clinging to such bitterness would only have robbed
him of his ability to experience happiness.
Kahlan heard a commotion outside. Just as she sprang to her feet, Cara
poked her head in through the flap Kahlan had left open. The Mord-Sith's
blue eyes were in a lethal rage. She stepped into the tent, pulling the lad
behind by a fistful of his hair. He shook as he blinked frantically, blinded
by the blood in his eyes.
Gritting her teeth, Cara shoved him. He fell to the dirt at Kahlan's
feet.
"What's this about?" Kahlan asked.
The look in Cara's eyes revealed a woman at the edge of a feral fury,
at the edge of control, at the far-distant reaches of what it was to even be
human. She was treading the soil of another world: madness.
Cara dropped to her knees and seized the young man by the hair. She
yanked him back up and held him against her red-leather-clad body as she
pressed her Agiel to his throat. He choked and coughed. Blood frothed from
his mouth.
"Tell her," Cara growled.
He held his hands out to the sides in surrender. "I know him! I know
him!"
Kahlan frowned down at the terrified young man. "You know who?"
"Richard Cypher! I know Richard Cypher!-And his wife, Nicci."
Kahlan felt as if the world crashed down around her. The weight of that
world sank her to her knees before Cara's charge.
"What is your name?"
"Gadi! I'm Gadi!"
Cara pressed her Agiel into his back, causing him to let loose a wild
scream. She slammed his face to the ground.
Kahlan held a hand out. "Cara, wait . . . we need to talk to him."
"I know. I'm just making sure he wants to talk to us."
Kahlan had never seen Cara quite like this, unleashed this way. This
was more than doing as Verna asked. This was personal to Cara. Warren had
been someone she liked, but worse for Gadi, Richard was Cara's life.
The Mord-Sith pulled him upright again. Red bubbles grew around his
broken nose. When the light caught Cara just right, Kahlan could see blood
glistening on the red leather.
"Now, I want you to tell the Mother Confessor everything."
He was nodding as he wept and before Cara had even completed the
command.
"I lived there-where they came to live. I lived where Richard and his
wife-"
"Nicci," Kahlan corrected.
"Yes, Nicci." He didn't understand what she meant. "They came to live
in a room in our house. My friends and I didn't like him. Then, Kamil and
Nabbi started talking to him. They started liking Richard. I was angry-"
He fell to such blubbering that he couldn't finish. Kahlan seized his
jaw, slick with blood, and shook his face.
"Talk! Or I'll have Cara start in again!"
"I don't know what to say, what you want," he sobbed.
"Everything you know about him and Nicci. Everything!" Kahlan yelled
inches from his face.
"Tell her the rest of it," Cara said in his ear as she pulled him to
his feet.
Kahlan followed him up, fearing to miss a precious word.
"Richard started to get people to fix up the place. He works for Ishaq,
at the transport company. When he came home at night, he would fix things.
He showed Kamil and Nabbi how to fix things.
"I hated him."
"You hated him because he made things better?"
"He made Kamil and Nabbi and others think they could do things for
themselves, when they can't-people can't do for themselves. That's a cruel
deception. People have to be helped by those with the ability. It's their
duty. Richard should have made things better, because he could-he shouldn't
have made Kamil and Nabbi and the others think they could change their lives
for themselves. No one can do that. The people need help, not such heartless
and unfeeling expectations.
"I found out Richard was working at night. He was hauling extra loads
for greedy people. He was making money he shouldn't be allowed to make.
"Then, one night, I was sitting on the steps, and I heard Nicci get mad
at Richard. She came out to me on the steps and asked me to have sex with
her. Women always want me. She was a whore-no better than the rest-despite
all her airs. She told me that Richard wasn't man enough to take care of
her, and she wanted me to have her because he wouldn't.
"I gave it to her good just the way she wanted it. I gave it to the
whore good. I
hurt her good, just like she deserved-"
With all her strength, Kahlan rammed her knee into his groin. Gadi
doubled over, unable to draw his breath. His eyes rolled up in his head and
he went down hard.
Cara smiled. "I thought you might like to hear that part."
Kahlan wiped the tears from her cheeks. "It wasn't Richard. I knew it
wasn't Richard. It was this pig."
Kahlan kicked him in the ribs as he started coming around. He let out a
cry. She wagged her fingers impatiently. Cara seized him by the hair and
yanked him to his feet.
"Finish your story," Kahlan said with icy rage.
He coughed and gagged and drooled. Cara had to steady him on his feet.
She held his arms behind his back so he couldn't comfort his groin. The pain
was clearly evident in his contorted face.
"Talk, or I'll do it again!"
"Please! I was telling you when you stopped me."
"Get on with it!"
He nodded frantically. "When I was done with the whor-when I left
Nicci, Kamil and Nabbi were crazy."
Kahlan lifted his chin. "What do you mean, they were crazy?"
"They were crazy angry because I was with Richard's wife. They like
Richard, so they were crazy angry with me. They were going to do things to
me. Hurt me. So, I decided to go into the army to fight for the Order
against the heathens, and. . ."
Kahlan waited. She glanced up at Cara. The Mord-Sith did something
behind Gadi's back that made him gasp in a cry.
"And then I turned in Richard's name!"
"You did what?"
"I turned in his name before I left. I told the city guards at
Protector Muksin's office that Richard was doing criminal things, that he
was stealing work from working people-that he was making more than his fair
share."
Kahlan frowned. "What does that mean? What happens when you turn in a
name?"
Gadi was trembling in terror. He clearly didn't want to answer. Cara
pressed her Agiel against his side. Blood oozed down his sweat-soaked shirt.
He tried, but couldn't draw a breath. His ashen face began to turn purple.
"Tell her," Cara said in cold command.
Gadi gasped in a breath when she released the pressure. "They will
arrest him. They will . . . make him . . . confess."
"Confess?" Kahlan asked, fearing the answer.
Gadi nodded reluctantly. "They will torture a confession out of him,
most likely. They might even hang his body from a pole and let the birds
pick his bones if he confesses to something bad."
Kahlan swayed on her feet. She thought she might throw up. The world
had disintegrated into madness.
She kicked over the map basket and pawed through the maps until she
found the one she wanted. She pulled a pen and an ink bottle out of their
box, set the statue of Spirit on the ground, and spread the small map across
the table.
"Come here," Kahlan ordered, snapping her fingers and pointing to the
ground before the table. She put the pen in his trembling fingers after he
had shuffled close.
Kahlan pointed at the map. "We are here. Show me where you traveled
with the Order."
He pointed. "This river. I came up from the Old World with
reinforcement troops, after some training. We joined the emperor's force and
we advanced up this river basin over the summer."
Kahlan pointed to the Old World. "Now, I want you to mark the place
where you lived."
"Altur'Rang. That's it, there."
She watched him dip the pen and circle the dot and the name Altur'Rang,
far to the south-the heart of the Old World.
"Now," she said, "mark the roads you came up in the Old World-including
any cities or towns you went through."
Cara and Kahlan both watched Gadi mark roads and circle a number of
cities and towns. Warren and the Sisters were from the Old World; they knew
a great deal about the lay of the land, enabling them to provide detailed
maps.
When he'd finished, Gadi looked up.
Kahlan turned over the map. "Draw the city of Altur'Rang. I want to see
the major roads-anything you know of it."
Gadi immediately set to drawing the map for her. When he was finished,
he looked up again.
"Now, show me where this room is where Richard lives."
Gadi marked the map to indicate the place. "But I don't know if he will
be there. Lots of people turn in the names of people suspected of wrongdoing
against their fellow man. If they take the name and they arrest him . . .
the Brothers may order penance, or they could even question him and then
order him put to death."
"Brothers?" Kahlan asked.
Gadi nodded. "Brother Narev and his disciples. They are the head of the
Fellowship of Order. Brother Narev is our spiritual guide. He and the
brothers are the heart of the Order."
"What do they look like?" Kahlan asked, her mind already racing ahead.
"The brothers wear dark brown robes, with hoods. They are simple men
who have given up the luxuries of life to serve the wishes of the Creator
and the needs of mankind. Brother Narev is closer to the Creator than any
man alive. He is mankind's savior."
Gadi was clearly awed by the man. Kahlan listened while Gadi told her
everything he knew about the Fellowship of Order, about the brothers, and
about Brother Narev.
Gadi shook in the silence after he had finished. Kahlan wasn't watching
loading iron and now moving rock and swinging a hammer had built him up even
more. When he went out back to the washtubs and removed his shirt to rinse
off the stone dust, the sight of him made her knees weak.
Nicci heard footsteps passing down the hallway, and the excited voices
of Kamil and Nabbi asking questions. She couldn't understand Richard's
words, but she easily recognized the timbre of his voice calmly giving the
two the answers to their questions.
As tired as he was, as much as he was away at his work, he still took
time to talk to Kamil and Nabbi, and to the people of the building. He was
no doubt now on his way out back to give pointers to the two young men on
their carving. During the day, they worked around the building, cleaning and
caring for the place. They turned over the dirt in the garden, mixing in
compost when it was ready. The women appreciated having the heavy spade work
done for them. The two washed, painted, and repaired, hoping Richard would
approve and then show them how to do new things. Kamil and Nabbi always
offered to help Nicci with anything she might need-she was, after all,
Richard's wife.
. Richard came in the door as Nicci stood at the table cutting up
carrots and onions
into a pot. He slumped down into the chair across the table. He looked
spent from his day of work-after having been up hours earlier working on the
statue.
"I came home to get something to eat. I have to go back and work on the
statue."
"This is for tomorrow's stew. I have some millet cooked."
"Is there anything more in it?"
She shook her head. "I only had enough money for the millet today."
He nodded without complaint.
Despite how exhausted he looked, there was some remarkable quality in
his eyes, some inner passion, that made her pulse race faster. Whatever it
was that she had seen in him from the first moment seemed to have only
gotten stronger since that night she had almost put the knife through his
heart.
"Tomorrow, we'll have this stew." she said. His gray eyes were staring
off into his private visions. "From the garden."
She retrieved the cook pot after setting a wooden bowl on the table
before him and spooned millet into his bowl until it was full. There was
little left, but he needed it more than she. She had spent the morning
waiting in line for the millet, and then had spent the afternoon picking all
the worms out of it. Some of the women just cooked it until you couldn't
tell. Nicci didn't like to feed that to Richard.
Standing close to-the table, cutting up carrots, she could finally
stand it no more. "Richard, I want to come to the site with you and see this
statue that you're carving for the Order."
He was silent for a moment as he chewed and then swallowed. When he
finally did speak, it was with a quiet quality that matched that
inexplicable look in his eyes.
"I want you to see the statue, Nicci-I want everyone to see it. But not
until I'm finished."
"Why?"
He stirred his spoon around in his bowl. "Please, Nicci, will you grant
me this? Let me finish it, then you will see it."
Her heart pounded against her ribs. This was important to him.
"You aren't carving what they told you to carve, are you?"
Richard's face turned up until his gaze met hers.
"No, I'm not. I'm carving what I need to carve, what people need to
see."
Nicci swallowed. She knew: this was what she had been waiting for. He
had been ready to give up, then he wanted to live, and now he was willing to
die for this.
Nicci nodded, having to look away from those gray eyes of his. "I'll
wait until it's ready."
Now she knew why he seemed so driven, lately. That quality hinted at in
her father's eyes, and blazing in Richard's, she felt was somehow tied to
this. The very idea was intoxicating.
In more ways than one, this was a matter of life and death.
"Are you sure about this, Richard?"
"I am."
She nodded again. "All right, I will honor your request."
The next day, Nicci got an early start to buy bread. She wanted Richard
to have bread with the stew she was cooking. Kamil offered to go for her,
but she wanted to get out of the house. She asked him to keep an eye on
Richard's stew as it simmered on the banked coals.
It was an overcast day, and cool-a hint of the rapidly approaching
winter. The streets were crowded with people out looking for work, with
carts hauling everything from manure to bolts of coarse dark cloth, and with
wagons, mostly carrying building materials for the palace. She had to step
carefully to avoid the dung in the road and squeeze between all the people
moving as slowly as the sludge of the open sewers as she made her way
through the city.
There were crowds of needy people in the street, many come to
Altur'Rang for
work, no doubt, although there were few people at the workers' group
hall. The lines at the bakeries were long. At least the Order saw to it that
people got bread, even if it was gray, tough bread. You had to go early,
though, before they ran out. With more people all the time, the shops ran
out earlier every week.
Someday, it was rumored, they were going to be able to provide more
than one kind of bread. She hoped that this day, at least, they might have
some butter, too. Sometimes, they sold butter. The bread, and the butter,
were inexpensive, so she knew she could afford to buy a little for
Richard-if they had any. They almost never had any butter.
Nicci had spent a hundred and eighty years trying to help people, and
people seemed no better off now than they ever were. Those in the New World
were prosperous enough, though. Someday, when the Order ruled the world, and
those with the means were made to contribute their fair share to their
fellow man, then everything would finally fall into place and all of mankind
could at last live with the dignity they deserved. The Order would see to
it.
The bread shop stood at an intersection of two roads, so the line
turned around the corner onto another street. Nicci was around that corner,
leaning a shoulder against the wall, watching the passing throngs, when a
face in the crowd caught her attention.
Her eyes went wide as she straightened. She could hardly believe what
she was seeing. What was she doing in Altur'Rang?
Nicci didn't really want to find out-not now, when it seemed she was
getting close to finding her answers. Matters seemed to be at a critical
state with Richard. She felt sure that it would soon come to resolution.
Nicci flipped her dark shawl up over her head of blond hair and tied it
snug under her chin. She sank back behind a wide woman and hugged the wall
as she peeked out between the people in line.
Nicci watched Sister Alessandra, her nose held high as her calculating
gaze swept the faces of all the people on the street. She looked like a
mountain lion on the prowl.
Nicci knew who Alessandra was hunting.
Ordinarily, Nicci would have been only too happy to cross paths with
the woman, but not now.
Nicci sank back against the rough clapboards, staying low behind the
people ahead of her, until Sister Alessandra had vanished into the vast sea
of people crowding the street.
As Kahlan rode out of her home city of Aydindril for the last time, she
pulled her wolf-fur mantle up over her shoulders for protection against the
bitter wind. She recalled that the last, time the weather had been about to
close in for the winter was the last time she had seen Richard. With the
world in such constant turmoil and the battle burning hot, her thoughts, by
necessity, always seemed to be on urgent matters. The unexpected memory of
Richard was a welcome, if bittersweet, respite from the worries of war.
She took a last look before cresting the hill, to see the splendor of
the Confessors' Palace on the distant rise. It made her ache with the sense
of home whenever she saw the soaring white marble columns and rows of tall
windows. Other people were stricken with awe or fear at the sight of the
palace, but Kahlan's heart was always warmed by it. She had grown up there,
and it was a place of many happy memories for her.
"It won't be forever, Kahlan."
Kahlan glanced over at Verna. "No, it won't."
She wished she could believe that.
"Besides," Verna said, offering a smile, "we will be denying the
Imperial Order the people, and that is what they are really after. The rest
is just stone and wood. What matters stone and wood, if the people are
safe?"
Kahlan, despite her desolate tears, was overcome with a smile. "You're
right, Verna. That really is all that matters. Thank you for reminding me."
"Don't worry, Mother Confessor," Cara said, "Berdine and the rest of
the MordSith, along with the troops, will watch over the people and see them
safely to D'Hara."
Kahlan's smile widened. "I wish I could see Jagang's face when he
finally gets here next spring to be greeted by ghosts."
The season of war was drawing to an end. If the summer with Richard in
their mountain home had been a wonderful dream, then the summer of endless
warfare had been a nightmare.
The fighting had been desperate, intense, and bloody. There were times
when Kahlan thought she and the army could not go on, that they were
finished. Each of those times, they had managed to pull through. There were
occasions when she almost welcomed death, just to have the nightmare end,
just to stop seeing people in agony and pain, to stop seeing all the
precious lives in ruins.
Against the seemingly indomitable millions of the Imperial Order, the
forces of the D'Haran Empire had managed to slow the enemy enough to keep
them from taking Aydindril this year. With thousands of lives lost in the
fighting, they had
bought the hundreds of thousands of people of Aydindril and other
cities that lay along the path of the Order the time they needed to escape.
As autumn had turned bitter, the immense force of the Imperial Order
had reached a broad valley at a convergence of the Kern River and a large
tributary, where the lay of the land provided space to accommodate their
entire force. With winter closing in, Jagang knew better than to be caught
unprepared. They had dug in while they had the opportunity. The D'Haran
forces had set up their defensive lines to the north, bulwarking the way to
Aydindril.
Just as Warren had forecast, Aydindril was more than Jagang's army
could take in this season of war. Jagang, once again, had proven his prudent
patience; he had chosen to preserve the viability of his army so he would be
able to press on successfully when conditions allowed. In the short run, it
gave Kahlan and her forces breathing room, but in the long run, it would
spell their doom.
Kahlan felt sweet relief that Warren's prediction, of Aydindril falling
the following year, at least would not be at the cost of a slaughter of the
city's citizens. She didn't know what hardships the people would have to
endure escaping to D'Hara, but it was better than the certain slavery and
widespread death of remaining behind in Aydindril.
Some people, she knew, would refuse to leave. In cities along the
Order's march up the Midlands, some people put their faith in "Jagang the
Just." Some people believed that the good spirits, or the Creator, would
watch over them no matter what. Kahlan knew they couldn't save everyone from
themselves. Those who wished to live, and were willing to see reason, stood
a chance. Those who saw only what they wished to see, would, at the least,
fall under the pall of the Order's domination.
Kahlan reached back and touched the hilt of the Sword of Truth sticking
up behind her shoulder. It was comforting, sometimes, to touch it. The
Confessors' Palace was no longer her home. Home was wherever Richard and she
were together.
The fighting was often so intense, the fear so palpable, that there
were timesdays at a stretch-when she never thought of him. Sometimes, she
had to devote all her physical and mental effort to just staying alive one
more day.
Some men, feeling the war was hopeless, had deserted. Kahlan could
understand the way they felt. All they ever did, it seemed, was to fight for
their lives against overwhelming odds as they backed their way up through
the Midlands.
Galea had fallen. That there was no word from any city in Galea
probably said it all.
They had lost Kelton, too. Many of the Keltans in Winstead, Penverro,
and other cities had fled, first. Most of Kelton's army were still with
them, though some had rushed home in desperation.
Kahlan tried not to think too long on everything that had gone wrong,
lest she give up. They had saved a good many people-gotten them out of the
way of the Order. At least for the time being. It was the best they could
do.
Along the long retreat north, tens of thousands of their joint forces
had lost their lives in the fierce battles. The Order had lost many times
that number. In the high summer heat, the Order had lost a quarter million
men to fever alone. It made little difference; they continued to grow and to
roll onward.
Kahlan recalled the things Richard had told her, that they could not
win, that the New World was going to fall to the Order, and if they
resisted, it would only cause greater bloodshed. She was reluctantly coming
to understand that hopeless outlook.
She feared she was only getting people killed to no good end. Yet
giving up still was out of the question for her.
Kahlan looked over her shoulder, past the long column of men escorting
her, past the trees and up the mountain, to the great dark mass of the
Wizard's Keep looming up on the mountain overlooking Aydindril.
--]----
Zedd would have to go there; they could not stop the Imperial Order
from having Aydindril, but they dared not let them have the Keep.
It was dusk, ten days later, when Kahlan and her company rode back into
the D'Haran camp. It was obvious from the first instant that something was
wrong. Men were running through camp, swords drawn. Others were rushing pole
weapons to the barricades. Men were donning leather and chain mail as they
ran to their posts. It was a tense scene, but one Kahlan had seen repeated
so often that it seemed almost routine.
"I wonder what this is all about," Verna said with a scowl. "I'll not
like it if Jagang spoils my dinner."
Kahlan, not wearing her leather armor, suddenly felt naked. It was
uncomfortable to wear on long rides, so, going through friendly territory,
she had tied it to her saddle. Cara moved close as they dismounted. They
handed the reins to soldiers as men closed in protectively.
Kahlan couldn't remember what color cloth would be used to mark the
command tents. She had lost track of the exact number of days she had been
gone. It had been somewhat over a month. She took the arm of an officer
among the men who had swept in around her.
"Where are the commanders?"
He pointed with his sword. "Down that way, Mother Confessor."
"Do you know what's going on?"
"No, Mother Confessor. The alarm sounded. As a Sister rushed past, I
heard her say it was genuine."
"Do you know where my Sisters, or Warren, are?" Verna asked the
officer.
"I've seen Sisters running around everywhere, Prelate. I've not seen
Wizard Warren."
Darkness was settling in, leaving only the fires to guide them through
camp. Most of the fires, though, had been doused at the alarm, so the camp
was becoming a black maze.
Horses with D'Haran riders flashed past, headed out on patrol. Foot
soldiers raced out of camp to scout. No one seemed to know what the threat
was, but that wasn't unusual. Besides being frequent and varied, attacks
were usually confusing, in addition to being frightening.
It was over an hour before Kahlan, Cara, Verna, and their heavy ring of
guards made it through the sprawling camp that was the size of a city, to
the officers' tents. None of the officers were there.
"This is a foolish way to go about it," Kahlan muttered. She found her
tent, with Spirit standing on the little table, and tossed her saddlebags
inside, along with her armor. "Let's just wait here so people can find us."
"I agree," Verna said.
Kahlan gestured to include a number of the group of men who had set up
a defensive guard around her. "Spread out and find the officers. Tell them
that the Mother Confessor and the Prelate are at the command tents. We'll
wait here for reports."
"Tell any Sisters you see," Verna added. "And if you see Warren or
Zedd, tell them, too, that we've returned."
The men raced off into the night to carry out their instructions.
"I don't like this," Cara muttered.
"I don't, either," Kahlan said as she stepped into her tent.
Cara stood guard, along with a small army of men, as Kahlan took off
her fur mantle and slipped on her leather armor. It had saved her from
taking wounds often enough that she was not shy about wearing it. All it
would take was one man to slip up close and thrust a sword into her, and
that might well be the end. If she got lucky, and they ran it through a leg,
or even her belly, she had a chance of being healed by a Sister, but if it
was in some other place-heart, head, some major artery so that the loss of
blood was too fast-then even the gifted wouldn't be able to heal her.
The leather was extremely tough, and while not impervious to blades,
spears, or arrows, it afforded a good degree of protection while allowing
enough freedom of movement to enable her to fight. A blow with a blade had
to be landed just right, or it would glance harmlessly off the leather. Many
of the men wore chain mail, which afforded better protection, but it was too
heavy for Kahlan to be practical for her to wear. In combat, speed and
maneuverability were life.
Kahlan knew better than to risk her life needlessly. She was more
valuable to their cause in her capacity as a leader than as a combatant.
Still, while she rarely went directly into combat, the fighting had often
enough come to her.
A sergeant finally arrived to give her a report.
"Assassins" was all he said.
That one chilling word was enough. It was what she had figured, and
explained the state of the camp.
"How many casualties?" Kahlan asked.
"I only know for sure that one attacked Captain Zimmer. He was eating
at a campfire with his men. The captain managed to miss a killing blow, but
took a nasty wound in the leg. He's lost a lot of blood. The surgeons are
seeing to him right now."
"What about the assassin?" Verna asked.
The sergeant looked surprised at the question. "Commander Zimmer killed
the assassin." He screwed up his face with the distaste of the rest of what
he had to say. "The assassin was dressed in a D'Haran uniform. He walked
through the camp without notice until he found a target-Captain Zimmer-and
attacked."
Verna let out a worried breath. "A Sister might be able help the
captain."
Kahlan dismissed him with a nod. The sergeant saluted with a fist to
his heart before rushing off to his duties.
It was then that Kahlan spotted Zedd approaching. The front of his
robes was wet and darkundoubtedly with blood. Tears ran down his face.
Gooseflesh tingled up Kahlan's arms and legs.
Verna gasped when Zedd suddenly saw her and for an instant faltered
before rushing toward them. Verna clutched Kahlan's arm.
Zedd seized Verna's hand. "Hurry" was all he said.
It was all he needed to say; they all understood.
Verna let out a mournful cry as she was pulled along after the old
wizard. Kahlan and Cara ran behind as Zedd led them on a winding charge
through the confusion of shouting men, galloping horses, squads in formation
dashing in every direction, and unit officers taking roll call.
The roll call was needed because the assassins were in D'Haran uniforms
so they could sneak up close to their quarry. It was necessary to account
for every man in order to single out those who didn't belong. It was tedious
and difficult, but essential.
They rushed into the swirl of turmoil around the tents where wounded
men were being treated. Men shouted orders as others brought in men crying
out in pain, or men with their limp arms dragging the ground. Each tent
could hold up to ten or twelve men.
Verna's composure was frayed with panic. Zedd stopped her, holding her
by her arms. His voice was choked with his emotion.
"A man stabbed Holly. Warren was nearby and tried to protect the girl.
Verna, I swear to you on my dead wife's soul . . . I did everything I could
do. Dear spirits forgive me, but I must be the one to tell you . . . he is
beyond my power to help him. He asked for you and Kahlan."
Kahlan stood in a stupor, her heart in her throat. Zedd's hand on her
back urged her to move quickly. She followed Verna, ducking into the tent.
Half a dozen dead men lay at the far end of the tent, covered with
blankets. Here and there a bloody hand stuck out from under a cover. One man
was missing a boot. Kahlan stared, unable to make her mind work, unable to
understand how the soldier had lost a boot. It seemed so silly-dying and
losing a boot. Tragedy and comedy together under a shroud.
Warren lay on his back on a pallet on the ground. Sister Philippa was
on the far side of him, her tall frame bent over the youthful wizard,
holding his hand. Sister Phoebe was on the near side, holding his other
hand. Both women turned tearstained faces up to see Verna above them.
"Warren," Sister Philippa said, "it's Verna. She's here. And Kahlan,
too."
The two Sisters quickly moved out of the way for Verna and Kahlan to
take their places. They covered their mouths to hold in their cries as they
fled the tent.
Warren was as white as the stacks of clean bandages lying nearby. His
eyes were open wide as he stared up . . . as if he could no longer see. His
curly blond hair was matted in sweat. His robes were soaked in blood.
"Warren," Verna moaned. "Oh, Warren."
"Verna? Kahlan?" he asked in a breathy whisper.
"Yes, my love." Verna kissed his hand a dozen times.
Kahlan squeezed his other limp hand. "I'm here, too, Warren."
"I had to hold on. Till you both came back. To tell you both."
"Tell us what, Warren?" Verna asked through her tears.
"Kahlan . . ." he whispered.
She leaned in. "I'm here, Warren. Don't try to talk, just-"
"Listen to me."
Kahlan pressed his hand to her cheek. "I'm listening, Warren."
"Richard is right. His vision. I had to tell you."
Kahlan didn't know what to say.
A smile came to his ashen face. "Verna. . ."
"What is it, my love?"
"I love you. Always have."
Verna could hardly get her words past her choking tears. "Warren, don't
die. Don't die. Please don't die."
"Give me a kiss," Warren whispered, "while I still live. And don't
mourn what ends, but what a good life we've had. Kiss me, my love."
Verna bent over him and met his lips with hers, giving him a gentle,
loving kiss as her tears dripped onto his face.
Unable to bear the scene, Kahlan staggered out of the tent, finding
Zedd's protective arms waiting. She hid her weeping against his shoulder.
"What are we doing?" she cried. "What's it all for? What good is any of
it? We're losing everything."
Zedd had no answer for her tears at the futility of it all.
The minutes dragged on. Kahlan forced herself to be strong, to be the
Mother Confessor. She couldn't let the men see her giving up.
Silent men stood nearby, not wanting to look in the direction of the
tent where Warren lay dying.
When General Meiffert materialized out of the darkness, the relief on
Cara's face was evident. He rushed up close to Cara, but didn't touch her.
"I'm glad to see you safely returned," he said to Kahlan. "How is
Warren?"
Kahlan couldn't speak.
Zedd shook his head. "I didn't think he would live this long. I think
he held on so he could see his wife."
The general nodded sorrowfully. "We caught the man who did it."
Kahlan came to full attention. "Bring him to me," she growled.
Without hesitation the general hurried off to retrieve the assassin.
When Kahlan gestured, Cara went with him.
"What did he say to you?" Zedd asked in a quiet voice so that others
wouldn't hear. "He wanted to tell you something."
Kahlan took a purging breath. "He said, `Richard is right.' "
Zedd looked away in forlorn misery. Warren was his friend. Kahlan never
knew Zedd to take a liking to anyone the way he had taken to Warren. They
shared things she knew she could never understand. Despite his young
appearance, Warren was over a hundred and fifty years old, close to the same
age as Verna. To Zedd, who was always looked up to as the wise old wizard,
it must have been a particular comfort to share wizardly matters with one
who understood such things, instead of constantly needing explanation and
direction.
"He said the same to me," Zedd whispered tearfully.
"Why didn't Warren use his gift?" Kahlan asked.
Zedd wiped a finger across his cheek. "He was walking past, just as the
man seized and stabbed Holly. Perhaps the assassin couldn't find his target,
or maybe he became lost and confused, or he could have just panicked and
decided to stab someone and Holly was handy at that moment."
Kahlan wiped her hands back across her cheeks. "Maybe he had been told
to look for a wizard in such robes, and when he saw Warren, he stabbed Holly
to cause a commotion so he could get at Warren."
"That could be. Warren doesn't really know. It all happened in an
instant. Warren was right there, and just reacted. I asked, but he didn't
know why he didn't use his power. Perhaps in that terrible flash of the
knife, he feared to kill Holly in the
process, since the man had her and was stabbing her. His instinct to
save her just caused him to snatch for the knife. It was a fatal mistake."
"Maybe Warren simply hesitated before using his power."
Zedd shrugged painfully. "A split-second hesitation has been the end of
a lot of wizards."
"If I hadn't hesitated," Kahlan said as she stared off into bitter
memories, "Nicci wouldn't have had me. She wouldn't have Richard, now."
"Don't try to fix the past, dear one-it can't be done."
"What about the future?"
Zedd's gaze sought hers. "Meaning?"
"Remember at the end of last winter, when we left camp-when the Order
began moving?" When Zedd nodded, she went on. "Warren pointed at this place
on the map. He said we had to be here to stop the Order."
"Are you suggesting he knew he would die here?"
"You tell me."
"I'm a wizard, not a prophet."
"But Warren is." When he said nothing, Kahlan asked in a whisper, "What
about Holly?"
"I don't know. I was just arriving to talk to Warren. It had just
happened. Soldiers were jumping the man. Warren yelled orders for them not
to kill him. I guess he was thinking the assassin might have valuable
information. I saw Holly, bleeding from her wounds, in shock. I immediately
had Warren brought in here and started to work on him. Sisters rushed in and
took Holly to another tent."
Zedd's heartsick gaze sank to the cold ground. "I did everything I know
to do. It wasn't enough."
Kahlan enclosed his shoulders protectively in her arm. "It was out of
your hands from the first, Zedd."
It was disorienting to see her source of strength in a state of such
painful weakness. It was irrational to expect him to be unemotional and
strong in such circumstances, but it was still disconcerting. In that
moment, Kahlan was overcome with a sense of all the loss Zedd had suffered
in his life; it was all there in his wet hazel eyes.
Men made way for the returning General Meiffert and Cara. Behind them,
two burly soldiers had a wiry young man-little more than a boy, really. He
was muscular, but no match for the men who had him. His hair tumbled down
across a forehead above dark contemptuous eyes. He wore a proud sneer.
"So," the lad said, trying to sound tough, "I guess that in my service
to the Order I knifed someone important. That makes me a hero of the Order."
"Make him kneel before the Mother Confessor," General Meiffert said
with quiet command.
The two soldiers kicked the back of the young man's knees to take him
down. He snickered as he knelt before her.
"So, you're the big important whore I've heard so much about. Too bad
you weren't around-I'd have loved to have cut you. I guess I showed some
people I'm pretty good with a knife."
"So in my absence," Kahlan said, "you cut a child, instead."
"Just for practice. I'd have cut a lot more people if these big dumb
oxen wouldn't have lucked into jumping me. But I still did my duty to the
Order and the Creator."
It was the bravado of someone who knew he was about to pay the ultimate
price for his actions. He was trying to convince himself that he had
fulfilled a valuable service. He wanted to die a hero, and then go straight
to the Creator for his reward in the afterlife.
Verna emerged from the tent. There was no hurry in her movements. Her
face was ashen and drawn. Kahlan took hold of her arm, ready to help if
Verna should need it.
Verna stopped when she saw the young man on his knees.
"This is him?" she asked.
Kahlan put her other hand tenderly to Verna's back, silently offering
support.
"This is him," Kahlan confirmed.
"That's right." The lad sneered up at Verna. "I'm the one who knifed
the enemy wizard. I'm a hero. The Order will bring relief and justice to the
people, and I helped do it. Your kind is always trying to keep us down."
"Keep you down," Verna repeated in a dead tone.
"Those who are born with all the luck and advantages-they never want to
share. I waited, but no one ever gave me a chance in life until the Order
did. I'm a hero of downtrodden people everywhere. I've struck a blow against
the oppressors of mankind. I've helped bring justice to those who are never
given a chance. I killed an evil man. I'm a hero!"
The silence of everyone nearby was all the more grim with the backdrop
of activity going on as men searched the camp for other assassins. Officers
called out names, getting quick replies. Troops searching for invaders
trotted through the night, their chain mail and weapons jingling like
thousands of tiny bells.
The man on his knees grinned at Verna. "The Creator will give me my
reward in the next life. I'm not afraid to die. I've earned eternity in his
everlasting Light."
Verna passed her gaze among the eyes of all those gathered.
"I don't care what you do to him," she said, "but I want to hear his
screams the entire night. I want this camp to hear his screams the entire
night. I want the Order's scouts to hear his screams. That will be my
tribute to Warren."
The young man licked his lips, realizing things weren't going as he had
expected.
"That isn't fair!" the young assassin shouted in protest.
Panic began to tremble through his body. He had been prepared for a
martyr's death, a quick end. This was something unforeseen.
"He died quick. I should have the same consideration! This isn't fair!"
"Fair? What isn't fair," Verna said with terrible calmness, "is that
your mother ever opened her legs for your father. We shall now
belatedly.correct her mistake. What isn't fair is that a good and kind man
died at the hands of a sniveling little coward so lacking in sense that he
is incapable of recognizing the lies he now spews out at us.
"You wish to trade your life for the one you have taken? You wish to
die in a cause you foolishly believe to be noble? You shall have your wish,
young man. But before you die, you shall fully understand what it is you
have surrendered, how precious is your life, and how utterly wasted. You
shall come to regret your mother's act of creation as much as do we."
Verna swept a look of finality over the group watching. "This is my
wish. Please see to its execution."
Cara took a step forward. "Let me do it, then." Her grim face held no
hint of relish. "I would be best at carrying out your wish as you intend it,
Verna."
The lad laughed hysterically. "A woman? You all think you're going to
have some big blond bitch try to teach me a lesson? You're all as crazy as
I've heard."
Verna nodded. "I will be indebted to you, Cara." She started to leave,
but paused. "Don't let him die before morning, when I will come to witness
it. I wish to look into his eyes and see if this young man has come to
understand the nature of reality, and its lack of fairness, before he
forfeits his fife for nothing of worth and for his part in a great evil."
"I promise you," Cara said softly to Verna, "that even though this
night will seem forever to you in your grief, it will be infinitely longer
for him."
Verna simply touched Cara's shoulder in appreciation on her way past.
After Verna had walked off into the darkness, Cara turned to Kahlan. "I
would ask to use a tent. No one should have to see what I do to him. His
screams will be knowledge enough."
"As you wish."
"Mother Confessor!" The young man struggled frantically, but the
soldiers had him in a firm grip. "If you're so good as you claim, then show
me mercy!"
Drool ran from the corner of the boy's mouth and hung swinging in
rhythm with his panting.
"But I have," Kahlan said. "I am allowing you to suffer the sentence
Verna has named, and not the one I would impose."
Cara snapped her fingers and pointed at the young man as she marched
off. The soldiers dragged the shrieking boy after her.
"The others we captured?" the general asked Kahlan.
Kahlan started for her tent. "Cut their throats."
Kwan sat up when she realized that she didn't hear the distant screams
any longer. It was still hours till dawn. Maybe his heart had stopped
unexpectedly.
No, Cara was Mord-Sith, and was well trained in what Mord-Sith did.
As she had lain fully dressed in her bed, listening to the
bloodcurdling screams, aching for Verna, missing Warren, sweat had
occasionally beaded her brow whenever she thought about how Richard had once
been the one under a Mord-Sith's Agiel.
To banish the uninvited, ghastly images invading her thoughts, she
looked up at Spirit. The lamp hanging from the ridgepole cast a warm light
on the carving, stressing the graceful lines of her flowing robes, her
fisted hands, her head thrown back. No matter how many times Kahlan looked
at the statue, she never tired of it. Every time, it was a thrill.
Richard had chosen this view of life over the terrible bitterness he
could have fallen into. Clinging to such bitterness would only have robbed
him of his ability to experience happiness.
Kahlan heard a commotion outside. Just as she sprang to her feet, Cara
poked her head in through the flap Kahlan had left open. The Mord-Sith's
blue eyes were in a lethal rage. She stepped into the tent, pulling the lad
behind by a fistful of his hair. He shook as he blinked frantically, blinded
by the blood in his eyes.
Gritting her teeth, Cara shoved him. He fell to the dirt at Kahlan's
feet.
"What's this about?" Kahlan asked.
The look in Cara's eyes revealed a woman at the edge of a feral fury,
at the edge of control, at the far-distant reaches of what it was to even be
human. She was treading the soil of another world: madness.
Cara dropped to her knees and seized the young man by the hair. She
yanked him back up and held him against her red-leather-clad body as she
pressed her Agiel to his throat. He choked and coughed. Blood frothed from
his mouth.
"Tell her," Cara growled.
He held his hands out to the sides in surrender. "I know him! I know
him!"
Kahlan frowned down at the terrified young man. "You know who?"
"Richard Cypher! I know Richard Cypher!-And his wife, Nicci."
Kahlan felt as if the world crashed down around her. The weight of that
world sank her to her knees before Cara's charge.
"What is your name?"
"Gadi! I'm Gadi!"
Cara pressed her Agiel into his back, causing him to let loose a wild
scream. She slammed his face to the ground.
Kahlan held a hand out. "Cara, wait . . . we need to talk to him."
"I know. I'm just making sure he wants to talk to us."
Kahlan had never seen Cara quite like this, unleashed this way. This
was more than doing as Verna asked. This was personal to Cara. Warren had
been someone she liked, but worse for Gadi, Richard was Cara's life.
The Mord-Sith pulled him upright again. Red bubbles grew around his
broken nose. When the light caught Cara just right, Kahlan could see blood
glistening on the red leather.
"Now, I want you to tell the Mother Confessor everything."
He was nodding as he wept and before Cara had even completed the
command.
"I lived there-where they came to live. I lived where Richard and his
wife-"
"Nicci," Kahlan corrected.
"Yes, Nicci." He didn't understand what she meant. "They came to live
in a room in our house. My friends and I didn't like him. Then, Kamil and
Nabbi started talking to him. They started liking Richard. I was angry-"
He fell to such blubbering that he couldn't finish. Kahlan seized his
jaw, slick with blood, and shook his face.
"Talk! Or I'll have Cara start in again!"
"I don't know what to say, what you want," he sobbed.
"Everything you know about him and Nicci. Everything!" Kahlan yelled
inches from his face.
"Tell her the rest of it," Cara said in his ear as she pulled him to
his feet.
Kahlan followed him up, fearing to miss a precious word.
"Richard started to get people to fix up the place. He works for Ishaq,
at the transport company. When he came home at night, he would fix things.
He showed Kamil and Nabbi how to fix things.
"I hated him."
"You hated him because he made things better?"
"He made Kamil and Nabbi and others think they could do things for
themselves, when they can't-people can't do for themselves. That's a cruel
deception. People have to be helped by those with the ability. It's their
duty. Richard should have made things better, because he could-he shouldn't
have made Kamil and Nabbi and the others think they could change their lives
for themselves. No one can do that. The people need help, not such heartless
and unfeeling expectations.
"I found out Richard was working at night. He was hauling extra loads
for greedy people. He was making money he shouldn't be allowed to make.
"Then, one night, I was sitting on the steps, and I heard Nicci get mad
at Richard. She came out to me on the steps and asked me to have sex with
her. Women always want me. She was a whore-no better than the rest-despite
all her airs. She told me that Richard wasn't man enough to take care of
her, and she wanted me to have her because he wouldn't.
"I gave it to her good just the way she wanted it. I gave it to the
whore good. I
hurt her good, just like she deserved-"
With all her strength, Kahlan rammed her knee into his groin. Gadi
doubled over, unable to draw his breath. His eyes rolled up in his head and
he went down hard.
Cara smiled. "I thought you might like to hear that part."
Kahlan wiped the tears from her cheeks. "It wasn't Richard. I knew it
wasn't Richard. It was this pig."
Kahlan kicked him in the ribs as he started coming around. He let out a
cry. She wagged her fingers impatiently. Cara seized him by the hair and
yanked him to his feet.
"Finish your story," Kahlan said with icy rage.
He coughed and gagged and drooled. Cara had to steady him on his feet.
She held his arms behind his back so he couldn't comfort his groin. The pain
was clearly evident in his contorted face.
"Talk, or I'll do it again!"
"Please! I was telling you when you stopped me."
"Get on with it!"
He nodded frantically. "When I was done with the whor-when I left
Nicci, Kamil and Nabbi were crazy."
Kahlan lifted his chin. "What do you mean, they were crazy?"
"They were crazy angry because I was with Richard's wife. They like
Richard, so they were crazy angry with me. They were going to do things to
me. Hurt me. So, I decided to go into the army to fight for the Order
against the heathens, and. . ."
Kahlan waited. She glanced up at Cara. The Mord-Sith did something
behind Gadi's back that made him gasp in a cry.
"And then I turned in Richard's name!"
"You did what?"
"I turned in his name before I left. I told the city guards at
Protector Muksin's office that Richard was doing criminal things, that he
was stealing work from working people-that he was making more than his fair
share."
Kahlan frowned. "What does that mean? What happens when you turn in a
name?"
Gadi was trembling in terror. He clearly didn't want to answer. Cara
pressed her Agiel against his side. Blood oozed down his sweat-soaked shirt.
He tried, but couldn't draw a breath. His ashen face began to turn purple.
"Tell her," Cara said in cold command.
Gadi gasped in a breath when she released the pressure. "They will
arrest him. They will . . . make him . . . confess."
"Confess?" Kahlan asked, fearing the answer.
Gadi nodded reluctantly. "They will torture a confession out of him,
most likely. They might even hang his body from a pole and let the birds
pick his bones if he confesses to something bad."
Kahlan swayed on her feet. She thought she might throw up. The world
had disintegrated into madness.
She kicked over the map basket and pawed through the maps until she
found the one she wanted. She pulled a pen and an ink bottle out of their
box, set the statue of Spirit on the ground, and spread the small map across
the table.
"Come here," Kahlan ordered, snapping her fingers and pointing to the
ground before the table. She put the pen in his trembling fingers after he
had shuffled close.
Kahlan pointed at the map. "We are here. Show me where you traveled
with the Order."
He pointed. "This river. I came up from the Old World with
reinforcement troops, after some training. We joined the emperor's force and
we advanced up this river basin over the summer."
Kahlan pointed to the Old World. "Now, I want you to mark the place
where you lived."
"Altur'Rang. That's it, there."
She watched him dip the pen and circle the dot and the name Altur'Rang,
far to the south-the heart of the Old World.
"Now," she said, "mark the roads you came up in the Old World-including
any cities or towns you went through."
Cara and Kahlan both watched Gadi mark roads and circle a number of
cities and towns. Warren and the Sisters were from the Old World; they knew
a great deal about the lay of the land, enabling them to provide detailed
maps.
When he'd finished, Gadi looked up.
Kahlan turned over the map. "Draw the city of Altur'Rang. I want to see
the major roads-anything you know of it."
Gadi immediately set to drawing the map for her. When he was finished,
he looked up again.
"Now, show me where this room is where Richard lives."
Gadi marked the map to indicate the place. "But I don't know if he will
be there. Lots of people turn in the names of people suspected of wrongdoing
against their fellow man. If they take the name and they arrest him . . .
the Brothers may order penance, or they could even question him and then
order him put to death."
"Brothers?" Kahlan asked.
Gadi nodded. "Brother Narev and his disciples. They are the head of the
Fellowship of Order. Brother Narev is our spiritual guide. He and the
brothers are the heart of the Order."
"What do they look like?" Kahlan asked, her mind already racing ahead.
"The brothers wear dark brown robes, with hoods. They are simple men
who have given up the luxuries of life to serve the wishes of the Creator
and the needs of mankind. Brother Narev is closer to the Creator than any
man alive. He is mankind's savior."
Gadi was clearly awed by the man. Kahlan listened while Gadi told her
everything he knew about the Fellowship of Order, about the brothers, and
about Brother Narev.
Gadi shook in the silence after he had finished. Kahlan wasn't watching