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This one knew he was on the verge of having what he sought.
He was far less than a heartbeat away, plunging toward her at full
speed.
Kahlan could hear Richard's scream even as her gaze met the gleam of
the man's dark eyes.
The man let out a cry of rage as he lunged. His feet left the ground as
he sailed through the air toward her. His wicked grin betrayed his
confidence.
Kahlan could see his eyeteeth hooked over his cracked lower lip, saw
the dark tooth in the front of the top row between his other yellow teeth,
saw the little white hook of a scar, as if he had once been eating with a
knife and had accidentally sliced the corner of his mouth. His stubble
looked like wire. His left eye didn't open as wide as his right. His right
ear had a big V-shaped notch taken out of the upper portion. It reminded her
of the way some farmers marked their swine.
She could see her own reflection in his dark eyes as her right arm came
up.
Kahlan wondered if he had a wife, a woman who cared for him, missed
him, pined for him. She wondered if he might have children, and, if he did,
what a man like this would teach his children. She had a momentary flash of
the ugliness it would be to have this beast atop her, his wire stubble
scraping her cheek raw, his cracked lips on hers, his yellow teeth raking
her neck as he lost himself in what he wanted.
Time twisted.
She held out her arm. The man crashed in toward her. She felt the
coarse weave of his dark brown shirt as the flat of her hand met the center
of his chest.
That heartbeat of time she had before he was atop her had not yet
begun. Richard had not yet managed to take a single frantic step.
The weight of the bear of a man against her hand felt as if it were but
a baby's breath. To Kahlan, it seemed as if he were frozen in space before
her.
Time was hers.
He was hers.
The rush of combat, the cries, the yells, the screams; the stink of
sweat and blood; the flash of steel, the clash of bodies; the curses and
growls; the fear, the terror, the heart-pounding dread... the rage ... was
no longer there for her. She was in a silent world all her own.
Even though she had been born with it and had always felt it there in
the core of her being, the awesome power within, in many ways, seemed
incomprehensible, inconceivable, unimaginable, remote. She knew it would
seem that way until she let her restraint slip, and then she would once
again be joined with a force of such breathtaking magnitude that it could
only be fully comprehended as it was being experienced. Although she had
unleashed it more times than she could remember, no matter how prepared she
was the extraordinary violence of it always still astonished her.
She regarded the man before her with cold calculation, ready for that
violence.
As he had charged in on her, time had belonged to this man.
Now time belonged to her.
She could feel the thread count of the fabric of his shirt, feel his
woolly chest hairs beneath it.
The heart-pounding shock of the sudden attack, the violence of it, was
gone now. Now there was only this man and her, forever linked by what was to
happen. This man had consciously chosen his own fate when he chose to attack
them. Her certainty of what was called for carried her beyond the need for
the assessment of emotion, and she felt none--no joy, not even relief; no
hate, not even aversion; no compassion, not even sorrow.
Kahlan shed those emotions to make way for the rush of power, to give
it free run.
Now he had no chance.
He was hers.
The man's face was contorted with the intoxicated, gloating glee of his
certitude that he was the glorious victor who would have her, that he was
now the one to decide what was to become of her life, that she was but his
to plunder.
Kahlan unleashed her power.
By her deliberate intent, the subordinate state of her birthright
instantly altered into overpowering force able to alter the very nature of
consciousness.
In the man's dark eyes had come the spark of suspicion that something
which he could not comprehend had irrevocably begun. And then there came the
lightning recognition that his life, as he had known it, was over.
Everything he wanted, thought about, worked toward, hoped for, prayed for,
possessed, loved, hated ... was ended.
In her eyes he saw no mercy, and that, more than anything, brought him
stark terror.
Thunder without sound jolted the air.
In that instant, the violence of it was as pristine, as beautiful, as
exquisite, as it was horrific.
That heartbeat of time Kahlan had before he was on her had still not
yet begun.
She could see in the man's eyes that even thought itself was too late
for him, now. Perception itself was being outpaced by the race of brutal
magic tearing through his mind, destroying forever who this man had been.
The force of the concussion jolted the air.
The stars shuddered.
Sparks from the fire lashed along the ground as the shock spread
outward in a ring, driving dust before its passing. Trees shook when hit by
the blow, shedding needles and leaves as the raging wave swept past.
He was hers.
His full weight flying forward knocked Kahlan back a step as she
twisted out of the way. The man flew past her and crashed to the ground,
sprawling on his face.
Without an instant of hesitation, he scrambled up onto his knees. His
hands came up in prayerful supplication. Tears flooded his eyes. His mouth,
which only an instant before was so warped with perverted expectation, now
distorted with the agony of pure anguish.
"Please, Mistress," he wailed, "command me!"
Kahlan regarded him, for the first time in his new life, with an
emotion: contempt.
O'nly the sound of Betty's soft, frightened bleating drifted out over
the otherwise silent campsite. Bodies lay sprawled haphazardly across the
ground. The attack appeared to be over. Richard, sword in hand, rushed
through the carnage to get to Kahlan. Jennsen stood near the edge of the
fire's light, while Cara checked the bodies for any sign of life.
Kahlan left the man she had just touched with her power kneeling in the
dirt, stalking past him toward Jennsen. Richard met her halfway there, his
free arm sweeping around her with relief.
"Are you all right?"
Kahlan nodded, quickly appraising their camp, on the lookout for any
more attackers, but saw only the men who were dead.
"What about you?" she asked.
Richard didn't seem to hear her question. His arm slipped from her
waist. "Dear spirits," he said, as he rushed to one of the bodies lying on
its side.
It was Sabar.
Jennsen stood not far away, trembling with terror, her knife held up
defensively in a fist, her eyes wide. Kahlan gathered Jennsen in her arms,
whispering assurance that it was over, that it was ended, that she was all
right.
Jennsen clutched at Kahlan. "Sabar--he was--protecting me--"
"I know, I know," Kahlan comforted.
She could see that there was no urgency in Richard's movements as he
laid Sabar on his back. The young man's arm flopped lifelessly to the side.
Kahlan's heart sank.
Tom ran into camp, gasping for air. He was streaked with blood and
sweat. Jennsen wailed and flew into his arms. He embraced her protectively,
holding her head to his shoulder as he tried to regain his breath.
Betty bleated in dismay from beneath the wagon, hesitantly emerging
only after Jennsen called repeated encouragement to her. The puling goat
finally rushed to Jennsen and huddled trembling against her skirts. Tom kept
a wary watch of the surrounding darkness.
Cara calmly walked among the bodies, surveying them for any sign of
life. With most, there could be no question. Here and there she nudged one
with the toe of her boot, or with the tip of her Agiel. By her lack of
urgency, there was no question that they were all dead.
Kahlan put a tender hand to Richard's back as he crouched beside
Sabar's body.
"How many people must die," he asked in a low, bitter voice, "for the
crime of wanting to be free, for the sin of wanting to live their own life?"
She saw that he still held the Sword of Truth in a white-knuckled fist.
The sword's magic, which had come out so reluctantly, still danced
dangerously in his eyes.
"How many!" he repeated.
"I don't know, Richard," Kahlan whispered.
Richard turned a glare toward the man across the camp, still on his
knees, his hands pressed together in a beseeching gesture begging to be
commanded, fearing to speak.
Once touched by a Confessor, the person was no longer who they had once
been. That part of their mind was forever gone. Who they were, what they
were, no longer existed.
In its place the magic of a Confessor's power placed unqualified
devotion to the wants and wishes of the Confessor who had touched them.
Nothing else mattered. Their only purpose in life, now, was to fulfill her
commands, to do her bidding, to answer her every question.
For one thus touched, there was no crime they wouldn't confess, if she
asked it of them. It was for this alone that Confessors had been created.
Their purpose, in a way, was the same as the Seeker's--the truth. In war, as
in all other aspects of life, there was no more important commodity for
survival than the truth.
This man, kneeling not far away, cried in abject misery because Kahlan
had asked nothing of him. There could be no agony more ghastly, no void more
terrifying, than to be empty of knowing her wish. Existence without her wish
was pointless. In the absence of her command, men touched by a Confessor had
been known to die.
Anything she now asked of him, whether it be to tell her his name,
confess his true love's name, or to murder his beloved mother, would bring
him boundless joy because he would finally have a task to carry out for her.
"Let's find out what this is all about," Richard said in a low growl.
In exhaustion, Kahlan stared at the man on his knees. She was so weary
she could hardly stand. Sweat trickled down between her breasts. She needed
rest, but this problem was more immediate and needed to be attended to
first.
On their way to the man waiting on his knees, his eyes turned
expectantly up toward Kahlan, Richard halted. There, in the dirt before his
boots, was the remains of the statue Sabar had brought to them. It was
broken into a hundred pieces, none of them any longer recognizable except
that those pieces were still a translucent amber color.
Nicci's letter had said that they didn't need the statue, now that it
had given its warning--a warning that Kahlan had somehow broken a protective
shield sealing away something profoundly dangerous.
Kahlan didn't know what the seal protected, but she feared that she
knew all too well what she had done to break it.
She feared even more that, because of her, the magic of Richard's sword
had begun to falter.
As Kahlan stood staring down at the amber fragments ground into the
dirt, despair flooded into her.
Richard's arm circled her waist. "Don't let your imagination get
carried away. We don't know what this is about, yet. We can't even be
certain that it's true--it could even be some kind of mistake."
Kahlan wished that she could believe that.
Richard finally slid his sword back into its scabbard. "Do you want to
rest first, sit a bit?"
His concern for her took precedence over everything. From the first day
she met him, it always had. Right then, it was his well-being that concerned
her.
Using her power sapped a Confessor of strength. It had left Kahlan
feeling not only weak, but, this time, nauseated. She had been named to the
post of Mother Confessor, in part, because her power was so strong that she
was able to recover it in hours; for others it had taken a day or sometimes
two. At the thought of all those other Confessors, some of whom she'd dearly
loved, being long dead, Kahlan felt the weight of hopelessness pulling her
even lower.
To fully recover her strength, she would need a night's rest. At the
moment, though, there were more important considerations, not the least of
which was Richard.
"No," she said. "I'm all right. I can rest later. Let's ask him what
you will."
Richard's gaze moved over the campsite littered with limbs, entrails,
bodies. The ground was soaked with blood. The stench of it all, along with
the still smoldering body beside the fire, was making Kahlan sicker by the
second. She turned away from the man on his knees, toward Richard, into the
protection of his arms. She was exhausted.
"And then let's get away from this place," she said. "We need to get
away from here. There might be more men coming." Kahlan worried that if he
had to draw the sword again, he might not have the help of its magic. "We
need to find a more secure camp."
Richard nodded his agreement. He looked over her head as he held her to
his chest. Despite everything, or perhaps because of everything, it felt
wonderful simply to be held. She could hear Friedrich just rushing back into
camp, panting as he ran. He stumbled to a halt as he let out a moan of
astonishment mixed with revulsion at what he saw.
"Tom, Friedrich," Richard asked, "do you have any idea if there are any
more men coming?"
"I don't think so," Tom said. "I think they were together. I caught
them coming up a gully. I was going to try to make it back here to warn you,
but four of them came over a rise and jumped me while the rest ran for our
camp."
"I didn't see anyone, Lord Rahl," Friedrich said, catching his breath.
"I came running when I heard the yelling."
Richard acknowledged Friedrich's words with a reassuring hand on the
man's shoulder. "Help Tom get the horses hitched. I don't want to spend the
night here."
As the two men sprang into action, Richard turned to Jennsen.
"Please lay out some bedrolls in the back of the wagon, will you? I'd
like Kahlan to be able to lie down and rest when we move out."
Jennsen patted Betty's shoulder, urging the goat to follow her. "Of
course, Richard." She hurried off to the wagon, Betty trotting along close
at her side.
As everyone rushed as quickly as possible to get their things together,
Richard went by himself to an open patch of ground nearby to dig a shallow
grave. There was no time for a funeral pyre. A lonely grave was the best
they could do, but Sabar's spirit was gone, and wouldn't fault the necessity
of their hurried care for his body.
Kahlan reconsidered her thought. After the letter from Nicci and
learning the meaning of the warning beacon, she now had even more reason to
doubt that many things, including spirits, were still true. The world of the
dead was connected to the world of the living by links of magic. The veil
itself was magic and said to be within those like Richard. They had learned
that without magic those links themselves could fail, and that, since those
other worlds couldn't exist independent of the world of life, but only
existed in a relational sense to the world of life, should the links fail
completely, those other worlds might very well cease to exist--much as,
without the sun, the concept of daytime would not exist.
It was now clear to Kahlan that the world's hold on magic was slipping,
and had been slipping for several years.
She knew the reason.
Spirits, the good and the bad, and the existence of everything else
that depended on magic, might soon be lost. That meant that death would
become final, in every sense of the word. It could even be that there was no
longer the possibility of being with a loved one after death, or of being
with the good spirits. The good spirits, even the underworld itself, might
be passing into nothingness.
When Richard was finished, Tom helped him gently place Sabar's body in
the ground. After Tom spoke quiet words asking the good spirits to watch
over one of their own, he and Richard covered the body over.
"Lord Rahl," Tom said in a low voice when they were finished, "while
some of the men began the attack on you, here, others slit the horses'
throats before joining their fellows to come after you four."
"All the horses?"
"Except mine. My draft horses are pretty big. The men were probably
worried about getting trampled. They left some men to take care of me, so
these here thought they had me out of the way. They probably figured they
could worry about the draft horses later, after they had the rest of you."
Tom shrugged his broad shoulders. "Maybe they even planned to capture you,
tie you up, and take you in the wagon."
Richard acknowledged Tom's words with a single nod. He wiped his
fingers across his forehead. Kahlan thought he looked worse than she felt.
She could see that the headache had returned and was crushing him under the
weight of its pain.
Tom looked around their camp, his gaze playing over the fallen men.
"What should we do with the rest of the bodies?"
"The races can have the rest of them," Richard said without hesitation.
Tom didn't look to have any disagreement with that. "I'd better go help
Friedrich finish getting the horses hitched to the wagon. They'll be a
handful with the scent of blood in their nostrils and the sight of the
others dead."
As Tom went to see to his horses, Richard called to Cara. "Count the
bodies," he told her. "We need to know the total."
"Richard," Kahlan asked in a confidential tone after Tom was out of
earshot and Cara had started stepping over some of the bodies and between
others, going about the task of taking a count, "what happened when you drew
the sword?"
He didn't ask what she meant or try to spare her from worry.
"There's something wrong with its magic. When I drew the sword, it
failed to heed my call. The men were rushing in and I couldn't delay in what
I had to do. Once I met the attack, the magic finally reacted.
"It's probably due to the headaches from the gift--they must be
interfering with my ability to join with the sword's magic."
"The last time you had the headaches they didn't interfere with the
sword's power."
"I told you, don't let your imagination get carried away. This has only
happened since I've started getting the headaches again. That has to be the
reason."
Kahlan didn't know if she dared believe him, or if he really even
believed it himself. He was right, though. The problem with the sword's
magic had only recently developed--after he started getting the headaches.
"They're getting worse, aren't they?"
He nodded. "Come on, let's get what answers we can."
Kahlan let out a tired sigh, resigned to that part of it. They had to
use this chance to find out what information was now available to them.
Kahlan turned to the man still on his knees.
The man's tearful eyes gazed pleadingly up at Kahlan as she stepped in
front of him. He had been waiting, alone and without her wishes, for quite a
while and as a result was in a state of dire misery.
"You are to come with us," Kahlan told him in a cold tone. "You are to
walk in front of the wagon for now, where we can keep an eye on you. You
will obey the orders of any of the others with me as you would obey my
orders. You will answer all questions truthfully."
The man fell to his belly on the ground, in tears, kissing her feet,
thanking her profusely for at last commanding him. Groveling on the ground,
with that V-shaped notch in his ear, he reminded her of nothing so much as a
swine.
Fists at her side, Kahlan screamed "Stop that!" She didn't want this
murdering pig touching her.
He sprang back instantly, aghast at the rage in her voice,
horror-struck that she was displeased with him. He cringed motionless at her
feet, his eyes wide, fearful that he would do something else to displease
her.
"You aren't in a uniform," Richard said to the man. "You and the other
men aren't soldiers?"
"We're soldiers, just not regular soldiers," the man said with eager
excitement to be able to answer the question and thus do Kahlan's bidding.
"We're special men serving with the Imperial Order."
"Special? How are you special?"
With a hint of uncertainty in his wet eyes, the man looked nervously up
at Kahlan. She gave him no sign. She had already told him that he was to
follow all their orders. The man, at last certain of her intention, rushed
to go on.
"We're a special unit of men--with the army--our task is to capture
enemies of the Order--we have to pass tests to be sure we're able men--loyal
men--and that we can accomplish the missions we're sent on--"
"Slow down," Richard said. "You're talking too fast."
The man glanced quickly at Kahlan, his eyes filling with tears that he
might have displeased her, too.
"Go on," she said.
"We don't wear uniforms or let our purpose be known," the man said with
obvious relief that if he continued it would satisfy her. "Usually we work
in cities, searching out insurrectionists. We mingle with people, get them
to think of us as one of them. When they plot against the Order, we go along
until we find out the names of all those involved and then we capture them
and turn them over for questioning."
Richard stared down at the man for a long time, his face showing no
reaction. Richard had been in the hands of the Order and "questioned."
Kahlan could only imagine what he must have been thinking.
"And do you hand over only those who you know to be plotting against
the Order?" Richard asked. "Or do you simply turn in those you suspect and
anyone who they know?"
"If we suspect they might be plotting--like if they keep to themselves
and their own group, and won't open their lives to other citizens--then we
turn them in to be questioned so that it can be determined what they might
be hiding." The man licked his lips, keen to tell them the full extent of
his methods. "We talk to those they work with, or neighbors, and get the
names of anyone they associate with, any of their friends--sometimes even
their closest family members. We usually take at least some of them, too,
and turn them over for questioning. When they're questioned, they all
confess their crimes against the Order so that proves our suspicions about
them were right."
Kahlan thought that Richard might draw his sword and behead the man on
the spot. Richard knew all too well what they did to those who were brought
in, knew how hopeless was their plight.
Confessions obtained under torture often provided names of anyone who
might be suspicious for any reason, making the job of torturing a very busy
profession. The people of the Old World lived in constant fear that they
would be taken to one of the many places where people were questioned.
Those pulled in were rarely guilty of plotting against the Order; most
people were too busy just trying to survive, trying to feed their families,
to have time to plot to overthrow the rule of the Imperial Order. Many
people did, however, talk about a better life, about what they would like to
do, to grow, to create, to own, about their hopes that their children would
have a better life than theirs. Since mankind's duty was sacrifice to the
betterment of their fellow man, not to their own betterment, that, to the
Imperial Order, was not just insurrection, but blasphemy. In the Old World,
misery was a widespread virtue, a duty to a higher calling.
There were others who didn't dream of a better life, but dreamed of
helping the Order by turning in the names of those who spoke ill of the
Order, or hid food or even a bit of money, or talked of a better life.
Turning in such "disloyal citizens" kept yet other fingers from pointing at
the informer. Informing became an indicator of sanctity.
Instead of drawing his sword, Richard changed the subject. "How many of
you were there, tonight?"
"Including me, twenty-eight," the man said without delay.
"Were you all together in one group when you attacked?"
The man nodded, keen to admit their whole plan and thus gain Kah-lan's
approval. "We wanted to make sure you and, and..." His eyes turned to Kahlan
as he realized the incompatibility of his two goals-- confessing and
pleasing the Mother Confessor.
He burst into tears, clasping his hands prayerfully. "Forgive me,
Mistress! Please, forgive me!"
If his voice was the quintessence of emotion, hers was the opposite.
"Answer the question."
He brought his sobbing to a halt in order to speak as he had been
commanded. Tears, though, continued to stream down his filthy cheeks. "We
stayed together for a focused attack, so we could be sure that we captured
Lord Rahl and, and... you, Mother Confessor. When trying to capture a
good-size group we split up, with half holding back to look for anyone who
might try to slip away, but I told the men that I wanted the both of you,
and you were said to be together, so this was our chance. I didn't want to
run the risk that you would have any hope of fighting us off, so I ordered
all the men to the attack, having some cut the throats of the saddle horses,
first, to prevent any possibility of escape."
His face brightened. "I never suspected that we might fail."
"Who sent you?" Kahlan asked.
The man shuffled forward on his knees, his hand tentatively coming up
to touch her leg. Kahlan remained motionless, but by her icy glare let him
know that touching her would displease her greatly. The hand backed away.
"Nicholas," he said.
Kahlan's brow twitched. She had been expecting him to say Jagang had
sent him.
She was wary of the possibility that the dream walker might be watching
through this man's eyes. Jagang had in the past sent assassins after he had
slipped into their thoughts. With Jagang in a person's mind, he dominated
and directed them, and even Cara could not control them. Nor, for that
matter, could Kahlan.
"You're lying to me. Jagang sent you."
The man fell to pitiful weeping. "No, Mistress! I've never had any
dealings with His Excellency. The army is vast and far-flung. I take my
orders from those in my section. I don't think that the ones they take
orders from, or their commanders, or even theirs, are worthy of His
Excellency's attention. His Excellency is far to the north, bringing the
word of the Order's salvation to a lawless and savage people; he would not
even be aware of us.
"We are but a lowly squad of men with the muscle to snatch people the
Order wants, either for questioning or to silence them. We are all from this
part of the empire and so we were called upon because we were here. I am not
worthy of the attention of His Excellency."
"But Jagang has visited you--in your dreams. He has visited your mind."
"Mistress?" The man looked terrified to have to question her rather
than answer her question. "I don't understand."
Kahlan stared. "Jagang has come into your mind. He has spoken to you."
He looked sincerely puzzled as he shook his head. "No, Mistress. I have
never met His Excellency. I have never dreamed about him--I don't know
anything about him, except that Altur'Rang has the honor of being the place
where he was born.
"Would you like me to kill him for you, Mistress? Please, if it is your
wish, allow me to kill him for you?"
The man didn't know how preposterous such a notion was; in his desire
to please her, though, if she commanded it he would be only too happy to
make the attempt. Kahlan turned her back on the man as Richard watched him.
She leaned toward Richard a bit as she spoke quietly, so the man
wouldn't hear. "I don't know if those visited by the dream walker must
always be aware of it, but I think they would be. The ones I've seen before
were mindful of Jagang's presence in their mind."
"Couldn't the dream walker slip into a person's mind without their
being aware of it just so he could watch us?"
"I suppose it's possible," she said. "But think of all the millions of
people in the Old World--he can't know whose mind to enter so he can watch.
Dream walker or not, he is only one man."
"Are you gifted?" Richard asked the man.
"No."
"Well," Richard whispered, "Nicci told me that Jagang rarely bothers
with the ungifted. She said that it was difficult for him to take the mind
of the ungifted, so he simply uses the gifted he controls and has them
control the ungifted for him. He has all the Sisters he's captured that he
has to worry about. He has to maintain his control over them and direct
their actions--including what we started to read in Nicci's letter--about
how he's guiding the Sisters in altering people into weapons. Besides that
he heads the army and plans strategy. He has a lot of things to manage, so
he usually confines himself to the minds of the gifted."
"But not always. If he has to, if he needs to, if he wants to, he can
enter the minds of the ungifted. If we were smart," Kahlan whispered, "we
would kill this man now."
As they spoke, Richard's glare never left the man. She knew he would
not hesitate to agree unless he thought the man might still be of use.
"I have but to command it," Kahlan reminded him, "and he will drop
dead."
Richard took in her eyes for a moment, then turned back to the man and
frowned. "You said someone named Nicholas sent you. Who is this Nicholas?"
"Nicholas is a fearsome wizard in the service of the Order."
"You saw him. He gave you these orders?"
"No. We are too lowly for one such as he to bother with us. He sent
orders that were passed down."
"How did you know where we were?" Richard asked.
"The orders included the general area. They said that we should look
for you coming north at the eastern edge of the desert wasteland and if we
found you we were to capture you."
"How did Nicholas know where we were?"
The man blinked, as if searching his mind to see if he had the answer.
"I don't know. We weren't told how he knew. We were told only that we were
to search this area and if we found you we were to bring you both in, alive.
The commander who passed on the orders told me not to fail or the Slide
would be very displeased with us."
"Who would be displeased? ... The Slide?"
"Nicholas the Slide. That is what he's called. Some people just call
him 'the Slide.' "
Frowning, Kahlan turned back to the man. "The what?"
The man began trembling at her frown. "The Slide, Mistress."
"What does that mean? The Slide?"
The man fell to wailing, his hands clasped together again as he begged
her forgiveness. "I don't know, Mistress. I don't know. You asked who sent
me, that is his name. Nicholas. People call him the Slide."
"Where is he?" Richard asked.
"I don't know," the man blurted out as he wept. "I received my orders
from my commander. He said that a Brother of the Order brought the orders to
his commander."
Richard took a deep breath as he rubbed the back of his neck. "What
else do you know about this Nicholas, other than that he's a wizard and he's
called 'the Slide'?"
"I only know to fear him, as do my commanders."
"Why? What happens if you displease him?" Kahlan asked.
"He impales those who displease him."
With the stench of blood and burning flesh, along with the things she
was hearing, it was all Kahlan could do to keep from being sick. She didn't
know how much longer her stomach could take it if they stayed in this place,
if this man told her anything else.
Kahlan gently grasped Richard's forearm. "Please, Richard," she
whispered, "this isn't really getting us anything very useful. Please, let's
get out of here? If we think of anything, we can question him more later."
"Get out in front of the wagon," Richard said without hesitation. "I
don't want her having to look at you."
The man bobbed his head and scrambled away.
"I don't think Jagang is in his mind," Kahlan said, "but what if I'm
wrong?"
"For now, I think we should keep him alive. Out in front of the wagon,
Tom will have a clear view of him. If we're wrong, well, Tom is very quick
with his knife." Richard let out a shallow breath. "I've already learned
something important."
"What?"
His hand in the small of her back started her moving. "Let's get going
and I'll tell you about it."
Kahlan could see the wagon waiting in the distant darkness. Tom's eyes
followed the man as he ran out in front of the big draft horses and stood
waiting. Jennsen and Cara were in the back of the wagon. Friedrich sat up on
the seat beside Tom.
"How many?" Richard called to Cara as they approached the wagon.
"With the four out in the hills that Tom took care of, and this one,
here, twenty-eight."
"That's all of them, then," Richard said with relief.
Kahlan felt his hand on the small of her back slip away. He staggered
to a halt. Kahlan paused beside him, not knowing why he'd stopped. Richard
sank to one knee. Kahlan dropped down beside him, throwing an arm around him
for support. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain. With his arm pressed across
his abdomen, he doubled over.
Cara leaped over the side of the wagon and raced to their side.
Despite how exhausted Kahlan was, panic jolted her instantly to full
alert. "We need to get to the sliph," she said to Cara as well as Richard.
"We need to get to Zedd and get some answers--and some help. Zedd can help."
Richard drew labored breaths, unable to speak as he held his breath
against a wave of agony. Kahlan felt helpless not knowing what to do to help
him.
"Lord Rahl," Cara said, kneeling before him, "you have been taught to
control pain. You must do that, now." She seized a fistful of his hair and
lifted his head to be able to look into his eyes. "Think," she commanded.
"Remember. Put the pain in its place. Do it!"
Richard clutched her forearm as if to thank her for her words. "Can't,"
he finally managed to say to Kahlan through his obvious suffering. "We can't
go in the sliph."
"We must," she insisted. "The sliph is the fastest way."
"And if I step down into the sliph, breathe in that quicksilver
creature--and my magic fails?"
Kahlan was frantic. "But we must go in the sliph to get there in a
hurry." She feared to say "in time."
"And if anything is wrong, I'll die." He panted, trying to catch his
breath against the pain. "Without magic, breathing the sliph is death. The
sword is failing me." He swallowed, coughed, gasped for breath. "If my gift
is causing the headaches, and that's making magic falter in me, and I enter
the sliph, I will be dead after I take the first breath. There's no way to
test it."
An icy wave of terror shot through her veins. Getting to Zedd was
Richard's only hope. That had been her plan. Without help, the headaches of
the gift would kill him.
She feared, though, that she knew why the magic of his sword was
failing, and it wasn't the headaches. She feared that it was in fact the
same thing that had caused the seal to be broken. The warning beacon
testified that she was the cause of that. If it was true, then she was the
cause of that and much more.
If she was right, she realized, if it was true, then Richard was right
about the sliph--going into the sliph would indeed be death. If she was
right, then he wouldn't even be able to call the sliph, much less travel by
it.
"Richard Rahl, if you're going to throw mud on my best ideas then you
had better have an idea of your own to offer in its place."
He was gasping, now, in the clutch of violent pain. And then Kahlan saw
blood when he coughed.
"Richard!"
Tom, looking alarmed, raced up beside them. When he saw the blood
running down Richard's chin, he turned ashen.
"Help him to the wagon," Kahlan said, trying to keep her voice steady.
Cara put her shoulder under his arm. Tom circled an arm around Richard
and helped Kahlan and Cara lift him to his feet.
"Nicci," Richard said.
"What?" Kahlan asked.
"You wanted to know if I had an idea. Nicci." He gasped in pain and
struggled to get his breath. Yet more blood came when he coughed. It was
dripping off his chin.
Nicci was a sorceress, not a wizard. Richard needed a wizard. Even if
they had to travel overland, they could race there. "But Zedd would be
better able--"
"Zedd is too far," he said. "We need to get to Nicci. She can use both
sides of the gift."
Kahlan hadn't thought of that. Maybe she really could help.
Halfway to the wagon, Richard collapsed. It was all they could do to
hold up his dead weight. With Tom gripping him under the backs of his
shoulders and Cara and Kahlan each holding a leg, they ran the rest of the
way to the wagon.
Tom, without the need of help from Cara and Kahlan, hoisted Richard
into the back of the wagon. Jennsen hurriedly unfurled another bedroll. They
laid Richard out as carefully as they could. Kahlan felt as if she were
watching herself react, move, talk. She refused to allow herself to give in
to panic.
Kahlan and Jennsen tried to lean in, to see how he was, but Cara shoved
them back out of the way. She bent over Richard, putting her ear to his
mouth, listening. Her fingers felt for a pulse at the side of his throat.
Her other hand cupped the back of his neck, no doubt preparing to hold him
to give him the breath of life if she had to. Mord-Sith were knowledgeable
about such things; they knew how to keep people alive in order to extend
their torture. Cara knew how to use that knowledge to help save lives, too.
"He's breathing," Cara said as she straightened. She laid a comforting
hand on Kahlan's arm. "He's breathing easier now."
Kahlan nodded her thanks, unwilling to test her voice. She moved in
closer to Richard, on the other side, while Cara wiped the blood from his
chin and mouth. Kahlan felt helpless. She didn't know what to do.
"We'll ride all night," Tom said over his shoulder as he climbed up
into the driver's seat.
Kahlan forced herself to think. They had to get to Nicci.
"No," she said. "It's a long way to Altur'Rang. We're not near any
roads; picking our way cross country in the dark is foolhardy. If we're
reckless and push too hard we'll just end up killing the horses--or they
could break a leg, which would be just as bad. If we lose the horses, we
can't very well carry Richard all the way and expect to make it in time.
"The wisest thing to do is to go just as fast as we possibly can, but
we also have to get rest along the way to be ready should we be attacked
again. We have to use our heads or we'll never make it."
Jennsen held Richard's hand in both of hers. "He has that headache, and
he fought all those men--maybe if he can just get some sleep, he'll be
better, then."
Kahlan was buoyed by that thought, even though she didn't think it was
that simple. She stood in the wagon bed, looking out at the man waiting for
her to command him.
"Are there any more of you? Any more sent to attack us or capture us?
Did this Nicholas send anyone else?"
"Not that I'm aware of, Mistress."
Kahlan spoke softly to Tom. "If he even looks like he's going to cause
any trouble, don't hesitate. Kill him."
With a nod, Tom readily agreed. Kahlan dropped back down and felt
Richard's brow. His skin was cold and wet.
"We'd best go on until we find a place that will be easier to defend. I
think Jennsen is right that he needs rest; I don't think bouncing around in
the back of this wagon is going to help him. We'll all need to get some rest
and then start out at first light."
"We need to find a horse," Cara said. "The wagon is too slow. If we can
find a horse, I'll ride like the wind, find Nicci, and start back with her.
That way we don't have to wait all the way until we get there in the wagon."
"Good idea." Kahlan looked up at Tom. "Let's get going--find a place to
stop for the night."
Tom nodded as he threw off the brake. At his urging, the horses heaved
their weight against the names and the wagon lurched ahead.
Betty, puling softly, lay beside an unconscious Richard and put her
head down on his shoulder. Jennsen stroked Betty's head.
Kahlan saw tears running down Jennsen's cheeks. "I'm sorry about
Rusty."
Betty's head came up. She let out a pitiful bleat.
Jennsen nodded. "Richard will be all right," she said, her voice choked
with tears as she took Kahlan's hand. "I know he will."
Zedd thought he heard something.
The spoonful of stew he was about to put into his waiting mouth paused.
He remained motionless, listening.
The Keep often had sounded alive to him, as if it were breathing. Once
in a while it even sounded as if it were letting out a small sigh. Ever
since he was a boy, Zedd had, on occasion, heard loud snaps that he never
could trace. He suspected such sounds were most likely the massive stone
blocks moving just a tad, popping as they yielded ground against a neighbor.
There were stone blocks down in the foundations of the Keep that were the
size of small palaces.
Once, when Zedd was no more than ten or twelve, a loud crack had rung
through the entire Keep as if the place had been struck with a giant hammer.
He ran out of the library, where he'd been studying, to see other people
coming out of rooms all up and down the hall, looking about, whispering
their worries to one another. Zedd's father had later told him that it was
found to be nothing more than one of the huge foundation blocks cracking
suddenly, and while it posed no structural problem, the abrupt snap of such
an enormous piece of granite had been heard throughout the Keep. Although
such occurrences were rare, it was not the last time he heard such a
harmless, but frightening, sound in the Keep.
And then there were the animals. Bats flew unrestricted through parts
of the Keep. There were towers that soared to dizzying heights, some empty
inside but for stone stairs curving up around the inside of the outer wall
on their way up to a small room at the top, or an observation deck. In the
dusty streamers of sunlight penetrating the dark interiors of those towers
there could be seen myriad bugs flitting about. The bats loved the towers.
Rats, too, lived in parts of the Keep. They scurried and squeaked,
sometimes causing a fright. Mice were common in places, making noise
scratching and gnawing at things. And then there were the cats, offspring of
former mousers and pets, but now all wild, that lived off the rats and the
mice. The cats also hunted the birds that flew in and out of uncovered
openings to feed on bugs, or to build nests up in high recesses.
There were sometimes awful sounds when a bat, a mouse, a bird, or even
a cat went somewhere they weren't permitted. The shields were meant to keep
people away from dangerous or restricted areas, but they were also placed to
prevent unauthorized access to many of the items stored and preserved in the
Keep. The shields guarded against life; they made no distinction between
human and nonhuman life.
Otherwise, after all, a pet dog that innocently wandered into a
restricted area could theoretically retrieve a dangerous talisman and
proudly take it to a child master who could be put in peril by it. Those who
placed the shields were aware that it was also possible for unscrupulous
people to train animals to go to restricted areas, snatch whatever they
might be able to carry, and bring it to them. Not knowing what animal might
potentially be trained for such a task, the shields were made to ward all
life. If a bat flew into the wrong shield, it was incinerated.
There were shields in the Keep that even Zedd could not get through
because they required both sides of the gift and he had only the Additive.
Some of the shields took the form of a barrier of magic that physically
prevented passage in some way, either by restricting movement or by inducing
a sensation so unpleasant that one wouldn't force oneself beyond. Those
shields were meant to prevent ungifted people or children from entering
certain areas, not to prevent entrance to the gifted, so it was not
necessary for those shields to kill.
But such shields only worked for those who were ungifted.
In other places, entrance was strictly forbidden to anyone but those
with not only the appropriate ability, but proper authority. Without both
He was far less than a heartbeat away, plunging toward her at full
speed.
Kahlan could hear Richard's scream even as her gaze met the gleam of
the man's dark eyes.
The man let out a cry of rage as he lunged. His feet left the ground as
he sailed through the air toward her. His wicked grin betrayed his
confidence.
Kahlan could see his eyeteeth hooked over his cracked lower lip, saw
the dark tooth in the front of the top row between his other yellow teeth,
saw the little white hook of a scar, as if he had once been eating with a
knife and had accidentally sliced the corner of his mouth. His stubble
looked like wire. His left eye didn't open as wide as his right. His right
ear had a big V-shaped notch taken out of the upper portion. It reminded her
of the way some farmers marked their swine.
She could see her own reflection in his dark eyes as her right arm came
up.
Kahlan wondered if he had a wife, a woman who cared for him, missed
him, pined for him. She wondered if he might have children, and, if he did,
what a man like this would teach his children. She had a momentary flash of
the ugliness it would be to have this beast atop her, his wire stubble
scraping her cheek raw, his cracked lips on hers, his yellow teeth raking
her neck as he lost himself in what he wanted.
Time twisted.
She held out her arm. The man crashed in toward her. She felt the
coarse weave of his dark brown shirt as the flat of her hand met the center
of his chest.
That heartbeat of time she had before he was atop her had not yet
begun. Richard had not yet managed to take a single frantic step.
The weight of the bear of a man against her hand felt as if it were but
a baby's breath. To Kahlan, it seemed as if he were frozen in space before
her.
Time was hers.
He was hers.
The rush of combat, the cries, the yells, the screams; the stink of
sweat and blood; the flash of steel, the clash of bodies; the curses and
growls; the fear, the terror, the heart-pounding dread... the rage ... was
no longer there for her. She was in a silent world all her own.
Even though she had been born with it and had always felt it there in
the core of her being, the awesome power within, in many ways, seemed
incomprehensible, inconceivable, unimaginable, remote. She knew it would
seem that way until she let her restraint slip, and then she would once
again be joined with a force of such breathtaking magnitude that it could
only be fully comprehended as it was being experienced. Although she had
unleashed it more times than she could remember, no matter how prepared she
was the extraordinary violence of it always still astonished her.
She regarded the man before her with cold calculation, ready for that
violence.
As he had charged in on her, time had belonged to this man.
Now time belonged to her.
She could feel the thread count of the fabric of his shirt, feel his
woolly chest hairs beneath it.
The heart-pounding shock of the sudden attack, the violence of it, was
gone now. Now there was only this man and her, forever linked by what was to
happen. This man had consciously chosen his own fate when he chose to attack
them. Her certainty of what was called for carried her beyond the need for
the assessment of emotion, and she felt none--no joy, not even relief; no
hate, not even aversion; no compassion, not even sorrow.
Kahlan shed those emotions to make way for the rush of power, to give
it free run.
Now he had no chance.
He was hers.
The man's face was contorted with the intoxicated, gloating glee of his
certitude that he was the glorious victor who would have her, that he was
now the one to decide what was to become of her life, that she was but his
to plunder.
Kahlan unleashed her power.
By her deliberate intent, the subordinate state of her birthright
instantly altered into overpowering force able to alter the very nature of
consciousness.
In the man's dark eyes had come the spark of suspicion that something
which he could not comprehend had irrevocably begun. And then there came the
lightning recognition that his life, as he had known it, was over.
Everything he wanted, thought about, worked toward, hoped for, prayed for,
possessed, loved, hated ... was ended.
In her eyes he saw no mercy, and that, more than anything, brought him
stark terror.
Thunder without sound jolted the air.
In that instant, the violence of it was as pristine, as beautiful, as
exquisite, as it was horrific.
That heartbeat of time Kahlan had before he was on her had still not
yet begun.
She could see in the man's eyes that even thought itself was too late
for him, now. Perception itself was being outpaced by the race of brutal
magic tearing through his mind, destroying forever who this man had been.
The force of the concussion jolted the air.
The stars shuddered.
Sparks from the fire lashed along the ground as the shock spread
outward in a ring, driving dust before its passing. Trees shook when hit by
the blow, shedding needles and leaves as the raging wave swept past.
He was hers.
His full weight flying forward knocked Kahlan back a step as she
twisted out of the way. The man flew past her and crashed to the ground,
sprawling on his face.
Without an instant of hesitation, he scrambled up onto his knees. His
hands came up in prayerful supplication. Tears flooded his eyes. His mouth,
which only an instant before was so warped with perverted expectation, now
distorted with the agony of pure anguish.
"Please, Mistress," he wailed, "command me!"
Kahlan regarded him, for the first time in his new life, with an
emotion: contempt.
O'nly the sound of Betty's soft, frightened bleating drifted out over
the otherwise silent campsite. Bodies lay sprawled haphazardly across the
ground. The attack appeared to be over. Richard, sword in hand, rushed
through the carnage to get to Kahlan. Jennsen stood near the edge of the
fire's light, while Cara checked the bodies for any sign of life.
Kahlan left the man she had just touched with her power kneeling in the
dirt, stalking past him toward Jennsen. Richard met her halfway there, his
free arm sweeping around her with relief.
"Are you all right?"
Kahlan nodded, quickly appraising their camp, on the lookout for any
more attackers, but saw only the men who were dead.
"What about you?" she asked.
Richard didn't seem to hear her question. His arm slipped from her
waist. "Dear spirits," he said, as he rushed to one of the bodies lying on
its side.
It was Sabar.
Jennsen stood not far away, trembling with terror, her knife held up
defensively in a fist, her eyes wide. Kahlan gathered Jennsen in her arms,
whispering assurance that it was over, that it was ended, that she was all
right.
Jennsen clutched at Kahlan. "Sabar--he was--protecting me--"
"I know, I know," Kahlan comforted.
She could see that there was no urgency in Richard's movements as he
laid Sabar on his back. The young man's arm flopped lifelessly to the side.
Kahlan's heart sank.
Tom ran into camp, gasping for air. He was streaked with blood and
sweat. Jennsen wailed and flew into his arms. He embraced her protectively,
holding her head to his shoulder as he tried to regain his breath.
Betty bleated in dismay from beneath the wagon, hesitantly emerging
only after Jennsen called repeated encouragement to her. The puling goat
finally rushed to Jennsen and huddled trembling against her skirts. Tom kept
a wary watch of the surrounding darkness.
Cara calmly walked among the bodies, surveying them for any sign of
life. With most, there could be no question. Here and there she nudged one
with the toe of her boot, or with the tip of her Agiel. By her lack of
urgency, there was no question that they were all dead.
Kahlan put a tender hand to Richard's back as he crouched beside
Sabar's body.
"How many people must die," he asked in a low, bitter voice, "for the
crime of wanting to be free, for the sin of wanting to live their own life?"
She saw that he still held the Sword of Truth in a white-knuckled fist.
The sword's magic, which had come out so reluctantly, still danced
dangerously in his eyes.
"How many!" he repeated.
"I don't know, Richard," Kahlan whispered.
Richard turned a glare toward the man across the camp, still on his
knees, his hands pressed together in a beseeching gesture begging to be
commanded, fearing to speak.
Once touched by a Confessor, the person was no longer who they had once
been. That part of their mind was forever gone. Who they were, what they
were, no longer existed.
In its place the magic of a Confessor's power placed unqualified
devotion to the wants and wishes of the Confessor who had touched them.
Nothing else mattered. Their only purpose in life, now, was to fulfill her
commands, to do her bidding, to answer her every question.
For one thus touched, there was no crime they wouldn't confess, if she
asked it of them. It was for this alone that Confessors had been created.
Their purpose, in a way, was the same as the Seeker's--the truth. In war, as
in all other aspects of life, there was no more important commodity for
survival than the truth.
This man, kneeling not far away, cried in abject misery because Kahlan
had asked nothing of him. There could be no agony more ghastly, no void more
terrifying, than to be empty of knowing her wish. Existence without her wish
was pointless. In the absence of her command, men touched by a Confessor had
been known to die.
Anything she now asked of him, whether it be to tell her his name,
confess his true love's name, or to murder his beloved mother, would bring
him boundless joy because he would finally have a task to carry out for her.
"Let's find out what this is all about," Richard said in a low growl.
In exhaustion, Kahlan stared at the man on his knees. She was so weary
she could hardly stand. Sweat trickled down between her breasts. She needed
rest, but this problem was more immediate and needed to be attended to
first.
On their way to the man waiting on his knees, his eyes turned
expectantly up toward Kahlan, Richard halted. There, in the dirt before his
boots, was the remains of the statue Sabar had brought to them. It was
broken into a hundred pieces, none of them any longer recognizable except
that those pieces were still a translucent amber color.
Nicci's letter had said that they didn't need the statue, now that it
had given its warning--a warning that Kahlan had somehow broken a protective
shield sealing away something profoundly dangerous.
Kahlan didn't know what the seal protected, but she feared that she
knew all too well what she had done to break it.
She feared even more that, because of her, the magic of Richard's sword
had begun to falter.
As Kahlan stood staring down at the amber fragments ground into the
dirt, despair flooded into her.
Richard's arm circled her waist. "Don't let your imagination get
carried away. We don't know what this is about, yet. We can't even be
certain that it's true--it could even be some kind of mistake."
Kahlan wished that she could believe that.
Richard finally slid his sword back into its scabbard. "Do you want to
rest first, sit a bit?"
His concern for her took precedence over everything. From the first day
she met him, it always had. Right then, it was his well-being that concerned
her.
Using her power sapped a Confessor of strength. It had left Kahlan
feeling not only weak, but, this time, nauseated. She had been named to the
post of Mother Confessor, in part, because her power was so strong that she
was able to recover it in hours; for others it had taken a day or sometimes
two. At the thought of all those other Confessors, some of whom she'd dearly
loved, being long dead, Kahlan felt the weight of hopelessness pulling her
even lower.
To fully recover her strength, she would need a night's rest. At the
moment, though, there were more important considerations, not the least of
which was Richard.
"No," she said. "I'm all right. I can rest later. Let's ask him what
you will."
Richard's gaze moved over the campsite littered with limbs, entrails,
bodies. The ground was soaked with blood. The stench of it all, along with
the still smoldering body beside the fire, was making Kahlan sicker by the
second. She turned away from the man on his knees, toward Richard, into the
protection of his arms. She was exhausted.
"And then let's get away from this place," she said. "We need to get
away from here. There might be more men coming." Kahlan worried that if he
had to draw the sword again, he might not have the help of its magic. "We
need to find a more secure camp."
Richard nodded his agreement. He looked over her head as he held her to
his chest. Despite everything, or perhaps because of everything, it felt
wonderful simply to be held. She could hear Friedrich just rushing back into
camp, panting as he ran. He stumbled to a halt as he let out a moan of
astonishment mixed with revulsion at what he saw.
"Tom, Friedrich," Richard asked, "do you have any idea if there are any
more men coming?"
"I don't think so," Tom said. "I think they were together. I caught
them coming up a gully. I was going to try to make it back here to warn you,
but four of them came over a rise and jumped me while the rest ran for our
camp."
"I didn't see anyone, Lord Rahl," Friedrich said, catching his breath.
"I came running when I heard the yelling."
Richard acknowledged Friedrich's words with a reassuring hand on the
man's shoulder. "Help Tom get the horses hitched. I don't want to spend the
night here."
As the two men sprang into action, Richard turned to Jennsen.
"Please lay out some bedrolls in the back of the wagon, will you? I'd
like Kahlan to be able to lie down and rest when we move out."
Jennsen patted Betty's shoulder, urging the goat to follow her. "Of
course, Richard." She hurried off to the wagon, Betty trotting along close
at her side.
As everyone rushed as quickly as possible to get their things together,
Richard went by himself to an open patch of ground nearby to dig a shallow
grave. There was no time for a funeral pyre. A lonely grave was the best
they could do, but Sabar's spirit was gone, and wouldn't fault the necessity
of their hurried care for his body.
Kahlan reconsidered her thought. After the letter from Nicci and
learning the meaning of the warning beacon, she now had even more reason to
doubt that many things, including spirits, were still true. The world of the
dead was connected to the world of the living by links of magic. The veil
itself was magic and said to be within those like Richard. They had learned
that without magic those links themselves could fail, and that, since those
other worlds couldn't exist independent of the world of life, but only
existed in a relational sense to the world of life, should the links fail
completely, those other worlds might very well cease to exist--much as,
without the sun, the concept of daytime would not exist.
It was now clear to Kahlan that the world's hold on magic was slipping,
and had been slipping for several years.
She knew the reason.
Spirits, the good and the bad, and the existence of everything else
that depended on magic, might soon be lost. That meant that death would
become final, in every sense of the word. It could even be that there was no
longer the possibility of being with a loved one after death, or of being
with the good spirits. The good spirits, even the underworld itself, might
be passing into nothingness.
When Richard was finished, Tom helped him gently place Sabar's body in
the ground. After Tom spoke quiet words asking the good spirits to watch
over one of their own, he and Richard covered the body over.
"Lord Rahl," Tom said in a low voice when they were finished, "while
some of the men began the attack on you, here, others slit the horses'
throats before joining their fellows to come after you four."
"All the horses?"
"Except mine. My draft horses are pretty big. The men were probably
worried about getting trampled. They left some men to take care of me, so
these here thought they had me out of the way. They probably figured they
could worry about the draft horses later, after they had the rest of you."
Tom shrugged his broad shoulders. "Maybe they even planned to capture you,
tie you up, and take you in the wagon."
Richard acknowledged Tom's words with a single nod. He wiped his
fingers across his forehead. Kahlan thought he looked worse than she felt.
She could see that the headache had returned and was crushing him under the
weight of its pain.
Tom looked around their camp, his gaze playing over the fallen men.
"What should we do with the rest of the bodies?"
"The races can have the rest of them," Richard said without hesitation.
Tom didn't look to have any disagreement with that. "I'd better go help
Friedrich finish getting the horses hitched to the wagon. They'll be a
handful with the scent of blood in their nostrils and the sight of the
others dead."
As Tom went to see to his horses, Richard called to Cara. "Count the
bodies," he told her. "We need to know the total."
"Richard," Kahlan asked in a confidential tone after Tom was out of
earshot and Cara had started stepping over some of the bodies and between
others, going about the task of taking a count, "what happened when you drew
the sword?"
He didn't ask what she meant or try to spare her from worry.
"There's something wrong with its magic. When I drew the sword, it
failed to heed my call. The men were rushing in and I couldn't delay in what
I had to do. Once I met the attack, the magic finally reacted.
"It's probably due to the headaches from the gift--they must be
interfering with my ability to join with the sword's magic."
"The last time you had the headaches they didn't interfere with the
sword's power."
"I told you, don't let your imagination get carried away. This has only
happened since I've started getting the headaches again. That has to be the
reason."
Kahlan didn't know if she dared believe him, or if he really even
believed it himself. He was right, though. The problem with the sword's
magic had only recently developed--after he started getting the headaches.
"They're getting worse, aren't they?"
He nodded. "Come on, let's get what answers we can."
Kahlan let out a tired sigh, resigned to that part of it. They had to
use this chance to find out what information was now available to them.
Kahlan turned to the man still on his knees.
The man's tearful eyes gazed pleadingly up at Kahlan as she stepped in
front of him. He had been waiting, alone and without her wishes, for quite a
while and as a result was in a state of dire misery.
"You are to come with us," Kahlan told him in a cold tone. "You are to
walk in front of the wagon for now, where we can keep an eye on you. You
will obey the orders of any of the others with me as you would obey my
orders. You will answer all questions truthfully."
The man fell to his belly on the ground, in tears, kissing her feet,
thanking her profusely for at last commanding him. Groveling on the ground,
with that V-shaped notch in his ear, he reminded her of nothing so much as a
swine.
Fists at her side, Kahlan screamed "Stop that!" She didn't want this
murdering pig touching her.
He sprang back instantly, aghast at the rage in her voice,
horror-struck that she was displeased with him. He cringed motionless at her
feet, his eyes wide, fearful that he would do something else to displease
her.
"You aren't in a uniform," Richard said to the man. "You and the other
men aren't soldiers?"
"We're soldiers, just not regular soldiers," the man said with eager
excitement to be able to answer the question and thus do Kahlan's bidding.
"We're special men serving with the Imperial Order."
"Special? How are you special?"
With a hint of uncertainty in his wet eyes, the man looked nervously up
at Kahlan. She gave him no sign. She had already told him that he was to
follow all their orders. The man, at last certain of her intention, rushed
to go on.
"We're a special unit of men--with the army--our task is to capture
enemies of the Order--we have to pass tests to be sure we're able men--loyal
men--and that we can accomplish the missions we're sent on--"
"Slow down," Richard said. "You're talking too fast."
The man glanced quickly at Kahlan, his eyes filling with tears that he
might have displeased her, too.
"Go on," she said.
"We don't wear uniforms or let our purpose be known," the man said with
obvious relief that if he continued it would satisfy her. "Usually we work
in cities, searching out insurrectionists. We mingle with people, get them
to think of us as one of them. When they plot against the Order, we go along
until we find out the names of all those involved and then we capture them
and turn them over for questioning."
Richard stared down at the man for a long time, his face showing no
reaction. Richard had been in the hands of the Order and "questioned."
Kahlan could only imagine what he must have been thinking.
"And do you hand over only those who you know to be plotting against
the Order?" Richard asked. "Or do you simply turn in those you suspect and
anyone who they know?"
"If we suspect they might be plotting--like if they keep to themselves
and their own group, and won't open their lives to other citizens--then we
turn them in to be questioned so that it can be determined what they might
be hiding." The man licked his lips, keen to tell them the full extent of
his methods. "We talk to those they work with, or neighbors, and get the
names of anyone they associate with, any of their friends--sometimes even
their closest family members. We usually take at least some of them, too,
and turn them over for questioning. When they're questioned, they all
confess their crimes against the Order so that proves our suspicions about
them were right."
Kahlan thought that Richard might draw his sword and behead the man on
the spot. Richard knew all too well what they did to those who were brought
in, knew how hopeless was their plight.
Confessions obtained under torture often provided names of anyone who
might be suspicious for any reason, making the job of torturing a very busy
profession. The people of the Old World lived in constant fear that they
would be taken to one of the many places where people were questioned.
Those pulled in were rarely guilty of plotting against the Order; most
people were too busy just trying to survive, trying to feed their families,
to have time to plot to overthrow the rule of the Imperial Order. Many
people did, however, talk about a better life, about what they would like to
do, to grow, to create, to own, about their hopes that their children would
have a better life than theirs. Since mankind's duty was sacrifice to the
betterment of their fellow man, not to their own betterment, that, to the
Imperial Order, was not just insurrection, but blasphemy. In the Old World,
misery was a widespread virtue, a duty to a higher calling.
There were others who didn't dream of a better life, but dreamed of
helping the Order by turning in the names of those who spoke ill of the
Order, or hid food or even a bit of money, or talked of a better life.
Turning in such "disloyal citizens" kept yet other fingers from pointing at
the informer. Informing became an indicator of sanctity.
Instead of drawing his sword, Richard changed the subject. "How many of
you were there, tonight?"
"Including me, twenty-eight," the man said without delay.
"Were you all together in one group when you attacked?"
The man nodded, keen to admit their whole plan and thus gain Kah-lan's
approval. "We wanted to make sure you and, and..." His eyes turned to Kahlan
as he realized the incompatibility of his two goals-- confessing and
pleasing the Mother Confessor.
He burst into tears, clasping his hands prayerfully. "Forgive me,
Mistress! Please, forgive me!"
If his voice was the quintessence of emotion, hers was the opposite.
"Answer the question."
He brought his sobbing to a halt in order to speak as he had been
commanded. Tears, though, continued to stream down his filthy cheeks. "We
stayed together for a focused attack, so we could be sure that we captured
Lord Rahl and, and... you, Mother Confessor. When trying to capture a
good-size group we split up, with half holding back to look for anyone who
might try to slip away, but I told the men that I wanted the both of you,
and you were said to be together, so this was our chance. I didn't want to
run the risk that you would have any hope of fighting us off, so I ordered
all the men to the attack, having some cut the throats of the saddle horses,
first, to prevent any possibility of escape."
His face brightened. "I never suspected that we might fail."
"Who sent you?" Kahlan asked.
The man shuffled forward on his knees, his hand tentatively coming up
to touch her leg. Kahlan remained motionless, but by her icy glare let him
know that touching her would displease her greatly. The hand backed away.
"Nicholas," he said.
Kahlan's brow twitched. She had been expecting him to say Jagang had
sent him.
She was wary of the possibility that the dream walker might be watching
through this man's eyes. Jagang had in the past sent assassins after he had
slipped into their thoughts. With Jagang in a person's mind, he dominated
and directed them, and even Cara could not control them. Nor, for that
matter, could Kahlan.
"You're lying to me. Jagang sent you."
The man fell to pitiful weeping. "No, Mistress! I've never had any
dealings with His Excellency. The army is vast and far-flung. I take my
orders from those in my section. I don't think that the ones they take
orders from, or their commanders, or even theirs, are worthy of His
Excellency's attention. His Excellency is far to the north, bringing the
word of the Order's salvation to a lawless and savage people; he would not
even be aware of us.
"We are but a lowly squad of men with the muscle to snatch people the
Order wants, either for questioning or to silence them. We are all from this
part of the empire and so we were called upon because we were here. I am not
worthy of the attention of His Excellency."
"But Jagang has visited you--in your dreams. He has visited your mind."
"Mistress?" The man looked terrified to have to question her rather
than answer her question. "I don't understand."
Kahlan stared. "Jagang has come into your mind. He has spoken to you."
He looked sincerely puzzled as he shook his head. "No, Mistress. I have
never met His Excellency. I have never dreamed about him--I don't know
anything about him, except that Altur'Rang has the honor of being the place
where he was born.
"Would you like me to kill him for you, Mistress? Please, if it is your
wish, allow me to kill him for you?"
The man didn't know how preposterous such a notion was; in his desire
to please her, though, if she commanded it he would be only too happy to
make the attempt. Kahlan turned her back on the man as Richard watched him.
She leaned toward Richard a bit as she spoke quietly, so the man
wouldn't hear. "I don't know if those visited by the dream walker must
always be aware of it, but I think they would be. The ones I've seen before
were mindful of Jagang's presence in their mind."
"Couldn't the dream walker slip into a person's mind without their
being aware of it just so he could watch us?"
"I suppose it's possible," she said. "But think of all the millions of
people in the Old World--he can't know whose mind to enter so he can watch.
Dream walker or not, he is only one man."
"Are you gifted?" Richard asked the man.
"No."
"Well," Richard whispered, "Nicci told me that Jagang rarely bothers
with the ungifted. She said that it was difficult for him to take the mind
of the ungifted, so he simply uses the gifted he controls and has them
control the ungifted for him. He has all the Sisters he's captured that he
has to worry about. He has to maintain his control over them and direct
their actions--including what we started to read in Nicci's letter--about
how he's guiding the Sisters in altering people into weapons. Besides that
he heads the army and plans strategy. He has a lot of things to manage, so
he usually confines himself to the minds of the gifted."
"But not always. If he has to, if he needs to, if he wants to, he can
enter the minds of the ungifted. If we were smart," Kahlan whispered, "we
would kill this man now."
As they spoke, Richard's glare never left the man. She knew he would
not hesitate to agree unless he thought the man might still be of use.
"I have but to command it," Kahlan reminded him, "and he will drop
dead."
Richard took in her eyes for a moment, then turned back to the man and
frowned. "You said someone named Nicholas sent you. Who is this Nicholas?"
"Nicholas is a fearsome wizard in the service of the Order."
"You saw him. He gave you these orders?"
"No. We are too lowly for one such as he to bother with us. He sent
orders that were passed down."
"How did you know where we were?" Richard asked.
"The orders included the general area. They said that we should look
for you coming north at the eastern edge of the desert wasteland and if we
found you we were to capture you."
"How did Nicholas know where we were?"
The man blinked, as if searching his mind to see if he had the answer.
"I don't know. We weren't told how he knew. We were told only that we were
to search this area and if we found you we were to bring you both in, alive.
The commander who passed on the orders told me not to fail or the Slide
would be very displeased with us."
"Who would be displeased? ... The Slide?"
"Nicholas the Slide. That is what he's called. Some people just call
him 'the Slide.' "
Frowning, Kahlan turned back to the man. "The what?"
The man began trembling at her frown. "The Slide, Mistress."
"What does that mean? The Slide?"
The man fell to wailing, his hands clasped together again as he begged
her forgiveness. "I don't know, Mistress. I don't know. You asked who sent
me, that is his name. Nicholas. People call him the Slide."
"Where is he?" Richard asked.
"I don't know," the man blurted out as he wept. "I received my orders
from my commander. He said that a Brother of the Order brought the orders to
his commander."
Richard took a deep breath as he rubbed the back of his neck. "What
else do you know about this Nicholas, other than that he's a wizard and he's
called 'the Slide'?"
"I only know to fear him, as do my commanders."
"Why? What happens if you displease him?" Kahlan asked.
"He impales those who displease him."
With the stench of blood and burning flesh, along with the things she
was hearing, it was all Kahlan could do to keep from being sick. She didn't
know how much longer her stomach could take it if they stayed in this place,
if this man told her anything else.
Kahlan gently grasped Richard's forearm. "Please, Richard," she
whispered, "this isn't really getting us anything very useful. Please, let's
get out of here? If we think of anything, we can question him more later."
"Get out in front of the wagon," Richard said without hesitation. "I
don't want her having to look at you."
The man bobbed his head and scrambled away.
"I don't think Jagang is in his mind," Kahlan said, "but what if I'm
wrong?"
"For now, I think we should keep him alive. Out in front of the wagon,
Tom will have a clear view of him. If we're wrong, well, Tom is very quick
with his knife." Richard let out a shallow breath. "I've already learned
something important."
"What?"
His hand in the small of her back started her moving. "Let's get going
and I'll tell you about it."
Kahlan could see the wagon waiting in the distant darkness. Tom's eyes
followed the man as he ran out in front of the big draft horses and stood
waiting. Jennsen and Cara were in the back of the wagon. Friedrich sat up on
the seat beside Tom.
"How many?" Richard called to Cara as they approached the wagon.
"With the four out in the hills that Tom took care of, and this one,
here, twenty-eight."
"That's all of them, then," Richard said with relief.
Kahlan felt his hand on the small of her back slip away. He staggered
to a halt. Kahlan paused beside him, not knowing why he'd stopped. Richard
sank to one knee. Kahlan dropped down beside him, throwing an arm around him
for support. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain. With his arm pressed across
his abdomen, he doubled over.
Cara leaped over the side of the wagon and raced to their side.
Despite how exhausted Kahlan was, panic jolted her instantly to full
alert. "We need to get to the sliph," she said to Cara as well as Richard.
"We need to get to Zedd and get some answers--and some help. Zedd can help."
Richard drew labored breaths, unable to speak as he held his breath
against a wave of agony. Kahlan felt helpless not knowing what to do to help
him.
"Lord Rahl," Cara said, kneeling before him, "you have been taught to
control pain. You must do that, now." She seized a fistful of his hair and
lifted his head to be able to look into his eyes. "Think," she commanded.
"Remember. Put the pain in its place. Do it!"
Richard clutched her forearm as if to thank her for her words. "Can't,"
he finally managed to say to Kahlan through his obvious suffering. "We can't
go in the sliph."
"We must," she insisted. "The sliph is the fastest way."
"And if I step down into the sliph, breathe in that quicksilver
creature--and my magic fails?"
Kahlan was frantic. "But we must go in the sliph to get there in a
hurry." She feared to say "in time."
"And if anything is wrong, I'll die." He panted, trying to catch his
breath against the pain. "Without magic, breathing the sliph is death. The
sword is failing me." He swallowed, coughed, gasped for breath. "If my gift
is causing the headaches, and that's making magic falter in me, and I enter
the sliph, I will be dead after I take the first breath. There's no way to
test it."
An icy wave of terror shot through her veins. Getting to Zedd was
Richard's only hope. That had been her plan. Without help, the headaches of
the gift would kill him.
She feared, though, that she knew why the magic of his sword was
failing, and it wasn't the headaches. She feared that it was in fact the
same thing that had caused the seal to be broken. The warning beacon
testified that she was the cause of that. If it was true, then she was the
cause of that and much more.
If she was right, she realized, if it was true, then Richard was right
about the sliph--going into the sliph would indeed be death. If she was
right, then he wouldn't even be able to call the sliph, much less travel by
it.
"Richard Rahl, if you're going to throw mud on my best ideas then you
had better have an idea of your own to offer in its place."
He was gasping, now, in the clutch of violent pain. And then Kahlan saw
blood when he coughed.
"Richard!"
Tom, looking alarmed, raced up beside them. When he saw the blood
running down Richard's chin, he turned ashen.
"Help him to the wagon," Kahlan said, trying to keep her voice steady.
Cara put her shoulder under his arm. Tom circled an arm around Richard
and helped Kahlan and Cara lift him to his feet.
"Nicci," Richard said.
"What?" Kahlan asked.
"You wanted to know if I had an idea. Nicci." He gasped in pain and
struggled to get his breath. Yet more blood came when he coughed. It was
dripping off his chin.
Nicci was a sorceress, not a wizard. Richard needed a wizard. Even if
they had to travel overland, they could race there. "But Zedd would be
better able--"
"Zedd is too far," he said. "We need to get to Nicci. She can use both
sides of the gift."
Kahlan hadn't thought of that. Maybe she really could help.
Halfway to the wagon, Richard collapsed. It was all they could do to
hold up his dead weight. With Tom gripping him under the backs of his
shoulders and Cara and Kahlan each holding a leg, they ran the rest of the
way to the wagon.
Tom, without the need of help from Cara and Kahlan, hoisted Richard
into the back of the wagon. Jennsen hurriedly unfurled another bedroll. They
laid Richard out as carefully as they could. Kahlan felt as if she were
watching herself react, move, talk. She refused to allow herself to give in
to panic.
Kahlan and Jennsen tried to lean in, to see how he was, but Cara shoved
them back out of the way. She bent over Richard, putting her ear to his
mouth, listening. Her fingers felt for a pulse at the side of his throat.
Her other hand cupped the back of his neck, no doubt preparing to hold him
to give him the breath of life if she had to. Mord-Sith were knowledgeable
about such things; they knew how to keep people alive in order to extend
their torture. Cara knew how to use that knowledge to help save lives, too.
"He's breathing," Cara said as she straightened. She laid a comforting
hand on Kahlan's arm. "He's breathing easier now."
Kahlan nodded her thanks, unwilling to test her voice. She moved in
closer to Richard, on the other side, while Cara wiped the blood from his
chin and mouth. Kahlan felt helpless. She didn't know what to do.
"We'll ride all night," Tom said over his shoulder as he climbed up
into the driver's seat.
Kahlan forced herself to think. They had to get to Nicci.
"No," she said. "It's a long way to Altur'Rang. We're not near any
roads; picking our way cross country in the dark is foolhardy. If we're
reckless and push too hard we'll just end up killing the horses--or they
could break a leg, which would be just as bad. If we lose the horses, we
can't very well carry Richard all the way and expect to make it in time.
"The wisest thing to do is to go just as fast as we possibly can, but
we also have to get rest along the way to be ready should we be attacked
again. We have to use our heads or we'll never make it."
Jennsen held Richard's hand in both of hers. "He has that headache, and
he fought all those men--maybe if he can just get some sleep, he'll be
better, then."
Kahlan was buoyed by that thought, even though she didn't think it was
that simple. She stood in the wagon bed, looking out at the man waiting for
her to command him.
"Are there any more of you? Any more sent to attack us or capture us?
Did this Nicholas send anyone else?"
"Not that I'm aware of, Mistress."
Kahlan spoke softly to Tom. "If he even looks like he's going to cause
any trouble, don't hesitate. Kill him."
With a nod, Tom readily agreed. Kahlan dropped back down and felt
Richard's brow. His skin was cold and wet.
"We'd best go on until we find a place that will be easier to defend. I
think Jennsen is right that he needs rest; I don't think bouncing around in
the back of this wagon is going to help him. We'll all need to get some rest
and then start out at first light."
"We need to find a horse," Cara said. "The wagon is too slow. If we can
find a horse, I'll ride like the wind, find Nicci, and start back with her.
That way we don't have to wait all the way until we get there in the wagon."
"Good idea." Kahlan looked up at Tom. "Let's get going--find a place to
stop for the night."
Tom nodded as he threw off the brake. At his urging, the horses heaved
their weight against the names and the wagon lurched ahead.
Betty, puling softly, lay beside an unconscious Richard and put her
head down on his shoulder. Jennsen stroked Betty's head.
Kahlan saw tears running down Jennsen's cheeks. "I'm sorry about
Rusty."
Betty's head came up. She let out a pitiful bleat.
Jennsen nodded. "Richard will be all right," she said, her voice choked
with tears as she took Kahlan's hand. "I know he will."
Zedd thought he heard something.
The spoonful of stew he was about to put into his waiting mouth paused.
He remained motionless, listening.
The Keep often had sounded alive to him, as if it were breathing. Once
in a while it even sounded as if it were letting out a small sigh. Ever
since he was a boy, Zedd had, on occasion, heard loud snaps that he never
could trace. He suspected such sounds were most likely the massive stone
blocks moving just a tad, popping as they yielded ground against a neighbor.
There were stone blocks down in the foundations of the Keep that were the
size of small palaces.
Once, when Zedd was no more than ten or twelve, a loud crack had rung
through the entire Keep as if the place had been struck with a giant hammer.
He ran out of the library, where he'd been studying, to see other people
coming out of rooms all up and down the hall, looking about, whispering
their worries to one another. Zedd's father had later told him that it was
found to be nothing more than one of the huge foundation blocks cracking
suddenly, and while it posed no structural problem, the abrupt snap of such
an enormous piece of granite had been heard throughout the Keep. Although
such occurrences were rare, it was not the last time he heard such a
harmless, but frightening, sound in the Keep.
And then there were the animals. Bats flew unrestricted through parts
of the Keep. There were towers that soared to dizzying heights, some empty
inside but for stone stairs curving up around the inside of the outer wall
on their way up to a small room at the top, or an observation deck. In the
dusty streamers of sunlight penetrating the dark interiors of those towers
there could be seen myriad bugs flitting about. The bats loved the towers.
Rats, too, lived in parts of the Keep. They scurried and squeaked,
sometimes causing a fright. Mice were common in places, making noise
scratching and gnawing at things. And then there were the cats, offspring of
former mousers and pets, but now all wild, that lived off the rats and the
mice. The cats also hunted the birds that flew in and out of uncovered
openings to feed on bugs, or to build nests up in high recesses.
There were sometimes awful sounds when a bat, a mouse, a bird, or even
a cat went somewhere they weren't permitted. The shields were meant to keep
people away from dangerous or restricted areas, but they were also placed to
prevent unauthorized access to many of the items stored and preserved in the
Keep. The shields guarded against life; they made no distinction between
human and nonhuman life.
Otherwise, after all, a pet dog that innocently wandered into a
restricted area could theoretically retrieve a dangerous talisman and
proudly take it to a child master who could be put in peril by it. Those who
placed the shields were aware that it was also possible for unscrupulous
people to train animals to go to restricted areas, snatch whatever they
might be able to carry, and bring it to them. Not knowing what animal might
potentially be trained for such a task, the shields were made to ward all
life. If a bat flew into the wrong shield, it was incinerated.
There were shields in the Keep that even Zedd could not get through
because they required both sides of the gift and he had only the Additive.
Some of the shields took the form of a barrier of magic that physically
prevented passage in some way, either by restricting movement or by inducing
a sensation so unpleasant that one wouldn't force oneself beyond. Those
shields were meant to prevent ungifted people or children from entering
certain areas, not to prevent entrance to the gifted, so it was not
necessary for those shields to kill.
But such shields only worked for those who were ungifted.
In other places, entrance was strictly forbidden to anyone but those
with not only the appropriate ability, but proper authority. Without both