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might send us their heads. If he did, that would spare them terrible
suffering. That's the only thing we can do for them--the best we could do
for them."
Verna took stock of the grim faces and saw only resolve at what had to
be done. She sat in the chair the general held for her, wiggled the stopper
out of the ink bottle, and then took a piece of paper from a small stack in
a box to the side.
She dipped the pen and stared at the paper for a moment, trying to
decide how to phrase the letter. She tried to imagine what Kahlan would
write. As it came to her, she bent over the table and began writing.
/ don't believe you are competent enough to capture Wizard Zoran-der.
If you were, you would send us his head to prove it. Don't bother me anymore
with your whining for us to open the passes for you because you are too
inept to do it yourself.
Reading over Verna's shoulder, Rikka said, "I like it."
Verna looked up at the others. "How should I sign it?"
"What would make Jagang the most angry--or worried?" Captain Zimmer
asked.
Verna tapped the back of the pen against her chin as she thought. Then
it came to her. She put pen to paper.
Signed, the Mother Confessor.
Richard scanned the site off in the broad, green valley, watching for
any sign of troops. He looked over at Owen.
"That's Witherton?"
Hands pressed against the rich forest floor at the crown of a low
ridge, Owen pulled himself closer to the edge. He stretched his neck to see
over the rise and finally nodded before pulling back.
Richard had thought it would be bigger. "I don't see any soldiers."
Owen crawled back away from the edge. In the shadowed cover among ferns
and low scrub, he stood and brushed the moist crumbles of leaves from his
shirt and trousers.
"The men of the Order mostly stay inside the town. They have no
interest in helping to do the work. They eat our food and gamble with the
things they have taken from our people. When they do these things they are
interested in little else." His face heated to red. "At night, they used to
collect some of our women." Since the reason was obvious enough, Owen didn't
put words to it. "In the daytime they sometimes come out to check on our
people who work in the fields, or watch to see that they come back in at
night."
If the soldiers had once camped outside the city walls, they no longer
did. Apparently, they preferred the more comfortable accommodations within
the town. They had learned that these people would offer no resistance; they
could be cowed and controlled by words alone. The men of the Imperial Order
were safe sleeping among them.
The wall around Witherton blocked much of Richard's view of the place.
Other than through the open gates, there wasn't much to see. The wall was
constructed of upright posts not a great deal taller than the height of a
man. The posts, a variety of sizes no bigger around than a hand-width, were
bound tightly together, top and bottom, with rope. The wavy wall snaked
around the town, leaned in or out in places. There was no bulwark, or even a
trench before the wall. Other than keeping out grazing deer or maybe a
roaming bear, the walls certainly didn't look strong enough to withstand an
attack from the Imperial Order soldiers.
The soldiers had no doubt made a point of using the gate into the town
for reasons other than the strength of the wall. Opening the gates for
soldiers of the Imperial Order had been a symbolic sign of submission.
Broad swaths of the valley were clear of trees, leaving fields of grain
to grow alongside row crops in communal gardens. Tree limbs knitted into
fencing kept in cows. There, the wild grasses were chewed low. Chickens
roamed freely near coops. A few sheep grazed on the coarse grass.
The smells of rich soil, wildflowers, and grasses carried on a light
breeze into the woods where Richard watched. It was a great relief to have
finally descended from the pass. It had been getting difficult to breathe in
the thin air up on the high slopes. It was considerably warmer, too, down
out of the lofty mountain pass, although he still felt cold.
Richard checked the sweep of open valley one last time and then he and
Owen made their way back into the dense tangle of woods toward where the
others waited. The trees were mostly hardwoods, maple and oak, along with
patches of birch, but there were also stands of towering evergreens. Birds
chirped from the dense foliage. A squirrel up on the limb of a pine
chattered at them as they passed. The deep shade below the thick forest
crown was interrupted only occasionally by mottled sunlight.
Some of the men, swatting at bugs, stood in a rush when Richard led
Owen into the secluded forest opening. Richard was glad to stand in the
warmth of sunlight slanting in at a low angle.
It appeared that the open area in the dense woods had been created when
a huge old maple had been hit by lightning. The maple split and fell in two
directions, taking other trees down with it. Kahlan hopped down off her seat
on the trunk of the fallen monarch. Betty, her tail wagging in a blur,
greeted Richard, eagerly looking for attention, or a treat. Richard
scratched behind her ears, the goat's favorite form of attention.
More of the men came into the open from behind upturned roots that had
been turned silver by years of exposure to the elements. A crop of spruce,
none more than chest high, had sprung up in the sunny spot created when the
old maple had died such a sudden and violent death. Spread among Kahlan,
Cara, Jennsen, and Tom were the rest of the men--his army.
Back up in the pass, Ansons saying that he wanted to help rid his
people of the Imperial Order soldiers seemed to have galvanized the rest of
the men, and the balance had finally tipped. Once it had, a lifetime of
darkness and doubt gave way to a hunger to live in the light of truth. The
men all declared, in a breathtaking moment of determination, that they
wanted to join with Richard to be part of the D'Haran Empire and fight the
soldiers of the Imperial Order to gain their freedom.
They had all decided that the men of the Order were evil and deserved
death, even if they themselves had to do the killing.
When Tom glanced down to see Betty going back to browsing on weeds,
Richard noticed that the man's brow was beaded with sweat. Cara fanned
herself with a handful of big leaves from a mountain maple. Richard was
about to ask them how they could be sweating when it was such a cool day
when he realized that it was the poison making him cold. With icy dread, he
recalled how the last time he had gotten cold, the poison had nearly killed
him that awful night.
Anson and another man, John, took off their packs. They were the ones
planning to slip in among the field-workers returning to town at nightfall.
Once they sneaked into town, the two men planned to recover the antidote.
"I think I'd better go with you," Richard said to Anson. "John, why
don't you wait here with the others."
John looked surprised. "If you wish, Lord Rahl, but there is no need
for you to go."
It wasn't supposed to be a foray that would result in any violence,
only the recovery of the antidote. The attack on the Imperial Order soldiers
was to be after the antidote had been safely recovered and they had assessed
the situation, the number of men, and the layout.
"John is right," Cara said. "They can do it."
Richard was having difficulty breathing. He had to make an effort not
to cough.
"I know. I just think I had better have a look myself."
Cara and Kahlan cast sidelong glances at each other.
"But if you go in there with Anson," Jennsen said, "you can't take your
sword."
"I'm not going to start a war. I just want to get a good look around at
the place."
Kahlan stepped closer. "The two of them can scout the town and give you
a report. You can rest--they will only be gone a few hours."
"I know, but I don't think I want to wait that long."
By the way she appraised his eyes, he thought she must be able to see
how much pain he was in. She didn't argue the point further but instead
nodded her agreement.
Richard pulled the baldric and sword belt off over his head. He slipped
it all over Kahlan's head, laying the baldric across her shoulder.
"Here. I pronounce you Seeker of Truth."
She accepted the sword and the honor by planting her fists on her hips.
"Now don't you go starting anything while you're in there. That's not the
plan. You and Anson will be alone. You wait until we're all together."
"I know. I just need to get the antidote and then we'll be back in no
time."
Beside getting the antidote, Richard wanted to see the enemy forces,
how they were placed, and the layout of the town. Having the men draw a map
in the dirt was one thing, seeing it for himself was another; these men
didn't know how to evaluate threat points.
One of the men took off his light coat, something a number of the men
wore, and held it out to Richard. "Here, Lord Rahl, wear this. It will make
you look more like one of us."
With a nod of thanks, Richard drew the coat on. He had changed out of
his war wizard's outfit into traveling clothes, so he didn't think he would
look out of place with the way the men from the town of Witherton looked.
The man was nearly Richard's size, so the coat fit well enough. It also hid
his belt knife.
Jennsen shook her head. "I don't know, Richard. You just don't look
like one of them. You still look like Lord Rahl."
"What are you talking about?" Richard held out his arms, looking down
at himself. "What's wrong with the way I look?"
"Don't stand up so straight," she said.
"Hunch your shoulders and hang your head a little," Kahlan offered.
Richard took their advice seriously; he hadn't thought about it, but
the men did tend to hunch a lot. He didn't want to stand out. He had to
blend in if he didn't want to raise the suspicions of the soldiers. He bent
over a little.
"How's that?"
Jennsen screwed up her mouth. "Not much different."
"But I'm bending down."
"Lord Rahl," Cara said in a soft voice as she gave him a meaningful
look, "you remember how it was to walk behind Denna, when she held the chain
to the collar around your neck. Make yourself like that."
Richard blinked at her. The mental image of his time as a captive of a
Mord-Sith hit him like a slap. He pressed his lips tight, not saying
anything, and conceded with a single nod. The memory of that forsaken time
was depressing enough that he would have no trouble using it to fall into
the role.
"We had better be on our way," Anson said. "Now that the sun is falling
behind the mountains, darkness comes quickly." He hesitated, then spoke
again. "Lord Rahl, the men of the Order will not know you--I mean they
probably will not realize you aren't from our town. But our people do not
carry weapons; if they see that knife, they will know you are not from our
town, and they will send up an alarm."
Richard lifted open the coat, looking at the knife. "You're right." He
loosened his belt and removed the sheath holding the knife. He handed it to
Cara for safekeeping.
Richard cupped a hand quickly to the side of Kahlan's face as a way of
saying his good-bye. She seized the hand in both of hers and pressed a quick
kiss to the backs of his fingers. Her hands looked so small and delicate
holding his. He sometimes kidded her that he didn't see how she could
possibly get anything done with such small hands. Her answer was that her
hands were a normal size and perfectly adequate, and his were simply
outsized.
The men all noticed Kahlan's gesture of affection. Richard was not
embarrassed that they did. He wanted them to know that other people were the
same as they in important, human ways. This was what they were fighting
for--the chance to be human, to love and cherish loved ones, to live their
lives as they wanted.
The light faded quickly as Richard and Anson made their way through the
woods running beside fields of wild grasses. Richard wanted to work around
to where the forest came in closer to the men out weeding in the gardens and
tending to animals. With the nearby mountains to the west being so high, the
sun vanished behind them earlier than what would normally be sunset, leaving
the sky a swath of deep bluish green and the valley in an odd golden gloom.
By the time he and Anson had reached the place where they would leave
the woods, it was still a little too light, so they waited a short while
until Richard felt the murky light in the fields was dim enough to hide
them. The town was some distance away and since Richard couldn't make out
any men outside the gates, he reasoned that if soldiers were watching, then
they couldn't see him, either.
As they moved quickly through the field of wild grass, staying low and
out of sight, Anson pointed. "There, those men going back to town, we should
follow them."
Richard spoke quietly back over his shoulder. "All right, but don't
forget, we don't want to catch up with them or they might recognize you and
make a fuss. Let them stay a good distance ahead of us."
When they reached the town walls, Richard saw that the gates were no
more than two sections of the picket walls. A couple of posts no bigger than
Richard's wrist had been tied sideways to stiffen two sections of wall and
make them into gates. The ropes that tied the posts together served as the
hinges. The sections were simply lifted and swung around to open or close
them. It was far from a secure fortification.
In the murky light of twilight, the two guards milling around just
inside the gates and watching workers return couldn't really see much of
Richard and Anson. To the guards, they would appear to be two more workers.
The Order understood the value of workers; they needed slaves to do the work
so that the soldiers might eat.
Richard hunched his shoulders and hung his head as he walked. He
remembered those terrible times as a captive when, wearing a collar, he
walked behind Denna, devoid of all hope of ever again being free. Thinking
of that inhuman time, he shuffled through the open gates. The guards didn't
pay him any attention.
Just as they were nearly past the guards, the closest one reached out
and snatched Anson's sleeve, spinning him back around.
"I want some eggs," the young soldier said. "Give me some of the eggs
you collected."
Anson stood wide-eyed, not knowing what to do. It seemed ludicrous that
these two young men were allowed to serve their cause by being bullies.
Richard stepped up beside Anson and spoke quickly, remembering to bow his
head so that he wouldn't loom over the man.
"We have no eggs, sir. We were weeding the bean fields. I'm sorry. We
will bring you eggs tomorrow, if it pleases you."
Richard glanced up just as the guard backhanded him, knocking him flat
on his back. He instantly took a firm grip on his anger. Wiping blood from
his mouth, he decided to stay where he was.
"He's right," Anson said, drawing the guard's attention. "We were
weeding beans. If you wish it, we will bring you some eggs tomorrow--as many
as you want."
The guard grunted a curse at them and swaggered off, taking his
companion with him. They headed for a nearby long, low structure with a
torch lashed to a pole outside a low door. In the flickering light of that
torch, Richard couldn't make out what the place was, but it appeared to be a
building dug partway into the ground so that the eaves were at eye level.
After the two soldiers were a safe distance away, Anson offered Richard a
hand to help him up. Richard didn't think he'd been hit that hard, but his
head was spinning.
As they started out, faces back in doorways and around dark corners
peeked out to watch them. When Richard looked their way, the people ducked
back in.
"They know you are not from here," Anson whispered.
Richard didn't trust that one of those people wouldn't call the guards.
"Let's hurry up and get what we came here for."
Anson nodded and hurriedly led Richard down a narrow street with what
looked like little more than huts huddled together to each side. The single
torch burning outside the long building where the soldiers had gone provided
little light down the street. The town, at least what Richard could see of
it in the dark, was a pretty shabby-looking place. In fact, he wouldn't call
it a town so much as a village. Many of the structures appeared to be
housing for livestock, not people. Only rarely were there any lights coming
from any of the squat buildings and the light he did see looked like it came
from candles, not lamps.
At the end of the street, Richard followed Anson through a small side
door into a larger building. The cows inside mooed at the intrusion. Sheep
rustled in their pens. A few goats in other pens bleated. Richard and Anson
paused to let the animals settle down before making their way through the
barn to a ladder at the side. Richard followed Anson as he climbed quickly
to a small hayloft.
At the end of the loft, Anson reached up over a low rafter to where it
tied into the wall behind a cross brace. "Here it is," he said as he
grimaced, stretching his arm up into the hiding place.
He came out with a small, square-sided bottle and handed it to Richard.
"This is the antidote. Hurry and drink it, and then let's get out of here."
The large door banged open. Even though it was dark outside, the torch
down the street provided just enough light to silhouette the broad shape of
a man standing in the doorway. By his demeanor, he had to be a soldier.
Richard pulled the stopper from the bottle. The antidote had the slight
aroma of cinnamon. He quickly downed it, hardly noticing its sweet, spicy
taste. He never took his eyes off the man in the doorway.
"Who's in here?" the man bellowed.
"Sir," Richard called down, "I'm just getting some hay for the
livestock."
"In the dark? What are you up to? Get down here right now."
Richard put a hand against Anson's chest and pushed him back into the
darkness. "Yes, sir. I'm coming," Richard called to the soldier as he
hurried down the ladder.
At the bottom of the ladder, he turned and saw the man coming toward
him. Richard reached for his knife under the coat he was wearing, only
remembering then that he didn't have his knife. The soldier was still
silhouetted against the open barn door. Richard was in the darkness and the
man probably wouldn't be able to see him. He silently moved away from the
ladder.
As the soldier passed near him, Richard stepped in behind him and
reached to his side, seizing the knife sheathed behind the axe hanging on
his belt. Richard gingerly drew the knife just as the man stopped and looked
up the ladder to the hayloft.
As he was looking up, Richard snatched a fistful of hair with one hand
and reached around with the other, slicing deep through the soldier's throat
before he realized what was happening. Richard held the man tight as he
struggled, a wet gurgling the only sound coming from him. He reached back,
frantically grabbing at Richard for a moment before his movements lost their
energy and he went limp.
"Anson," Richard whispered up the ladder as he let the man slip to the
ground, "come on. Let's go."
Anson hurried down the ladder, coming to a halt as he reached the
bottom and turned around to see the dark shape of the dead man sprawled on
the ground.
"What happened?"
Richard looked up from his work at undoing the weapon belt around the
dead weight of the soldier. "I killed him."
"Oh."
Richard handed the knife, in its sheath, to Anson. "Here you go. Now
you have a real weapon--a long knife."
Richard rolled the dead soldier over to pull the belt the rest of the
way out from under the man. As he tugged it free, he heard a noise and
turned just in time to see another soldier running in toward them.
Anson slammed the long knife hilt-deep into the man's chest. The man
staggered back. Richard shot to his feet, bringing the weapon belt with him.
The soldier gasped for breath as he clutched at the knife handle. He dropped
heavily to his knees. One hand clawed at the air above him as he swayed.
Pulling a final gasp, he toppled to his side.
Anson stood staring at the man lying in a heap, the knife jutting from
his chest. He bent, then, and pulled his new knife free.
"Are you all right?" Richard whispered when Anson stood.
Anson nodded. "I recognize this man. We called him the weasel. He
deserved to die."
Richard gently clapped Anson on the back of the shoulder. "You did
well. Now, let's get out of here."
As they made their way back up the street, Richard asked Anson to wait
while he checked down alleyways and between low buildings, searching for
soldiers. As a guide, Richard often scouted at night. In the darkness, he
was in his element.
The town was a lot smaller than he had expected. It was also much less
organized than he thought it would be, with no apparent order to where the
simple structures had been built. The streets through the haphazard town, if
they could be called streets, were in most cases little more than footpaths
between clusters of small, single-room buildings. He saw a few handcarts,
but nothing more elaborate. There was only one road through the town,
leading back to the barn where they had recovered the antidote and run into
the two soldiers, that was wide enough to accommodate a wagon. His search
didn't turn up any patrolling soldiers.
"Do you know if all the men of the Order stay together?" Richard asked
when he returned to Anson, waiting in the shadows.
"At night they go inside. They sleep in our place, by where we came
in."
"You mean that low building where the first two soldiers went?"
"That's right. That's where most people used to gather at night, but
now the men of the Order use it for themselves."
Richard frowned at the man. "You mean you all slept together?"
Anson sounded mildly surprised by the question. "Yes. We were together
whenever possible. Many people had a house where they could work, eat, and
keep belongings, but they rarely slept in them. We usually all slept in the
sleeping houses where we gathered to talk about the day. Everyone wanted to
be together. Sometimes people would sleep in another place, but mostly we
sleep there together so we can all feel safe--much like we all slept
together at night as we made our way down out of the pass with the statue."
"And everyone just... lay down together?"
Anson diverted his eyes. "Couples often slept apart from others by
being with one another under a single blanket, but they were still together
with our people. In the dark, though, no one could see them . .. together
under a blanket."
Richard had trouble imagining such a way of life. "The whole town fit
in that sleeping building? There was enough room?"
"No, there were too many of us to all sleep in one sleeping house.
There are two." Anson pointed. "There is another on the far side of the one
you saw."
"Let's go have a look, then."
They moved quickly back toward the town gates, such as they were, and
toward the sleeping houses. The dark street was empty. Richard didn't see
anyone on the paths between buildings. What people were left in the town had
apparently gone to sleep or were afraid to come out in the darkness.
A door in one of the small homes opened a crack, as if someone inside
were peering out. The door opened wider and a thin figure dashed out toward
them.
"Anson!" came the whispered voice.
It was a boy, in his early teens. He fell to his knees and clutched
Anson's arm, kissing his hand in joy to see him.
"Anson, I am so happy that you are home! We've missed you so much. We
feared for you--feared that you were murdered."
Anson grabbed the boy by his shirt and hauled him to his feet. "Bernie,
I'm well and I'm happy to see you well, but you must go back in now. The men
will see you. If they catch you outside ..."
"Oh, please, Anson, come sleep at our house. We're so alone and
afraid."
"Who?"
"Just me and my grandfather, now. Please come in and be with us."
"I can't right now. Maybe another time."
The boy peered up at Richard, then, and when he saw that he didn't
recognize him shrank back.
"This is a friend of mine, Bernie--from another town." Anson squatted
down beside the boy. "Please, Bernie, I will return, but you must go back
inside and stay there tonight. Don't come out. We fear there might be
trouble. Stay inside. Tell your grandfather my words, will you now?"
Bernie finally agreed and ran back into the dark doorway. Richard was
eager to get out of the town before anyone else came out to pay their
respects. If he and Anson weren't careful, they would end up attracting the
attention of the soldiers.
They moved quickly the rest of the way up the street, using buildings
for cover. Pressing up against the side of one at the head of the street,
Richard peered around the corner at the squat daub-and-wattle sleeping house
where the guards had gone. The door was open, letting soft light spill out
across the ground.
"In there?" Richard whispered. "You all slept in there?"
"Yes. That is one of the sleeping houses, and beyond it the other one."
Richard thought about it for a moment. "What did you sleep on?"
"Hay. We put blankets over it, usually. We changed the hay often to
keep it fresh, but these men do not bother. They sleep like animals in dusty
old hay."
Richard looked out through the open gates at the fields. He looked back
at the sleeping house.
"And now the soldiers all sleep in there?"
"Yes. They took the place from us. They said it was to be their
barracks. Now our people--the ones still alive--must sleep wherever they
can."
Richard made Anson stay put while he slipped through the shadows, out
of the light of the torch, to survey the area beyond the first building. The
second long structure also had soldiers inside laughing and talking. There
were more men than were needed to guard such a small place, but Witherton
was the gateway into Bandakar--and the gateway out.
"Come on," Richard said as he came up beside Anson, "let's get back to
the others. I have an idea."
As they made their way to the gate, Richard looked up, as he often did,
to check the starry sky for any sign of black-tipped races. He saw instead
that the pole to each side of the gate held a body hanging by the ankles.
When Anson saw them, he paused, held frozen by the horror of the sight.
Richard laid a hand on the man's shoulder and leaned close. "Are you
all right?"
Anson shook his head. "No. But I will be better when the men who come
to us and do such things are dead."
Richard didn't know if the antidote was supposed to make him feel
better, but if it was, it hadn't yet done its work. As they crept through
the pitch-black fields, his chest hurt with every breath he took. He paused
and closed his eyes briefly against the pain of the headache caused by his
gift. He wanted nothing more than to lie down, but there was no time for
that. Everyone started out once more when he did, quietly making their way
through the fields outside of Witherton.
It felt good, at least, to have his sword back, even if he dreaded the
thought of having to draw it for fear of finding its magic was no longer
there for him. Once they recovered the other two bottles of the antidote and
he was rid of the poison, then maybe they could make it back to Nicci so
that she could help him deal with his gift.
He tried not to worry if a sorceress could help a wizard once his gift
had gone out of control, as his had. Nicci had vast experience. As soon as
he reached her, she could help him. Even if she couldn't help him, he felt
confident that she would at least know what he had to do in order to get the
help he needed. After all, she was once a Sister of the Light; the purpose
of the Sisters of the Light had been to help those with the gift to learn to
control it.
"I think I see the outer wall," Kahlan said in a quiet voice.
"Yes, that's the place." Richard pointed. "There's the gate. See it?"
"I think so," she whispered back.
It was a dark night, with no moon. While the others were having
difficulty seeing much of anything as they made their way through the dark,
Richard was glad for the conditions. The starlight was enough for him to see
by, but he didn't think it was enough to give the soldiers any help in
seeing them.
As they crept closer, the sleeping house came into view through the
open gate. The torch still burned outside the door to the building where the
soldiers slept. Richard signaled everyone to gather around close. They all
crouched low. He grabbed the shoulder of Anson's shirt and pulled him up
closer yet, then did the same with Owen.
Both now carried battle-axes. Anson also carried the knife he'd earned.
The rest of the men carried the weapons they had helped finish making.
When Richard and Anson had returned to the forest clearing, Anson had
told the waiting men everything that had happened. When he said that he
killed the man called the weasel, Richard held his breath, not sure exactly
how the men would react to hearing that one of their own had actually killed
a man. There was a brief moment of astonished silence, and then spontaneous
joy at the accomplishment.
Every man wanted to shake Anson's hand to congratulate him, to tell him
how proud they were. At that moment, any lingering doubts Richard harbored
had vanished. He had allowed the men to celebrate briefly while he waited
for the night to darken, and then they had started making their way through
the fields.
This was the night that Witherton gained its freedom.
Richard looked around at all the dark shapes. "All right, now, remember
all the things we've told you. You must stay quiet and hold the gates steady
while Anson and Owen cut the rope where they hinge. Be careful not to let
the gates fall once the ropes are cut."
In the dim starlight Richard could just make out the men nodding to his
instructions. Richard carefully checked the sky, looking for any sign of
black-tipped races. He didn't see any. It had been a long time since they'd
seen any races.
It seemed that the trick of taking to the forests just before they
changed their expected route and being careful to stay out of sight from the
sky had worked. It was possible that they had succeeded in slipping out from
under Nicholas the Slide's surveillance. If they really had escaped his
observation, then he wouldn't know where to begin looking for them.
Richard briefly squeezed Kahlan's hand and then started for the opening
in the town wall. Cara crouched close at his other side. Tom was bringing up
the rear, along with Jennsen, making sure there were no surprises from
behind.
They had left Betty not only tied up, but confined to a makeshift pen
to be sure she didn't follow after them and give them away at the wrong
moment. The goat had been unusually distraught to be left behind, but with
lives at stake they couldn't risk Jennsen's goat causing trouble. She would
be happy enough after they returned.
When they reached the fields close to the town gates, Richard motioned
for everyone to get down and stay where they were. Along with Tom, Richard
moved up to the gates, taking cover in the shadow of the wall. There was a
soldier just inside the gate, pacing slowly in his lonely nighttime sentry
duty. He wasn't being very careful, or he would not be doing such duty in
the light of the torch.
As the soldier turned to walk away from them, Tom slipped up behind the
man and swiftly silenced him. As Tom dragged the dead man through the gates
to hide him in the darkness outside the wall, Richard moved in through the
gates, staying in the shadows and away from the torch burning outside the
sleeping house. The door to the sleeping house stood open, but no light or
sound came from inside. This late, the men were bound to be asleep.
He moved past the first long building to the second, and there came
upon another guard. Quickly, silently, Richard seized the man and cut his
throat, holding him tight as he struggled. When he finally went limp,
Richard laid him in the darkness at the head of the second sleeping house,
around the corner from the torchlight.
In the distance, the men had already swarmed over the gates, holding
them up while Anson and Owen worked quickly at cutting the ropes that acted
as hinges. In moments, both sections of gate were freed. Richard could hear
the soft grunts of effort as the heavy gates were manhandled around by the
two gangs of men.
Jennsen handed Richard his bow, the string already strung. She handed
him one of the special arrows, holding the rest at the ready for him. Kahlan
slipped up to the torch on the pole outside the first building and lit
several small torches, handing each of them off to the men. She kept one for
herself.
Richard nocked the arrow and then glanced around at the faces seeming
to float before him in the wavering torchlight. In answer to the unspoken
question, they all nodded that they were ready. He checked the men balancing
the two gates and saw their nod. The bow in one hand, with his fist holding
the arrow in place, Richard gave hand signals to the men, starting them
moving.
What had been a slow, careful approach from the woods into the town
suddenly transformed into a headlong rush.
Richard held the head of the arrow nocked in his bow in the flame of
the torch Kahlan held out for him. As soon as it caught, he ran to the open
door of the sleeping house, leaned into the darkness, and fired the arrow
toward the back.
As the blazing arrow flew the length of the building, it illuminated
row upon row of men sleeping on the bed of straw. The arrow landed at the
far end, spilling flame across the straw. A few heads lifted at the
confusing sight. Jennsen handed Richard another. He immediately drew string
to cheek and the arrow shot toward the middle of the interior.
As Richard pulled back from the doorway, two men with torches, dripping
flaming drops of pitch, heaved them just inside. They hissed as they flew
through the air, landing amid the sleeping men, bouncing and tumbling
through the straw, igniting a wall of flame.
In a matter of only a few heartbeats since the attack started, the
first sleeping house was set afire from one end to the other. The largest
blaze, by design, was the fire spread by the pitch-laden torches, at the end
of the building nearest the door. Confused cries came from inside, muted by
the thick walls. The sleeping soldiers scrambled to their feet.
Richard checked that the men with the heavy gates were coming; then he
ran around the sleeping house to the second building. Jennsen, following
close behind, handed him an arrow, the flames around its head wrapped in
oil-soaked cloth making a whooshing sound as she ran.
One of his men pulled the torch from the stand outside the building
where the guard Richard killed had been patrolling. Richard leaned in the
doorway only to see a big man charging at him out of the dark interior.
Richard pressed his back against the doorjamb and kicked the man squarely in
the chest, driving him back.
Richard drew the bowstring back and shot the flaming arrow off into the
interior. As it lit the interior in its flight through the building, he
could see that some of the men had been awakened and were getting up.
Turning to take the second flaming arrow from Jennsen, he saw smoke pouring
up from the first building. As soon as he drew string to cheek and loosed
the second arrow, he leaned away and men heaved the torches in.
One torch fell back out of the doorway. It had bounced off the chest of
a man rushing for the doorway to see what was happening. The pitch from the
torch caught his greasy beard afire. He let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Richard kicked him back inside. In an instant, men by the dozens were racing
for the door, not only to escape the burning building, but to meet the
attack. Richard saw the flash of weapons being drawn.
He sprang back from the doorway as the men carrying the heavy section
of gate rushed in. They turned the gate sideways and rammed it in under the
eaves, but before they could bring the bottom down to wedge it against the
ground, the weight of bellowing men inside crashed into the section of gate
and drove it back. The men carrying it fell back, the weight knocking them
from their feet, the gate landing atop them.
Suddenly, men were pouring from the doorway. Richard's men were ready
and fell on them, driving the wooden weapons into their soft underbellies
and snapping the handles off as man after man spilled out of the doorway.
Standing to the side of the door, others used their maces to bash in the
skulls of soldiers who emerged. When one soldier came out with his sword
raised, the man to the side clubbed his arm as another rushed in and drove a
wooden stake in up under his ribs. The more men who fell at the doorway, the
more those trying to get out were slowed and could be dispatched.
The soldiers were so stunned to see these people fighting that in some
cases they fought back only ineffectually. As a soldier leaped over the
bodies in the doorway and lifted a sword, a man jumped on his back and
seized his arm while another stabbed him. Another, crying orders, charged
Jennsen, only to have the bolt of a crossbow fired into his face. A few
soldiers escaped the burning building and managed to slip past Richard's men
only to meet Cara's Agiel. Their screams, worse than the cries of men on
fire, briefly brought the gaze of every man, from both sides of the battle.
Fallen knives and swords were scooped up by the men of the town and
turned on the men from the Imperial Order. Richard fired an arrow into the
center of the chest of a man emerging from the smoke that rolled out of the
doorway. As he was falling, a second arrow felled the man behind him. As
more men rushed out, they fell over those piled around the doorway and were
hacked to death with commandeered axes or stabbed with confiscated swords.
Since they could emerge only one at a time, the soldiers couldn't mount a
coordinated attack, but those waiting could.
As Richard's men fought back those struggling to get out of the doorway
of the burning building, other men rushed to help lift the gate so those
under it could get up and get control of it. Once the gate was lifted, the
men swung it around and, with a cry of joint effort, ran with it toward the
building. They drove the top up under the eaves, first, but when they
brought the bottom edge down, the bodies piled in the doorway prevented them
from getting the bottom down so they could wedge it in place.
Richard called out orders. Some of his men rushed in and seized an arm
or a leg of a dead man and dragged the body aside so the others could
finally bring the bottom of the gate down against the building to close off
the opening.
One man from inside squeezed through just before they had the gate in
place. The weight of the door pinned him against the building. Owen leaned
in and with a sword he'd picked up decisively stabbed the man through the
throat.
As men inside pounded at the gate covering the doorway and threw their
weight against it, men on the outside piled around to push it down and hold
it in place. Other men fell to their knees and drove stakes into the ground
to lock the gate section in place, trapping the soldiers inside.Behind,
streamers of flame leaked out from under the eaves of the first building and
leaped up into the night sky. The roof of the building ignited all at once,
explosively engulfing the entire sleeping house in sparks and flames.
Screams of men being burned alive ripped the night.
The waves of heat coming off the massive fire as the first building was
consumed by the flames began to carry the heavy aroma of cooking meat. It
reminded Richard that, for the killing he did, his gift demanded the balance
of not eating meat. After all the killing of this night, since his gift was
already spinning out of control, he would have to be even more careful to
avoid eating any meat.
His head was already hurting so much that he was having trouble
focusing his vision; he couldn't afford to do anything that would further
unbalance his gift. If he was not careful, the poison wouldn't get the
chance to be the first to kill him.
Heavy black smoke billowed out from around the edges of the gate
covering the doorway of the second sleeping house. Screams and pleas came
from inside. The men of the town moved back, watching, as smoke began
rolling up from under its eaves. The battle seemed to have ended as quickly
as it had started.
No one spoke as they stood in the harsh glare from the roaring fires.
Flames ate through the second building. With a loud whoosh it was engulfed
in fire.
The heat drove everyone back away from the two sleeping houses. As they
moved back from the burning buildings, they encountered the rest of the
people of the town, all gathered in the shadows, watching in stunned
silence.
One of the older men took a step forward. "Speaker Owen, what is this?
You have committed violence?"
Owen stepped away from the men he was with to stand before the people
of his town. He held an arm back, pointing toward Richard.
"This is Lord Rahl, of the D'Haran Empire. I went in search of him to
help us be free. We have much to tell you, but for now you must know that
tonight, for the first time in many seasons, our town is free.
"Yes, we have helped Lord Rahl to kill the evil men who have terrorized
us. We have avenged the deaths of our loved ones. We will no longer be
victims. We will be free!"
Standing silently, the people seemed able only to stare at him. Many
looked confused. Some looked quietly jubilant, but most just looked stunned.
The boy, Bernie, ran up to Anson, peering up in astonishment. "An-son,
you and our other people have freed us? Truly?"
"Yes." He laid a hand on Bernie's shoulder. "Our town is now free."
"Thank you." He broke into a grin as he turned back to the town's
people. "We are free of the murderers!"
A sudden, spontaneous cheer rose into the night, drowning out the sound
of the crackling flames. The people rushed in around men they had not seen
for months, touching them, hugging them, all asking questions of the men.
Richard took Kahlan's hand as he stepped back out of the way, joining
Cara, Jennsen, and Tom. These people who were so against violence, who lived
their whole life avoiding the truth of what their beliefs caused, were now
basking in the tearful joy of what it really meant to be freed from terror
and violence.
People slowly left their men to come and look at Richard and those
standing with him. He and Kahlan smiled at their obvious joy. They gathered
in close before him, smiling, staring, as if Richard and those with him were
some strange creatures from afar.
Bernie had attached himself to Anson's arm. Others had the rest of the
men firmly embraced. One by one, though, the men started pulling away so
that they could stand behind Richard and Kahlan.
"We are so happy that you are home, now," people were telling the men.
"We have you back, at last."
"Now we are all together again," Bernie said.
"We can't stay," Anson told him.
Everyone in the crowd fell silent.
Bernie, like many of the others, looked heartbroken. "What?"
Buzzing, worried whispers spread through the crowd. Everyone was shaken
by the news that the men were not home to stay.
Owen lifted a hand so they would listen. When they went silent, he
explained.
"The people of Bandakar are still under the cruel power of the men from
the Order. Just as you have become free tonight, so must the rest of the
people of Bandakar be free.
"Lord Rahl and his wife, the Mother Confessor, as well as his friend
and protector Cara, his sister Jennsen, and Tom, another friend and
protector, have all agreed to help us. They cannot do it alone. We must be
part of it, for this is our land, but more importantly, our people, our
loved ones."
"Owen, you must not engage in violence," an older man said. In view of
suffering. That's the only thing we can do for them--the best we could do
for them."
Verna took stock of the grim faces and saw only resolve at what had to
be done. She sat in the chair the general held for her, wiggled the stopper
out of the ink bottle, and then took a piece of paper from a small stack in
a box to the side.
She dipped the pen and stared at the paper for a moment, trying to
decide how to phrase the letter. She tried to imagine what Kahlan would
write. As it came to her, she bent over the table and began writing.
/ don't believe you are competent enough to capture Wizard Zoran-der.
If you were, you would send us his head to prove it. Don't bother me anymore
with your whining for us to open the passes for you because you are too
inept to do it yourself.
Reading over Verna's shoulder, Rikka said, "I like it."
Verna looked up at the others. "How should I sign it?"
"What would make Jagang the most angry--or worried?" Captain Zimmer
asked.
Verna tapped the back of the pen against her chin as she thought. Then
it came to her. She put pen to paper.
Signed, the Mother Confessor.
Richard scanned the site off in the broad, green valley, watching for
any sign of troops. He looked over at Owen.
"That's Witherton?"
Hands pressed against the rich forest floor at the crown of a low
ridge, Owen pulled himself closer to the edge. He stretched his neck to see
over the rise and finally nodded before pulling back.
Richard had thought it would be bigger. "I don't see any soldiers."
Owen crawled back away from the edge. In the shadowed cover among ferns
and low scrub, he stood and brushed the moist crumbles of leaves from his
shirt and trousers.
"The men of the Order mostly stay inside the town. They have no
interest in helping to do the work. They eat our food and gamble with the
things they have taken from our people. When they do these things they are
interested in little else." His face heated to red. "At night, they used to
collect some of our women." Since the reason was obvious enough, Owen didn't
put words to it. "In the daytime they sometimes come out to check on our
people who work in the fields, or watch to see that they come back in at
night."
If the soldiers had once camped outside the city walls, they no longer
did. Apparently, they preferred the more comfortable accommodations within
the town. They had learned that these people would offer no resistance; they
could be cowed and controlled by words alone. The men of the Imperial Order
were safe sleeping among them.
The wall around Witherton blocked much of Richard's view of the place.
Other than through the open gates, there wasn't much to see. The wall was
constructed of upright posts not a great deal taller than the height of a
man. The posts, a variety of sizes no bigger around than a hand-width, were
bound tightly together, top and bottom, with rope. The wavy wall snaked
around the town, leaned in or out in places. There was no bulwark, or even a
trench before the wall. Other than keeping out grazing deer or maybe a
roaming bear, the walls certainly didn't look strong enough to withstand an
attack from the Imperial Order soldiers.
The soldiers had no doubt made a point of using the gate into the town
for reasons other than the strength of the wall. Opening the gates for
soldiers of the Imperial Order had been a symbolic sign of submission.
Broad swaths of the valley were clear of trees, leaving fields of grain
to grow alongside row crops in communal gardens. Tree limbs knitted into
fencing kept in cows. There, the wild grasses were chewed low. Chickens
roamed freely near coops. A few sheep grazed on the coarse grass.
The smells of rich soil, wildflowers, and grasses carried on a light
breeze into the woods where Richard watched. It was a great relief to have
finally descended from the pass. It had been getting difficult to breathe in
the thin air up on the high slopes. It was considerably warmer, too, down
out of the lofty mountain pass, although he still felt cold.
Richard checked the sweep of open valley one last time and then he and
Owen made their way back into the dense tangle of woods toward where the
others waited. The trees were mostly hardwoods, maple and oak, along with
patches of birch, but there were also stands of towering evergreens. Birds
chirped from the dense foliage. A squirrel up on the limb of a pine
chattered at them as they passed. The deep shade below the thick forest
crown was interrupted only occasionally by mottled sunlight.
Some of the men, swatting at bugs, stood in a rush when Richard led
Owen into the secluded forest opening. Richard was glad to stand in the
warmth of sunlight slanting in at a low angle.
It appeared that the open area in the dense woods had been created when
a huge old maple had been hit by lightning. The maple split and fell in two
directions, taking other trees down with it. Kahlan hopped down off her seat
on the trunk of the fallen monarch. Betty, her tail wagging in a blur,
greeted Richard, eagerly looking for attention, or a treat. Richard
scratched behind her ears, the goat's favorite form of attention.
More of the men came into the open from behind upturned roots that had
been turned silver by years of exposure to the elements. A crop of spruce,
none more than chest high, had sprung up in the sunny spot created when the
old maple had died such a sudden and violent death. Spread among Kahlan,
Cara, Jennsen, and Tom were the rest of the men--his army.
Back up in the pass, Ansons saying that he wanted to help rid his
people of the Imperial Order soldiers seemed to have galvanized the rest of
the men, and the balance had finally tipped. Once it had, a lifetime of
darkness and doubt gave way to a hunger to live in the light of truth. The
men all declared, in a breathtaking moment of determination, that they
wanted to join with Richard to be part of the D'Haran Empire and fight the
soldiers of the Imperial Order to gain their freedom.
They had all decided that the men of the Order were evil and deserved
death, even if they themselves had to do the killing.
When Tom glanced down to see Betty going back to browsing on weeds,
Richard noticed that the man's brow was beaded with sweat. Cara fanned
herself with a handful of big leaves from a mountain maple. Richard was
about to ask them how they could be sweating when it was such a cool day
when he realized that it was the poison making him cold. With icy dread, he
recalled how the last time he had gotten cold, the poison had nearly killed
him that awful night.
Anson and another man, John, took off their packs. They were the ones
planning to slip in among the field-workers returning to town at nightfall.
Once they sneaked into town, the two men planned to recover the antidote.
"I think I'd better go with you," Richard said to Anson. "John, why
don't you wait here with the others."
John looked surprised. "If you wish, Lord Rahl, but there is no need
for you to go."
It wasn't supposed to be a foray that would result in any violence,
only the recovery of the antidote. The attack on the Imperial Order soldiers
was to be after the antidote had been safely recovered and they had assessed
the situation, the number of men, and the layout.
"John is right," Cara said. "They can do it."
Richard was having difficulty breathing. He had to make an effort not
to cough.
"I know. I just think I had better have a look myself."
Cara and Kahlan cast sidelong glances at each other.
"But if you go in there with Anson," Jennsen said, "you can't take your
sword."
"I'm not going to start a war. I just want to get a good look around at
the place."
Kahlan stepped closer. "The two of them can scout the town and give you
a report. You can rest--they will only be gone a few hours."
"I know, but I don't think I want to wait that long."
By the way she appraised his eyes, he thought she must be able to see
how much pain he was in. She didn't argue the point further but instead
nodded her agreement.
Richard pulled the baldric and sword belt off over his head. He slipped
it all over Kahlan's head, laying the baldric across her shoulder.
"Here. I pronounce you Seeker of Truth."
She accepted the sword and the honor by planting her fists on her hips.
"Now don't you go starting anything while you're in there. That's not the
plan. You and Anson will be alone. You wait until we're all together."
"I know. I just need to get the antidote and then we'll be back in no
time."
Beside getting the antidote, Richard wanted to see the enemy forces,
how they were placed, and the layout of the town. Having the men draw a map
in the dirt was one thing, seeing it for himself was another; these men
didn't know how to evaluate threat points.
One of the men took off his light coat, something a number of the men
wore, and held it out to Richard. "Here, Lord Rahl, wear this. It will make
you look more like one of us."
With a nod of thanks, Richard drew the coat on. He had changed out of
his war wizard's outfit into traveling clothes, so he didn't think he would
look out of place with the way the men from the town of Witherton looked.
The man was nearly Richard's size, so the coat fit well enough. It also hid
his belt knife.
Jennsen shook her head. "I don't know, Richard. You just don't look
like one of them. You still look like Lord Rahl."
"What are you talking about?" Richard held out his arms, looking down
at himself. "What's wrong with the way I look?"
"Don't stand up so straight," she said.
"Hunch your shoulders and hang your head a little," Kahlan offered.
Richard took their advice seriously; he hadn't thought about it, but
the men did tend to hunch a lot. He didn't want to stand out. He had to
blend in if he didn't want to raise the suspicions of the soldiers. He bent
over a little.
"How's that?"
Jennsen screwed up her mouth. "Not much different."
"But I'm bending down."
"Lord Rahl," Cara said in a soft voice as she gave him a meaningful
look, "you remember how it was to walk behind Denna, when she held the chain
to the collar around your neck. Make yourself like that."
Richard blinked at her. The mental image of his time as a captive of a
Mord-Sith hit him like a slap. He pressed his lips tight, not saying
anything, and conceded with a single nod. The memory of that forsaken time
was depressing enough that he would have no trouble using it to fall into
the role.
"We had better be on our way," Anson said. "Now that the sun is falling
behind the mountains, darkness comes quickly." He hesitated, then spoke
again. "Lord Rahl, the men of the Order will not know you--I mean they
probably will not realize you aren't from our town. But our people do not
carry weapons; if they see that knife, they will know you are not from our
town, and they will send up an alarm."
Richard lifted open the coat, looking at the knife. "You're right." He
loosened his belt and removed the sheath holding the knife. He handed it to
Cara for safekeeping.
Richard cupped a hand quickly to the side of Kahlan's face as a way of
saying his good-bye. She seized the hand in both of hers and pressed a quick
kiss to the backs of his fingers. Her hands looked so small and delicate
holding his. He sometimes kidded her that he didn't see how she could
possibly get anything done with such small hands. Her answer was that her
hands were a normal size and perfectly adequate, and his were simply
outsized.
The men all noticed Kahlan's gesture of affection. Richard was not
embarrassed that they did. He wanted them to know that other people were the
same as they in important, human ways. This was what they were fighting
for--the chance to be human, to love and cherish loved ones, to live their
lives as they wanted.
The light faded quickly as Richard and Anson made their way through the
woods running beside fields of wild grasses. Richard wanted to work around
to where the forest came in closer to the men out weeding in the gardens and
tending to animals. With the nearby mountains to the west being so high, the
sun vanished behind them earlier than what would normally be sunset, leaving
the sky a swath of deep bluish green and the valley in an odd golden gloom.
By the time he and Anson had reached the place where they would leave
the woods, it was still a little too light, so they waited a short while
until Richard felt the murky light in the fields was dim enough to hide
them. The town was some distance away and since Richard couldn't make out
any men outside the gates, he reasoned that if soldiers were watching, then
they couldn't see him, either.
As they moved quickly through the field of wild grass, staying low and
out of sight, Anson pointed. "There, those men going back to town, we should
follow them."
Richard spoke quietly back over his shoulder. "All right, but don't
forget, we don't want to catch up with them or they might recognize you and
make a fuss. Let them stay a good distance ahead of us."
When they reached the town walls, Richard saw that the gates were no
more than two sections of the picket walls. A couple of posts no bigger than
Richard's wrist had been tied sideways to stiffen two sections of wall and
make them into gates. The ropes that tied the posts together served as the
hinges. The sections were simply lifted and swung around to open or close
them. It was far from a secure fortification.
In the murky light of twilight, the two guards milling around just
inside the gates and watching workers return couldn't really see much of
Richard and Anson. To the guards, they would appear to be two more workers.
The Order understood the value of workers; they needed slaves to do the work
so that the soldiers might eat.
Richard hunched his shoulders and hung his head as he walked. He
remembered those terrible times as a captive when, wearing a collar, he
walked behind Denna, devoid of all hope of ever again being free. Thinking
of that inhuman time, he shuffled through the open gates. The guards didn't
pay him any attention.
Just as they were nearly past the guards, the closest one reached out
and snatched Anson's sleeve, spinning him back around.
"I want some eggs," the young soldier said. "Give me some of the eggs
you collected."
Anson stood wide-eyed, not knowing what to do. It seemed ludicrous that
these two young men were allowed to serve their cause by being bullies.
Richard stepped up beside Anson and spoke quickly, remembering to bow his
head so that he wouldn't loom over the man.
"We have no eggs, sir. We were weeding the bean fields. I'm sorry. We
will bring you eggs tomorrow, if it pleases you."
Richard glanced up just as the guard backhanded him, knocking him flat
on his back. He instantly took a firm grip on his anger. Wiping blood from
his mouth, he decided to stay where he was.
"He's right," Anson said, drawing the guard's attention. "We were
weeding beans. If you wish it, we will bring you some eggs tomorrow--as many
as you want."
The guard grunted a curse at them and swaggered off, taking his
companion with him. They headed for a nearby long, low structure with a
torch lashed to a pole outside a low door. In the flickering light of that
torch, Richard couldn't make out what the place was, but it appeared to be a
building dug partway into the ground so that the eaves were at eye level.
After the two soldiers were a safe distance away, Anson offered Richard a
hand to help him up. Richard didn't think he'd been hit that hard, but his
head was spinning.
As they started out, faces back in doorways and around dark corners
peeked out to watch them. When Richard looked their way, the people ducked
back in.
"They know you are not from here," Anson whispered.
Richard didn't trust that one of those people wouldn't call the guards.
"Let's hurry up and get what we came here for."
Anson nodded and hurriedly led Richard down a narrow street with what
looked like little more than huts huddled together to each side. The single
torch burning outside the long building where the soldiers had gone provided
little light down the street. The town, at least what Richard could see of
it in the dark, was a pretty shabby-looking place. In fact, he wouldn't call
it a town so much as a village. Many of the structures appeared to be
housing for livestock, not people. Only rarely were there any lights coming
from any of the squat buildings and the light he did see looked like it came
from candles, not lamps.
At the end of the street, Richard followed Anson through a small side
door into a larger building. The cows inside mooed at the intrusion. Sheep
rustled in their pens. A few goats in other pens bleated. Richard and Anson
paused to let the animals settle down before making their way through the
barn to a ladder at the side. Richard followed Anson as he climbed quickly
to a small hayloft.
At the end of the loft, Anson reached up over a low rafter to where it
tied into the wall behind a cross brace. "Here it is," he said as he
grimaced, stretching his arm up into the hiding place.
He came out with a small, square-sided bottle and handed it to Richard.
"This is the antidote. Hurry and drink it, and then let's get out of here."
The large door banged open. Even though it was dark outside, the torch
down the street provided just enough light to silhouette the broad shape of
a man standing in the doorway. By his demeanor, he had to be a soldier.
Richard pulled the stopper from the bottle. The antidote had the slight
aroma of cinnamon. He quickly downed it, hardly noticing its sweet, spicy
taste. He never took his eyes off the man in the doorway.
"Who's in here?" the man bellowed.
"Sir," Richard called down, "I'm just getting some hay for the
livestock."
"In the dark? What are you up to? Get down here right now."
Richard put a hand against Anson's chest and pushed him back into the
darkness. "Yes, sir. I'm coming," Richard called to the soldier as he
hurried down the ladder.
At the bottom of the ladder, he turned and saw the man coming toward
him. Richard reached for his knife under the coat he was wearing, only
remembering then that he didn't have his knife. The soldier was still
silhouetted against the open barn door. Richard was in the darkness and the
man probably wouldn't be able to see him. He silently moved away from the
ladder.
As the soldier passed near him, Richard stepped in behind him and
reached to his side, seizing the knife sheathed behind the axe hanging on
his belt. Richard gingerly drew the knife just as the man stopped and looked
up the ladder to the hayloft.
As he was looking up, Richard snatched a fistful of hair with one hand
and reached around with the other, slicing deep through the soldier's throat
before he realized what was happening. Richard held the man tight as he
struggled, a wet gurgling the only sound coming from him. He reached back,
frantically grabbing at Richard for a moment before his movements lost their
energy and he went limp.
"Anson," Richard whispered up the ladder as he let the man slip to the
ground, "come on. Let's go."
Anson hurried down the ladder, coming to a halt as he reached the
bottom and turned around to see the dark shape of the dead man sprawled on
the ground.
"What happened?"
Richard looked up from his work at undoing the weapon belt around the
dead weight of the soldier. "I killed him."
"Oh."
Richard handed the knife, in its sheath, to Anson. "Here you go. Now
you have a real weapon--a long knife."
Richard rolled the dead soldier over to pull the belt the rest of the
way out from under the man. As he tugged it free, he heard a noise and
turned just in time to see another soldier running in toward them.
Anson slammed the long knife hilt-deep into the man's chest. The man
staggered back. Richard shot to his feet, bringing the weapon belt with him.
The soldier gasped for breath as he clutched at the knife handle. He dropped
heavily to his knees. One hand clawed at the air above him as he swayed.
Pulling a final gasp, he toppled to his side.
Anson stood staring at the man lying in a heap, the knife jutting from
his chest. He bent, then, and pulled his new knife free.
"Are you all right?" Richard whispered when Anson stood.
Anson nodded. "I recognize this man. We called him the weasel. He
deserved to die."
Richard gently clapped Anson on the back of the shoulder. "You did
well. Now, let's get out of here."
As they made their way back up the street, Richard asked Anson to wait
while he checked down alleyways and between low buildings, searching for
soldiers. As a guide, Richard often scouted at night. In the darkness, he
was in his element.
The town was a lot smaller than he had expected. It was also much less
organized than he thought it would be, with no apparent order to where the
simple structures had been built. The streets through the haphazard town, if
they could be called streets, were in most cases little more than footpaths
between clusters of small, single-room buildings. He saw a few handcarts,
but nothing more elaborate. There was only one road through the town,
leading back to the barn where they had recovered the antidote and run into
the two soldiers, that was wide enough to accommodate a wagon. His search
didn't turn up any patrolling soldiers.
"Do you know if all the men of the Order stay together?" Richard asked
when he returned to Anson, waiting in the shadows.
"At night they go inside. They sleep in our place, by where we came
in."
"You mean that low building where the first two soldiers went?"
"That's right. That's where most people used to gather at night, but
now the men of the Order use it for themselves."
Richard frowned at the man. "You mean you all slept together?"
Anson sounded mildly surprised by the question. "Yes. We were together
whenever possible. Many people had a house where they could work, eat, and
keep belongings, but they rarely slept in them. We usually all slept in the
sleeping houses where we gathered to talk about the day. Everyone wanted to
be together. Sometimes people would sleep in another place, but mostly we
sleep there together so we can all feel safe--much like we all slept
together at night as we made our way down out of the pass with the statue."
"And everyone just... lay down together?"
Anson diverted his eyes. "Couples often slept apart from others by
being with one another under a single blanket, but they were still together
with our people. In the dark, though, no one could see them . .. together
under a blanket."
Richard had trouble imagining such a way of life. "The whole town fit
in that sleeping building? There was enough room?"
"No, there were too many of us to all sleep in one sleeping house.
There are two." Anson pointed. "There is another on the far side of the one
you saw."
"Let's go have a look, then."
They moved quickly back toward the town gates, such as they were, and
toward the sleeping houses. The dark street was empty. Richard didn't see
anyone on the paths between buildings. What people were left in the town had
apparently gone to sleep or were afraid to come out in the darkness.
A door in one of the small homes opened a crack, as if someone inside
were peering out. The door opened wider and a thin figure dashed out toward
them.
"Anson!" came the whispered voice.
It was a boy, in his early teens. He fell to his knees and clutched
Anson's arm, kissing his hand in joy to see him.
"Anson, I am so happy that you are home! We've missed you so much. We
feared for you--feared that you were murdered."
Anson grabbed the boy by his shirt and hauled him to his feet. "Bernie,
I'm well and I'm happy to see you well, but you must go back in now. The men
will see you. If they catch you outside ..."
"Oh, please, Anson, come sleep at our house. We're so alone and
afraid."
"Who?"
"Just me and my grandfather, now. Please come in and be with us."
"I can't right now. Maybe another time."
The boy peered up at Richard, then, and when he saw that he didn't
recognize him shrank back.
"This is a friend of mine, Bernie--from another town." Anson squatted
down beside the boy. "Please, Bernie, I will return, but you must go back
inside and stay there tonight. Don't come out. We fear there might be
trouble. Stay inside. Tell your grandfather my words, will you now?"
Bernie finally agreed and ran back into the dark doorway. Richard was
eager to get out of the town before anyone else came out to pay their
respects. If he and Anson weren't careful, they would end up attracting the
attention of the soldiers.
They moved quickly the rest of the way up the street, using buildings
for cover. Pressing up against the side of one at the head of the street,
Richard peered around the corner at the squat daub-and-wattle sleeping house
where the guards had gone. The door was open, letting soft light spill out
across the ground.
"In there?" Richard whispered. "You all slept in there?"
"Yes. That is one of the sleeping houses, and beyond it the other one."
Richard thought about it for a moment. "What did you sleep on?"
"Hay. We put blankets over it, usually. We changed the hay often to
keep it fresh, but these men do not bother. They sleep like animals in dusty
old hay."
Richard looked out through the open gates at the fields. He looked back
at the sleeping house.
"And now the soldiers all sleep in there?"
"Yes. They took the place from us. They said it was to be their
barracks. Now our people--the ones still alive--must sleep wherever they
can."
Richard made Anson stay put while he slipped through the shadows, out
of the light of the torch, to survey the area beyond the first building. The
second long structure also had soldiers inside laughing and talking. There
were more men than were needed to guard such a small place, but Witherton
was the gateway into Bandakar--and the gateway out.
"Come on," Richard said as he came up beside Anson, "let's get back to
the others. I have an idea."
As they made their way to the gate, Richard looked up, as he often did,
to check the starry sky for any sign of black-tipped races. He saw instead
that the pole to each side of the gate held a body hanging by the ankles.
When Anson saw them, he paused, held frozen by the horror of the sight.
Richard laid a hand on the man's shoulder and leaned close. "Are you
all right?"
Anson shook his head. "No. But I will be better when the men who come
to us and do such things are dead."
Richard didn't know if the antidote was supposed to make him feel
better, but if it was, it hadn't yet done its work. As they crept through
the pitch-black fields, his chest hurt with every breath he took. He paused
and closed his eyes briefly against the pain of the headache caused by his
gift. He wanted nothing more than to lie down, but there was no time for
that. Everyone started out once more when he did, quietly making their way
through the fields outside of Witherton.
It felt good, at least, to have his sword back, even if he dreaded the
thought of having to draw it for fear of finding its magic was no longer
there for him. Once they recovered the other two bottles of the antidote and
he was rid of the poison, then maybe they could make it back to Nicci so
that she could help him deal with his gift.
He tried not to worry if a sorceress could help a wizard once his gift
had gone out of control, as his had. Nicci had vast experience. As soon as
he reached her, she could help him. Even if she couldn't help him, he felt
confident that she would at least know what he had to do in order to get the
help he needed. After all, she was once a Sister of the Light; the purpose
of the Sisters of the Light had been to help those with the gift to learn to
control it.
"I think I see the outer wall," Kahlan said in a quiet voice.
"Yes, that's the place." Richard pointed. "There's the gate. See it?"
"I think so," she whispered back.
It was a dark night, with no moon. While the others were having
difficulty seeing much of anything as they made their way through the dark,
Richard was glad for the conditions. The starlight was enough for him to see
by, but he didn't think it was enough to give the soldiers any help in
seeing them.
As they crept closer, the sleeping house came into view through the
open gate. The torch still burned outside the door to the building where the
soldiers slept. Richard signaled everyone to gather around close. They all
crouched low. He grabbed the shoulder of Anson's shirt and pulled him up
closer yet, then did the same with Owen.
Both now carried battle-axes. Anson also carried the knife he'd earned.
The rest of the men carried the weapons they had helped finish making.
When Richard and Anson had returned to the forest clearing, Anson had
told the waiting men everything that had happened. When he said that he
killed the man called the weasel, Richard held his breath, not sure exactly
how the men would react to hearing that one of their own had actually killed
a man. There was a brief moment of astonished silence, and then spontaneous
joy at the accomplishment.
Every man wanted to shake Anson's hand to congratulate him, to tell him
how proud they were. At that moment, any lingering doubts Richard harbored
had vanished. He had allowed the men to celebrate briefly while he waited
for the night to darken, and then they had started making their way through
the fields.
This was the night that Witherton gained its freedom.
Richard looked around at all the dark shapes. "All right, now, remember
all the things we've told you. You must stay quiet and hold the gates steady
while Anson and Owen cut the rope where they hinge. Be careful not to let
the gates fall once the ropes are cut."
In the dim starlight Richard could just make out the men nodding to his
instructions. Richard carefully checked the sky, looking for any sign of
black-tipped races. He didn't see any. It had been a long time since they'd
seen any races.
It seemed that the trick of taking to the forests just before they
changed their expected route and being careful to stay out of sight from the
sky had worked. It was possible that they had succeeded in slipping out from
under Nicholas the Slide's surveillance. If they really had escaped his
observation, then he wouldn't know where to begin looking for them.
Richard briefly squeezed Kahlan's hand and then started for the opening
in the town wall. Cara crouched close at his other side. Tom was bringing up
the rear, along with Jennsen, making sure there were no surprises from
behind.
They had left Betty not only tied up, but confined to a makeshift pen
to be sure she didn't follow after them and give them away at the wrong
moment. The goat had been unusually distraught to be left behind, but with
lives at stake they couldn't risk Jennsen's goat causing trouble. She would
be happy enough after they returned.
When they reached the fields close to the town gates, Richard motioned
for everyone to get down and stay where they were. Along with Tom, Richard
moved up to the gates, taking cover in the shadow of the wall. There was a
soldier just inside the gate, pacing slowly in his lonely nighttime sentry
duty. He wasn't being very careful, or he would not be doing such duty in
the light of the torch.
As the soldier turned to walk away from them, Tom slipped up behind the
man and swiftly silenced him. As Tom dragged the dead man through the gates
to hide him in the darkness outside the wall, Richard moved in through the
gates, staying in the shadows and away from the torch burning outside the
sleeping house. The door to the sleeping house stood open, but no light or
sound came from inside. This late, the men were bound to be asleep.
He moved past the first long building to the second, and there came
upon another guard. Quickly, silently, Richard seized the man and cut his
throat, holding him tight as he struggled. When he finally went limp,
Richard laid him in the darkness at the head of the second sleeping house,
around the corner from the torchlight.
In the distance, the men had already swarmed over the gates, holding
them up while Anson and Owen worked quickly at cutting the ropes that acted
as hinges. In moments, both sections of gate were freed. Richard could hear
the soft grunts of effort as the heavy gates were manhandled around by the
two gangs of men.
Jennsen handed Richard his bow, the string already strung. She handed
him one of the special arrows, holding the rest at the ready for him. Kahlan
slipped up to the torch on the pole outside the first building and lit
several small torches, handing each of them off to the men. She kept one for
herself.
Richard nocked the arrow and then glanced around at the faces seeming
to float before him in the wavering torchlight. In answer to the unspoken
question, they all nodded that they were ready. He checked the men balancing
the two gates and saw their nod. The bow in one hand, with his fist holding
the arrow in place, Richard gave hand signals to the men, starting them
moving.
What had been a slow, careful approach from the woods into the town
suddenly transformed into a headlong rush.
Richard held the head of the arrow nocked in his bow in the flame of
the torch Kahlan held out for him. As soon as it caught, he ran to the open
door of the sleeping house, leaned into the darkness, and fired the arrow
toward the back.
As the blazing arrow flew the length of the building, it illuminated
row upon row of men sleeping on the bed of straw. The arrow landed at the
far end, spilling flame across the straw. A few heads lifted at the
confusing sight. Jennsen handed Richard another. He immediately drew string
to cheek and the arrow shot toward the middle of the interior.
As Richard pulled back from the doorway, two men with torches, dripping
flaming drops of pitch, heaved them just inside. They hissed as they flew
through the air, landing amid the sleeping men, bouncing and tumbling
through the straw, igniting a wall of flame.
In a matter of only a few heartbeats since the attack started, the
first sleeping house was set afire from one end to the other. The largest
blaze, by design, was the fire spread by the pitch-laden torches, at the end
of the building nearest the door. Confused cries came from inside, muted by
the thick walls. The sleeping soldiers scrambled to their feet.
Richard checked that the men with the heavy gates were coming; then he
ran around the sleeping house to the second building. Jennsen, following
close behind, handed him an arrow, the flames around its head wrapped in
oil-soaked cloth making a whooshing sound as she ran.
One of his men pulled the torch from the stand outside the building
where the guard Richard killed had been patrolling. Richard leaned in the
doorway only to see a big man charging at him out of the dark interior.
Richard pressed his back against the doorjamb and kicked the man squarely in
the chest, driving him back.
Richard drew the bowstring back and shot the flaming arrow off into the
interior. As it lit the interior in its flight through the building, he
could see that some of the men had been awakened and were getting up.
Turning to take the second flaming arrow from Jennsen, he saw smoke pouring
up from the first building. As soon as he drew string to cheek and loosed
the second arrow, he leaned away and men heaved the torches in.
One torch fell back out of the doorway. It had bounced off the chest of
a man rushing for the doorway to see what was happening. The pitch from the
torch caught his greasy beard afire. He let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Richard kicked him back inside. In an instant, men by the dozens were racing
for the door, not only to escape the burning building, but to meet the
attack. Richard saw the flash of weapons being drawn.
He sprang back from the doorway as the men carrying the heavy section
of gate rushed in. They turned the gate sideways and rammed it in under the
eaves, but before they could bring the bottom down to wedge it against the
ground, the weight of bellowing men inside crashed into the section of gate
and drove it back. The men carrying it fell back, the weight knocking them
from their feet, the gate landing atop them.
Suddenly, men were pouring from the doorway. Richard's men were ready
and fell on them, driving the wooden weapons into their soft underbellies
and snapping the handles off as man after man spilled out of the doorway.
Standing to the side of the door, others used their maces to bash in the
skulls of soldiers who emerged. When one soldier came out with his sword
raised, the man to the side clubbed his arm as another rushed in and drove a
wooden stake in up under his ribs. The more men who fell at the doorway, the
more those trying to get out were slowed and could be dispatched.
The soldiers were so stunned to see these people fighting that in some
cases they fought back only ineffectually. As a soldier leaped over the
bodies in the doorway and lifted a sword, a man jumped on his back and
seized his arm while another stabbed him. Another, crying orders, charged
Jennsen, only to have the bolt of a crossbow fired into his face. A few
soldiers escaped the burning building and managed to slip past Richard's men
only to meet Cara's Agiel. Their screams, worse than the cries of men on
fire, briefly brought the gaze of every man, from both sides of the battle.
Fallen knives and swords were scooped up by the men of the town and
turned on the men from the Imperial Order. Richard fired an arrow into the
center of the chest of a man emerging from the smoke that rolled out of the
doorway. As he was falling, a second arrow felled the man behind him. As
more men rushed out, they fell over those piled around the doorway and were
hacked to death with commandeered axes or stabbed with confiscated swords.
Since they could emerge only one at a time, the soldiers couldn't mount a
coordinated attack, but those waiting could.
As Richard's men fought back those struggling to get out of the doorway
of the burning building, other men rushed to help lift the gate so those
under it could get up and get control of it. Once the gate was lifted, the
men swung it around and, with a cry of joint effort, ran with it toward the
building. They drove the top up under the eaves, first, but when they
brought the bottom edge down, the bodies piled in the doorway prevented them
from getting the bottom down so they could wedge it in place.
Richard called out orders. Some of his men rushed in and seized an arm
or a leg of a dead man and dragged the body aside so the others could
finally bring the bottom of the gate down against the building to close off
the opening.
One man from inside squeezed through just before they had the gate in
place. The weight of the door pinned him against the building. Owen leaned
in and with a sword he'd picked up decisively stabbed the man through the
throat.
As men inside pounded at the gate covering the doorway and threw their
weight against it, men on the outside piled around to push it down and hold
it in place. Other men fell to their knees and drove stakes into the ground
to lock the gate section in place, trapping the soldiers inside.Behind,
streamers of flame leaked out from under the eaves of the first building and
leaped up into the night sky. The roof of the building ignited all at once,
explosively engulfing the entire sleeping house in sparks and flames.
Screams of men being burned alive ripped the night.
The waves of heat coming off the massive fire as the first building was
consumed by the flames began to carry the heavy aroma of cooking meat. It
reminded Richard that, for the killing he did, his gift demanded the balance
of not eating meat. After all the killing of this night, since his gift was
already spinning out of control, he would have to be even more careful to
avoid eating any meat.
His head was already hurting so much that he was having trouble
focusing his vision; he couldn't afford to do anything that would further
unbalance his gift. If he was not careful, the poison wouldn't get the
chance to be the first to kill him.
Heavy black smoke billowed out from around the edges of the gate
covering the doorway of the second sleeping house. Screams and pleas came
from inside. The men of the town moved back, watching, as smoke began
rolling up from under its eaves. The battle seemed to have ended as quickly
as it had started.
No one spoke as they stood in the harsh glare from the roaring fires.
Flames ate through the second building. With a loud whoosh it was engulfed
in fire.
The heat drove everyone back away from the two sleeping houses. As they
moved back from the burning buildings, they encountered the rest of the
people of the town, all gathered in the shadows, watching in stunned
silence.
One of the older men took a step forward. "Speaker Owen, what is this?
You have committed violence?"
Owen stepped away from the men he was with to stand before the people
of his town. He held an arm back, pointing toward Richard.
"This is Lord Rahl, of the D'Haran Empire. I went in search of him to
help us be free. We have much to tell you, but for now you must know that
tonight, for the first time in many seasons, our town is free.
"Yes, we have helped Lord Rahl to kill the evil men who have terrorized
us. We have avenged the deaths of our loved ones. We will no longer be
victims. We will be free!"
Standing silently, the people seemed able only to stare at him. Many
looked confused. Some looked quietly jubilant, but most just looked stunned.
The boy, Bernie, ran up to Anson, peering up in astonishment. "An-son,
you and our other people have freed us? Truly?"
"Yes." He laid a hand on Bernie's shoulder. "Our town is now free."
"Thank you." He broke into a grin as he turned back to the town's
people. "We are free of the murderers!"
A sudden, spontaneous cheer rose into the night, drowning out the sound
of the crackling flames. The people rushed in around men they had not seen
for months, touching them, hugging them, all asking questions of the men.
Richard took Kahlan's hand as he stepped back out of the way, joining
Cara, Jennsen, and Tom. These people who were so against violence, who lived
their whole life avoiding the truth of what their beliefs caused, were now
basking in the tearful joy of what it really meant to be freed from terror
and violence.
People slowly left their men to come and look at Richard and those
standing with him. He and Kahlan smiled at their obvious joy. They gathered
in close before him, smiling, staring, as if Richard and those with him were
some strange creatures from afar.
Bernie had attached himself to Anson's arm. Others had the rest of the
men firmly embraced. One by one, though, the men started pulling away so
that they could stand behind Richard and Kahlan.
"We are so happy that you are home, now," people were telling the men.
"We have you back, at last."
"Now we are all together again," Bernie said.
"We can't stay," Anson told him.
Everyone in the crowd fell silent.
Bernie, like many of the others, looked heartbroken. "What?"
Buzzing, worried whispers spread through the crowd. Everyone was shaken
by the news that the men were not home to stay.
Owen lifted a hand so they would listen. When they went silent, he
explained.
"The people of Bandakar are still under the cruel power of the men from
the Order. Just as you have become free tonight, so must the rest of the
people of Bandakar be free.
"Lord Rahl and his wife, the Mother Confessor, as well as his friend
and protector Cara, his sister Jennsen, and Tom, another friend and
protector, have all agreed to help us. They cannot do it alone. We must be
part of it, for this is our land, but more importantly, our people, our
loved ones."
"Owen, you must not engage in violence," an older man said. In view of