Richard was getting an uneasy feeling as he considered both Nicci's words and the bones he had seen.

"Nicci, may I ask you a question, a serious question, about magic?"

She gazed over at him as she slowed her horse to an easy walk. "What is it you wish to know?"

"How long do you think a dragon could exist without magic?"

Nicci considered his question for a moment, but in the end let out a sigh. "I only know about the history of the dragons in the Old World as it was taught. As you know, words written that long ago are not always dependable. It would only be an educated guess. I would say it could be mere moments, possibly days-or even longer, but not a great deal longer. It's a much simplified version of asking how long a fish could live out of water. Why do you ask?"

Richard raked his fingers back through his hair. "When the chimes were here, in this world, they drew away magic. All of the magic, or nearly all, anyway, was withdrawn from the world of life for a time."

She turned her eyes back to the road. "My estimation is that the withdrawal was total, for a time, at least."

That was what he had feared. Richard considered her words along with what he knew. "Not all creatures of magic depend on it. Us, for example; we are, in a way,

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creatures of magic, but we can live without it, too. I'm wondering if creatures that depended on magic for their very existence might not have made it through until the chimes were banished and magic was restored to the world of life."

"Magic was not restored."

Richard pulled his horse up short. "What?"

"Not in the way you are thinking about it." Nicci circled around to face him. "Richard, while I have no direct knowledge with precisely what happened, such an event could not be without consequence."

"Tell me what you know."

She frowned in curiosity. "Why do you look so concerned?"

"Nicci, please, just tell me what you know?"

She folded her wrists over the horn of her saddle.

"Richard, magic is a complex matter, so there can be no certainty." She held up a hand to forestall his cascade of questions. "This much, though, is certain. The world doesn't stay the same. It changes continuously.

"Magic is not merely part of this world. Magic is the conduit between worlds. Do you understand?"

He thought he might. "I accidentally used magic to call forth the spirit of my father from the underworld. I banished him back to the underworld with the use of magic. The Mud People, for example, use magic to communicate with their spirit ancestors beyond the veil in the underworld. I had to go to the Temple of the Winds, in another world, when Jagang sent a Sister there to start a plague which she brought back from that world."

"And what do all of those things have in common?"

"They used magic to bridge the gap between worlds."

"Yes. But there is more. Those worlds exist, but they are dependent on this one to define them, are they not?"

"You mean, like life is created into this world, and after death, souls are taken by the Keeper to the underworld?"

"Yes. But more, do you see the connection?"

Richard was getting lost. He hadn't grown up knowing anything about magic. "We're caught between the two realms?"

"No, not exactly." Her blue eyes flashed with intensity. She waited until his gaze steadied on hers, then she held up a finger to mark the importance of her words.

"Magic is a conduit between worlds. As magic diminishes, those other worlds are not just more distant to us, but the power of those worlds, in this world, diminishes. Do you see?"

Richard was getting goose bumps. "You mean, the other worlds have less influence, like . . . like a child who has grown and his parents have less influence over him. "

"Yes." In the fading light her eyes seemed more blue than usual. "As the worlds grow more separate, it is something like a child growing and leaving home. But there is more to it, yet."

She leaned forward ever so slightly in her saddle. "You see, those other worlds can be said to exist only by their relationship to life-to this world." At that moment, she seemed like nothing to him so much as what she really was: a onehundred-and-eighty-year-old sorceress. "It might even be said," she whispered in a voice that sounded like the shadows speaking, "that without magic to link those other worlds to this, those other worlds cease to exist."

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Richard swallowed. "You mean, just as the child grows and leaves home, the parents become less important to his existence. When they eventually grow old and die, even though they were once vital and strongly linked to him, when they now cease to exist, he lives on without them."

"Exactly," she hissed.

"The world changes," he said almost to himself. "The world doesn't stay the same. That's what Jagang wants. He wants magic, and those other worlds, to cease to exist so that he will have this one all for himself."

"No," she said in a soft voice. "He wishes it not for himself, but for mankind." Richard started to argue, but she cut him off. "I know Jagang. I'm telling you what he believes. He may enjoy the spoils, but in his heart, he believes he is doing this for mankind, not himself."

Richard didn't really believe her, but he didn't see any point in quarreling with her. Either way, because of the changes taking place, such creatures as dragons might have already become extinct. Those white bones could very well have been the remains of the last red dragon.

"Because of events like the chimes, the world may already have irrevocably changed to a point where creatures of magic have died out," she said as she stared out over the empty twilight. "In an evolving world such as I describe, magic, even such as ours, would soon die out, too. Do you see, now? Without that conduit to other worlds, worlds that may no longer exist, magic would not come into existence when offspring of the gifted are born."

One thing was sure: when the time came, he was going to make Nicci extinct.

As they rode on, Richard gazed back over his shoulder at bones he could no longer see.

--]--- It was well after dark when they rode into the town. When Richard inquired of a passerby, he was told that the town, Ripply, was named after the rippling foothills. It was a quiet place, off in a nearly forgotten corner of the Midlands, its back to what used to be the wasteland from where no one ever returned. Many of the people grew wheat and raised sheep to provide themselves with trade goods, while keeping small animals and gardens for themselves.

There was a road coming in from the southwest, from Renwold, and other roads going off to the north. Ripply was a crossroads for trade between Renwold, the people of the wilds who traded at that outpost city, and villages to the north and east. Now, of course, Renwold was gone; the Imperial Order had sacked the city. Now, with only ghosts inhabiting the streets of Renwold, the people of the wilds who traded their goods there would suffer. The people from the towns and villages who came to Ripply would suffer, too; Ripply was falling on hard times.

Richard and Nicci created a small sensation. Strangers traveling through had become a sporadic event, what with Renwold gone. The two of them were tired, and there was an inn, but raucous drinking was going on there, and Richard didn't want to have to deal with that kind of trouble. There was a well-kept stable at the other end of town from the inn, and the man who owned it offered to let them stay in the hayloft for a silver penny each. The night was cold, and it would be warmer in the hayloft out of the wind, so Richard paid the man the penny each for themselves, and three more for the horses to be cared for and fed. The taciturn stable owner was so

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pleased with the extra penny for the horses that he told Richard he would tend their shoes while he had them.

When Richard thanked him and told him they were tired, the man smiled for the first time and said, "I'll be seeing to your horses, then. I hope you and your wife sleep well. Good night, then."

Richard followed Nicci up the rough wooden ladder at the back of the barn. They had a cold dinner sitting in the hay as they listened to the stable owner fetching grain and water for their horses. Richard and Nicci had only the bare bones of necessary conversation before they rolled themselves up in their cloaks and went to sleep. When they woke a little after dawn, they discovered a small gathering of skinny children and hollow-cheeked adults, come to see the "rich" folks traveling through. Apparently, their horses, better than any that had boarded at the stable in a long time, had been the source of gossip and speculation.

When Richard greeted the people, he got back only vacant looks. When he and Nicci walked to the supply store, not far away past a few drab buildings, the people all followed, as if it were a king and queen come to town, and they all wanted to see what such highborn people did with their day. Goats and chickens wandering Ripply's main street scattered before the procession. A milk cow cropping brown grass behind the leather shop paused for a look. A rooster atop a stump flapped his wings in annoyance.

When the bolder children asked who they were, Nicci told them that they were only travelers, husband and wife, looking for work. Such news was greeted with skeptical tittering. In her fine black dress, the people took Nicci for a queen looking for a kingdom. They thought only a little less of Richard.

When an older boy asked where they were going to look for work, as there was little to be found in Ripply, Nicci told them that they were going to the Old World. Some of the adults snatched up children and hurried away. Yet more remained close on Richard and Nicci's heels.

An older man who owned the supply store gently shooed the people away from his door when Richard went in. Once Richard had gone inside, he watched the people grow bolder and begin pawing at Nicci, begging for money, for medicine, for food. Nicci stayed outside with the people, asking them about their troubles and their needs. She moved through the crowd, inspecting the children. She had that blank look on her face that Richard didn't like.

"What can I get you," the proprietor asked.

"Ah, what about those people?" Richard asked instead.

He glanced out the sparkling-clean little window to see Nicci standing in the middle of the ragged group, talking about the Creator's love for them. They all listened as if she were a good spirit come to comfort them.

"Well, they're all sorts," the shop owner said. "Most wandered in from the Old World after the barrier came down. Some are just no-good locals-drunks and such-who'd just as soon beg or steal as work. When strangers from the Old World came in, some of the people here joined their ways. We get traders through here, and men like that, with goods to protect, find they have less trouble if they're generous with that sort. Some of them out there are folks who've had trouble-widows with children who can't find a husband; things like that. A few of them will work for me, when I have work, but most won't."

Richard was about to give the man a list of their needs, when Nicci glided in the door.

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"Richard, 1 need some money."

Rather than argue with her, he passed her the saddlebag with the money. She reached in and pulled out a handful of gold and silver. The shop owner's eyes went wide when he saw how much she had in her fist. She paid him no heed. Richard stood slack jawed as he watched Nicci, back out with the crowd, giving away all the money. Arms waved and reached for her. People cried out all the louder. A few ran off with what she had given them.

Richard pulled open the saddlebag, peering in to see how much they had left. It wasn't much. He could hardly believe what Nicci had just done. It made no sense.

"How about some barley flour, some oatmeal, some rice, some bacon, lentils, dried biscuits, and salt?" he asked the waiting proprietor.

"No oatmeal, but I've got the rest. How much do you want?"

Richard was running calculations through his head. They had a long journey, and Nicci had just given away most of their money. They'd used up the better portion of the supplies they had.

He laid six silver pennies on the counter. "Just what that will buy us." He pulled his pack off his back and set it on the counter beside the money.

The man scooped up the coins and sighed at the money he had almost made. He began pulling the items down from a shelf and placing them in the pack. As he worked, Richard requested a few other small things he remembered as the man was going about getting the order. He parted with another penny.

Richard had only a few silver pennies, two silver crowns, and no gold left. Nicci had handed out more money than most of those people had ever seen in their entire lifetimes. Worried about what they were going to do for supplies in the future, Richard slung his pack onto his back when the shop proprietor had finished, and rushed out to see if he couldn't slow Nicci down.

She was lecturing on the Creator's love of every man and asking the people to forgive the cruelty of heartless and uncaring people, as she handed the last gold coin to an unshaven man without teeth. He grinned his thanks and then licked his parched lips. Richard knew how he would wet them. There were yet more pleading hands thrusting toward her.

Worried, Richard seized Nicci's arm and pulled her back. She turned toward him.

"We have to get back to the stables," she said.

"That's what I'm thinking," Richard said, holding his anger in check. "Let's hope the stableman is done with them by now so we can get out of here."

"No," she said with a look of grim finality in her eye. "We need to sell the horses."

"What?" Richard blinked in angry astonishment. "May I at least ask why?"

"To share what we have with those who have nothing."

Richard was beyond words. He just stared at her. How were they going to travel? He considered the question briefly, and decided that he didn't really care how soon they got to wherever it was she was taking him. But they would have to carry everything. He was a woods guide, and used to walking with a pack, so he guessed he could walk. He let out his breath and turned toward the stables.

"We need to sell the horses," Richard told the stable owner.

The man frowned, looked at the horses standing in their stalls, and then back at Richard. He looked thunderstruck.

"Those are mighty fine horses, mister. We don't have horses like this around here."

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"You do now," Nicci said.

He glanced uneasily at her. Most people were uneasy gazing at Nicci, either because of her startling beauty, or because of her cool, often denunciative, presence.

"I can't pay what horses like this are worth."

"We didn't ask you to," Nicci said in a dull voice. "We only asked to sell them to you. We need to sell them. We'll take what you can give us."

The man's eyes shifted from Richard's to Nicci's and back. Richard could tell the man was uneasy about cheating them in such a way, but he couldn't seem to figure out how to turn down such an offer.

"All I can pay is four silver marks for the both of them."

Richard knew they were worth ten times that much.

"And the tack," Nicci said.

The man scratched his cheek. "I guess I could throw in another silver, but that's all I got to my name. I'm sorry, I know they're worth more, but if you're bound and determined for me to buy them off you, that's all I got."

"Is there anyone else in town who might buy them for more?" Richard asked.

"I don't believe so, but to tell you the truth, son, it wouldn't be hurting my feelings if you were to go ask around. I don't like swindling folks, and I know you couldn't call five silver marks for the horses and tack anything else but a swindle."

The man kept glancing at Nicci, seeming to suspect that this transaction was beyond Richard's ability to control. Her steady blue eyes could make any man fidget.

"We accept your offer," Nicci said without any hesitation or uncertainty. "I'm sure it's quite fair."

The man sighed unhappily at his windfall. "I don't have that much money on me. I'll go in the house"-he lifted a thumb over his shoulder-"out back of the barn and get it, if you'd be so good as to wait a minute."

Nicci nodded and he hurried on his way, not so much eager to consummate the deal, Richard thought, as he was eager to be out from under Nicci's gaze.

Richard turned to her, feeling his face heating. "What's this all about?" He saw through the partly open stable doors that the crowd of people who had followed them were still out there.

She ignored his question. "Get your things-whatever you can carry. As soon as he comes back, it's time we were on our way."

Richard pulled his glare from her. He stalked over to his gear, sitting outside Boy's stall, and began stuffing everything he could into his pack. He strapped the waterskins around his waist and flipped the saddlebags over his shoulders. He was sure the stable owner wouldn't complain about not having the saddlebags with the rest of the tack. Richard thought that when they reached a more prosperous town, he could at least sell the saddlebags. While he worked, Nicci put her belongings into a pack she could carry.

When the man came back with the money, he offered it to Richard. Nicci held out her hand.

"I'll take it," she said.

He glanced to Richard's eyes once and then handed Nicci the money. "I threw in the silver pennies you paid me last night. That's all l have, I swear."

"Thank you," Nicci said. "That was very generous of you to share what you have. That is the Creator's way."

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Without another word, Nicci turned and strode through the dimly lit stable and out the door.

"It's my way," the man muttered under his breath to her back. "Creator had no say in it."

Outside in the sunlight, Nicci began doling out the money she had just gotten for the horses. The people vied for her favor as she walked among them, speaking to them, asking questions, until she was out of sight, past the edge of the barn door.

Richard gave Boy a quick rub on the blaze of his forehead, hoisted his saddlebags onto his shoulder, and turned to the dumbfounded expression on the stable owner's face. He and Richard shared a helpless look.

"I hope she's a good wife to you," the man finally said.

Richard wanted to say that Nicci was a Sister of the Dark, and that he was her prisoner, but in the end he decided that it could serve no purpose. Nicci had made it clear to him that he was Richard Cypher, her husband, and she was Nicci Cypher, his wife. She had told him to stick to that story-for Kahlan's sake.

"She's just generous," Richard said. "That's why I married her. She's good to people."

Richard heard a woman's cry, and shouting. He bolted for the partly open door and ran out into the bright morning sunlight. He didn't see anyone. He raced around to the side of the barn, to where he heard scuffling.

A half dozen men had Nicci down on the ground, some swinging at her with their fists as she tried to fend them off with her bare hands. Others pawed at her, searching for a money pouch. They were fighting over the unearned before it was even out of her hands. A crowd of women, children, and other men stood around the scene in a circle, vultures waiting to pick the bones.

Richard crashed through the ring of people, seized the closest man by the back of his collar, and heaved him back. He was skinny, and flew through the air, crashing into the wall of the barn. The whole building shook. Richard kicked another in the ribs, tumbling him off Nicci and through the dirt. A third man spun and took a mighty swing at Richard. Richard caught the fist and bent it down until he felt a snap as the man cried out. At that, the men all scattered in every direction.

Richard started after one of them, but Nicci suddenly flew at him, restraining him.

"Richard! No!"

In his rage to get at the men, Richard nearly smashed her face, but, when he realized it was her, lowered his fists to his sides as he glared at the crowd.

"Please,, my lord, please, my lady;" one of the women wailed, "have mercy on us woeful folk. We's just the Creator's miserable wretches. Have mercy on us."

"You're a bunch of thieves!" Richard yelled. "Thieving from someone who was trying to help you!"

He made an effort to go after the lot of them, but Nicci held his wrists down. "Richard, no!"

The people vanished like mice before a hissing cat.

Nicci let Richard's fists drop. He saw then that she had blood on her mouth.

"What's the matter with you? Giving money to people who would rather rob you than wait for you to hand it to them willingly? Why would you give money to such vermin?"

"That's enough. I'll not stand here and listen to you insult the Creator's chil 241

dren. Who are you to judge? Who are you, with a full belly, to say what's right? You have no idea what those poor people have been through, and yet you are quick to judge." Richard took a purging breath. He reminded himself yet again of what he had to keep uppermost in his mind. It was not really Nicci he had been protecting.

He pulled a shirtsleeve from the corner of his pack, wet it with water from a waterskin hanging around his waist, and carefully wiped her bloody mouth and chin. She winced as he worked but without protest let him inspect her injury.

"It's not bad," he told her. "Just a cut in the corner of your mouth. Hold still, now."

She stood quietly as he held her head in one hand while he cleaned the blood off the rest of her face with the other.

"Thank you, Richard." She hesitated. "I was sure one of them was going to cut my throat."

"Why didn't you use your Han to protect yourself?"

"Have you forgotten? To do that, I would have to take power from the link keeping Kahlan alive."

He looked into her blue eyes. "I guess I forgot. In that case, thank you for restraining yourself."

Nicci said nothing as they walked out of the town of Ripply, carrying everything they owned on their backs. As cold as the day was, it wasn't long before his brow was dotted with sweat.

Finally he could stand it no longer. "Do you mind telling me what that was all about?"

Her brow twitched. "Those people were needy."

Richard pinched the bridge of his nose, pausing in an effort to remain civil to her. "And so you gave them all our money?"

"Are you so selfish that you would not share what you have? Are you so selfish that you would ask the hungry to starve, the unclothed to freeze, the sick to die? Does money mean more to you than people's lives?"

Richard bit the inside of his cheek to check his temper. "And the horses? You virtually gave them away."

"It was all we could get. Those people were in need. Under the circumstances, it was the best we could do. We acted with the most noble of intentions. It was our duty to not be selfish and to joyfully give these people what they needed."

There was no road going their way as they walked on into what had not long ago

been the wasteland from which no one returned. "We needed what we had," he said.

Nicci glanced up into his eyes. "There are things you need to learn, Richard."

"Is that right."

"You have been lucky in life. You have had opportunities ordinary people never have. I want you to see how ordinary people must live, how they must struggle just to survive. When you live like them, you will understand why the Order is so necessary, why the Order is the only hope for mankind.

"When we get to where we're going, we will have nothing. We will be just like all the other miserable people of this wretched world-with little chance to make it on our own. You don't have any idea what that's like. I want you to learn how the compassion of the Order helps ordinary people live with the dignity they are entitled to."

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Richard returned his gaze to the empty land stretching out before them. A Sister of the Dark who couldn't use her power, and a wizard who was forbidden from using his. He guessed they couldn't get any more ordinary than that. "I thought it was you who wanted to learn," he said. "I am also your teacher. Teachers sometimes learn more than their students."

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CHAPTER 31

Zedd lifted his head when he heard the distant horns. He struggled to regain his senses. He was well past dread, into a world of little more than numb awareness. The horns were those meant to signal the approach of friendly forces. Probably some of the scouting patrols, or perhaps yet more wounded being brought in.

Zedd realized he was slumped on the ground, his legs sprawled out to the side. He saw that he had been sleeping with his head on the burly chest of a cold corpse. In despair, he recalled that he had been trying everything he knew to heal the horribly wounded man. In mournful revulsion, he pushed away from the cold body and sat up.

He rubbed his eyes against the darkness from within, as well as the night. He was beyond aching. Acrid smoke hung thick as fog. The air reeked with the heavy, throat-clenching stink of blood. From various places around him, he could see the drifting haze illuminated around glowing orange fists of firelight. The moans of the wounded lifted from the blood-soaked ground to drift through the frigid night air. In the distance, men cried out in pain. When Zedd wiped a hand across his brow, he realized he wore gloves of crusted blood from those he had been trying to heal. It was an endless task.

Not far away, the ground was littered with shattered tree trunks, blasted asunder by the enemy gifted. Men lay sprawled, torn apart or impaled by huge splintered sections of those trees. It had been two of Jagang's Sisters who had done it, just before dark, as the D'Haran forces were all collecting into the valley, thinking the battle had ended. Zedd and Warren had ended it by taking those two Sisters down with wizard's fire.

By the dull ache in his head, Zedd knew he hadn't been asleep for more than a couple of hours, at most. It had to be the middle of the night. People passing by had let him sleep-or maybe they thought him one of the dead.

The first day had gone as well as could be expected. The battle had dragged on sporadically throughout the first night with relatively minor skirmishes, and then had erupted with full force at dawn of the second day. As night had fallen on the second day, the fighting had finally ended. Looking around, Zedd thought it seemed to be over-at least for the time being.

They had made the valley and succeeded in drawing the Order after them, away from other gateways up into the Midlands, but at a terrible price. They had little choice, if they were to engage the enemy with any chance of success, rather than allow them unhindered access into the Midlands. For the moment, anyway, the Order was stalled. Zedd didn't know how long that would last.

Unfortunately, the Order had gotten the better of the battle, by far.

Zedd peered about. It was not so much a camp as simply a place where everyone

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had dropped in exhaustion. Here and there, arrows and spears stuck up from the ground. They had fallen like rain as Zedd had worked throughout the night, the night before, trying to heal wounded soldiers. During the day, in the battles, he had unleashed everything he had. What had started out as skillful, calculated, focused use of his ability had in the end degenerated into the magic equivalent of a brawl.

Zedd staggered to his feet, worried about the distant thunder of horses. Horns closer into camp repeated the warning to hold arrows and spears, that it was friendly forces. It sounded like too many horses for any patrol they had out. In the back of his mind, Zedd tried to recall if he felt the twinge of magic that would tell him the horns were genuine. In the fog of fatigue, he had forgotten to pay attention. That was how people ended up dead, he knew-inattention to such details.

Men were rushing all about, carrying supplies, water, and linen for bandages, or messages and reports: Here and there Zedd saw a Sister working at healing. Other men struggled with repairs to wagons and gear in case they had to depart in a hurry. Some men sat staring at nothing. A few wandered as if in a daze.

It was difficult to see in the poor light, but Zedd was able to see well enough to tell that the ground was littered with the dead, the wounded, or the simply spent. Fires, both the common orange and yellow flames of burning wagons and the unnatural green blazes that were the remnants of magic, were left to burn out on their own. Horses as well as men lay everywhere, still and lifeless, torn open by ghastly wounds. The battlefields changed, but battle didn't. Now was a time of helpless shock. He remembered from his youth the stench of blood and death mingled with greasy smoke. It was still the same. He remembered in battles past thinking the world had gone mad. It still felt the same.

The rumble of horses was getting closer. He could hear quite a commotion, but he couldn't tell what sort of ruckus it was. Off to his right, he spotted a stooped woman shuffling toward him. He recognized Adie's familiar limp. A woman more distant, catching up to Adie from behind, was probably Verna. A little farther off, Zedd saw Captain Meiffert being lectured to by General Leiden. Both men turned to look toward the clatter of hooves.

Zedd squinted into the murk and saw in the distance soldiers scattering before a mass of approaching riders. Men waved their arms, as if in greeting. A few offered weak cheers. Many pointed in Zedd's direction, funneling the horsemen his way. As First Wizard, he had become a focal point for everyone. The D'Harans, in Richard's absence, relied on Zedd to be their magic against magic. The Sisters relied on his experience in the nasty art of magic in warfare.

In the wavering glow of fires still burning out of control, Zedd watched the column of horsemen coming relentlessly onward, points of light glinting off row upon row of armor and weapons, shimmering off chain mail and polished boots, as they each in turn passed the burning wagons and barricades. The thundering column slowed for nothing, expecting men to get out of its way. At their fore, long pennons flew atop perfectly upright lances. Standards and flags flapped in the cold night air. The ground thundered with thousands of horses charging over the blood-soaked ground. They rolled onward, like a ghost company riding out of the grave.

Orange and green smoke, lit from behind by the eerie light of fires, curled away to each side as the column of riders charged though the middle of the camp at an easy gallop.

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Zedd saw, then, who was leading them.

"Dear spirits . . ." he whispered aloud.

Sitting tall atop a huge horse at the head of the column was a woman in leather armor with fur billowing out behind her like an angry pennant.

It was Kahlan.

Even at that distance, Zedd could see, sticking up behind her left shoulder, the gleam of light off the silver and gold hilt of the Sword of Truth.

His flesh went cold with tingling dread.

He felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Adie, her completely white eyes transfixed by the sight she beheld through her gift alone. Verna was still weaving her way through the wounded. Captain Meiffert and General Leiden rushed to follow in Verna's footsteps.

The column stretched out behind Kahlan as far as Zedd could see. They charged onward, collecting cheering men as they came. Zedd waved his arms as they all bore down on him, so that Kahlan would notice him, but it seemed as if she had had her eyes on him the whole time.

The horses skidded to a halt before him, snorting and stamping, tossing their armored heads. Plumes of steam rose from their nostrils when they blew great hot breaths in the icy air. Powerful muscles flexed beneath glossy hides as they pawed the ground. The eager beasts stood at the ready, their tails lashing side to side, slapping their flanks like whips.

Kahlan swept the scene with a careful gaze. Men were rushing up from all directions. Those gathering around stared in wonder. The horsemen were Galeans.

Kahlan had provisionally taken the place of her half sister, Cyrilla, as queen of Galea, until Cyrilla was well again-if that ever happened. Kahlan's half brother, Harold, was the commander of the Galean army, and didn't want the crown, feeling himself more fit to serve his land in the soldier's life. Kahlan had Galean blood in her veins, although, to a Confessor, matters of blood were irrelevant. They were not so irrelevant to Galeans.

Kahlan swung her right leg forward over the horse's neck and dropped to the ground. Her boots resounded like a hammer strike announcing the Mother Confessor's arrival. Cara, in her red leather, and similarly cloaked in a fur mantle, likewise jumped down off her horse.

Battle-weary men all around stood in rapt silence. This was not merely the Mother Confessor. This was Lord Rahl's wife.

For just an instant, as Zedd stared into her green eyes, he thought she might run into his arms and break down in helpless tears. He was wrong.

Kahlan pulled off her gloves. "Report."

She wore stealth-black light leather armor, a royal Galean sword at her left hip, and a long knife at her right. Her thick fall of hair cascaded boldly over the wolf's fur mantle topping a black wool cloak. In the Midlands, the length of a woman's hair denoted rank and social standing. No Midlands woman wore hair as long as Kahlan's. But it was the hilt of the sword sticking up behind her shoulder that held Zedd's gaze.

"Kahlan," he whispered as she stepped closer, "where's Richard?"

Whatever pain he had seen for that instant was gone. She swept a brief glare Verna's way, as the young Prelate still hurried toward them between the wounded, then met Zedd's gaze with eyes like green fire.

"The enemy has him. Report."

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"The enemy? What enemy?"

Again her glare slid to Verna. Its power straightened Verna's back and slowed her approach.

Kahlan returned her attention to Zedd. Her eyes softened with a vestige of sympathy for the anguish she must have seen on his face. "A Sister of the Dark took him, Zedd." The respite of warmth in her voice and eyes faded as her countenance returned to the cold, empty mask of a Confessor. "I would like a report, please."

"Took him? But is he-is he all right? You mean she took him as a prisoner? Do they want ransom? He's still all right?"

She touched the side of her mouth and Zedd saw then that she. had a swollen cut. "He's all right as far as I know."

"Well, what's going on?" Zedd threw up his skinny arms. "What's this about? What does she intend?"

Verna finally made it up to Zedd's left side. Captain Meiffert and General Leiden ran up to the other side of Adie, on his right.

"What Sister?" Verna asked, still getting her breath back. "You said a Sister took him. What Sister?"

"Nicci."

"Nicci. . ." Captain Meiffert gasped. "Death's Mistress?"

Kahlan met his gaze. "That's the one. Now, is someone going to give me a report?"

There was no mistaking the command, or the rage, in her voice. Captain Meiffert lifted an arm to the south.

"Mother Confessor, the Imperial Order forces, all of them, finally moved up from Anderith." He rubbed his brow as he tried to think. "Yesterday morning, I guess it was."

"We wanted to pull them up here, into the valley country," Zedd put in. "Our idea was to get them out of the grassland, where we couldn't contain them, up into country where we had a better chance to do so."

"We knew," Captain Meiffert went on, "that it would be a fatal mistake to let them get by us and stream into the Midlands unopposed. We had to draw them into action to prevent them from unleashing their might against the populace. We had to engage them and bog them down. The only way to do that was to taunt them into following us out of the open, where they had the advantage, into terrain that helped even the odds."

Kahlan nodded as she scanned the dismal scene. "How many men did we lose?"

"I'd guess maybe fifteen thousand," Captain Meiffert said. "But that's just a guess. It may be more."

"They flanked you, didn't they." It didn't sound like a question.

"That's right, Mother Confessor."

"What went wrong?"

The Galean troops behind her formed a grim wall of leather, chain mail, and steel. Officers with incisive eyes watched and listened.

"What didn't?" Zedd growled.

"Somehow," the captain explained, "they knew what we planned. Although, I guess it wouldn't be all that hard to figure out, since anyone would know it was our only chance against their numbers. They were confident they could defeat us, regardless, so they obliged our plan."

"Like I asked, what went wrong?"

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"What went wrong!" General Leiden interrupted heatedly. "We were outnumbered beyond all hope! That's what went wrong!"

Kahlan settled her cool gaze on the man. He seemed to catch himself and fell to one knee.

"My queen," he added in formal address before falling silent.

Kahlan's gaze lost some of its edge as it moved back to Captain Meiffert.

Zedd noticed the captain's fists tightening as he went on with his report. "Somehow, Mother Confessor, near as we can tell they managed to get a division across the river. We're pretty sure they didn't use the open ground to the east-we had preparations should they try that, as we feared they might."

"So," Kahlan said, "they reasoned you would think it impossible, so they sent a division across the river-probably a great deal more, willing to bear their losses in the crossing-went north through the mountains, unsuspected, unseen, and undetected, and crossed back to this side of the river. When you got here, they were waiting for you, holding the ground you had planned to hold. With the Order hot on your heels, you had nowhere else to go. The Order intended to crush you between that division holding this defendable ground and their army on your tail."

"That's the gist of it," Captain Meiffert confirmed.

"What happened to the division waiting here?" she asked.

"We wiped them out," the captain said with a cool rage of his own. "Once we realized what had happened, we knew it was our only chance."

Kahlan gave him a nod. She knew full well what a mighty effort his simple words conveyed.

"They cut us to pieces from behind as we did so!" General Leiden's temper was getting frayed around the edges. "We had no chance."

"Apparently you did," she answered. "You gained the valley."

"What of it? We can't fight a force their size. It was insane to throw men into that meat grinder. What for? We gained this valley, but at a terrible price. We won't be able to hold a force that huge! They had their way with us from the first until the last. We didn't stop them, they just got tired of hacking us to pieces for the night!"

Some men looked away. Some stared at the ground. Only the crackle of fires and the moans of the wounded filled the frigid night air.

Kahlan glanced around again. "What are you doing sitting here, now?"

Zedd's brow went up, along with his own anger. "We've been at it for two days, Kahlan."

"Fine. But I don't allow the enemy to go to bed with victory. Is that clear?"

Captain Meiffert clapped a fist to his heart in salute. "Clear; Mother Confessor."

He glanced over his shoulders. Fists of attentive men near and far likewise went to their hearts.

"Mother Confessor," General Leiden said, dropping her title of queen, "the men have been up for two days, now."

"I understand," Kahlan said. "We have been riding without pause for three days, now. Neither changes what must be done."

In the harsh reflection of firelight, the creases in General Leiden's face looked like angry gashes. He pressed his lips together and bowed to his queen, but when he came up, he spoke again.

"My queen, Mother Confessor, you can't seriously be expecting us to carry out a night attack. There's no moon and clouds mostly hide the stars. In the dark such an attack would be a disaster. It's lunacy!"

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Kahlan finally withdrew her cold glare from the Keltish general and passed a gaze among those assembled around her. "Where is General Reibisch?"

Zedd swallowed. "I'm afraid that's him."

She looked where Zedd pointed, at the corpse he had fallen asleep atop while trying to heal. The rust-colored beard was matted with dried blood. The grayishgreen eyes stared without seeing, no longer showing pain. It had been a fool's task, Zedd knew, but he couldn't help trying to heal what could not be healed, giving it everything he had left. It hadn't been enough.

"Who is next in command," Kahlan asked.

"That would be me, my queen," General Leiden said as he took a stride forward. "But as the ranking officer, I can't allow my men to-"

Kahlan lifted a hand. "That will be all, Lieutenant Leiden."

He cleared his throat. "General Leiden, my queen."

She fixed him with an implacable stare. "To question me once is a simple mistake, Lieutenant. Twice is treason. We execute traitors."

Cara's Agiel spun up into her fist. "Step aside, Lieutenant."

Even in the haunting orange and green light of fires, Zedd could see the man's face pale. He took a step back and wisely, if belatedly, fell silent.

"Who is next in command?" the Mother Confessor asked again.

"Kahlan," Zedd said, "I'm afraid the Order used their gifted to single out men of rank. Despite our best efforts, I believe we lost all our senior officers. It cost them dearly, at least."

"Then who is next in command?"

Captain Meiffert looked around and finally lifted his hand.

"I'm not positive, Mother Confessor, but I believe that would be me."

"Very well, General Meiffert."

He inclined his head. "Mother Confessor," he said in a quiet, confidential voice, "that isn't necessary."

"No one said it was, General."

The new general softly struck a fist to his heart. Zedd saw Cara smile in grim approval. Of the thousands of faces watching, that was the only smile. It wasn't that the men disapproved, but rather that they were relieved to have someone so firmly in command. D'Harans respected iron authority. If they couldn't have Lord Rahl, they would take his wife, and an iron one at that. They might not have smiled, but Zedd knew they would be pleased.

"As I said, I don't allow the enemy to go to bed with victory." Kahlan scanned the faces watching her. "I want a cavalry raid ready to go within the hour."

"And who do you intend to send on such an attack, my queen?"

Everyone knew what the former General Leiden meant by the question. He was asking who she was sending to their death.

"There will be two wings. One to make their way unseen around the Order's camp so as to come in from their south, where they will least expect it, and another wing to hold back until the first is in place, and then come in from this side, from the north. I intend to have us spill some of their blood before bed."

She looked back to the new Lieutenant Leiden's eyes and answered his question. "I will be leading the southern wing."

Everyone, except the new general, began voicing objections. Leiden spoke up louder.

"My queen, why would you want us to get our men together for a calvary raid?"

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He pointed to the wall of men, all on horses behind her: all Galeans-traditional adversaries of the Keltans, Leiden's homeland. "When we have these?"

"These men will be helping get this army back together, relieving those on duty to get needed rest, helping dig defensive ditches, and filling in wherever they are needed. The men who were bloodied are the ones who need to go to bed with the sweet taste of vengeance. I would not dare to deny D'Harans that to which they are so entitled."

A cheer went up.

Zedd thought that if war was madness, madness had just found its mistress.

General Meiffert took a step closer to her. "I'll have my best men ready within the hour, Mother Confessor. Everyone will want to go; I'll have to disappoint a lot of volunteers."

Kahlan's face softened when she nodded. "Pick your man for the northern wing, then, General."

"I will be leading the northern wing, Mother Confessor."

Kahlan smiled. "Very well."

She ordered the Galean troops off to their duties. With a sweep of her finger, she dismissed everyone but the immediate group and called that inner circle closer.

"What about Richard's admonition not to directly attack the Order?" Verna asked.

"I remember well what Richard said. I'm not going to directly attack their main force."

Zedd supposed she did remember it well. She had been there with Richard-they hadn't. Zedd brought up a touchy issue.

"The main force will be in the center, well protected. At their edges, where you attack, will be defenses, of course, but mostly the camp followers will be at the tail end of the Order's camp-the fringe to the south, mostly."

"I don't really care," she said with cold fury. "If they're with the Order, then they are the enemy. There will be no mercy." She was looking at her new general as she spoke her orders. "I don't care if we kill their whores or their generals. I want every baker and cook dead as much as I want every officer and archer dead. Every camp follower we kill will deprive them of the comforts they enjoy. I want to strip them of everything, including their lives. Is that understood?"

General Meiffert gave his nod. "No mercy. You'll get no argument from us, Mother Confessor; that is the D'Haran code of warfare."

Zedd knew that, in war, Kahlan's way was usually the only way to prevail. The enemy would grant no mercy, and would need none themselves had they not invaded. Every whore and hawker chose to be a part of that invasion, to make what they could off the blood and plunder spilled at the Order's feet.

Verna spoke up. "Mother Confessor, Ann was going to see you and Richard. We last heard from her over a month ago. Have you seen her?"

"Yes."

Verna licked her lips in caution at the steely look in Kahlan's eyes. "Was she all right?"

"The last I saw her, she was."

"Would you know why she hasn't sent any word to us?"

"I threw her journey book in the fire."

Verna stepped forward, making to snatch Kahlan by the shoulder. Cara's Agiel came up like lightning, barring her way.

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"No one touches the Mother Confessor." Cara's cold blue eyes were as deadly as her words. "Is that clear? No one."

"You have one Mord-Sith and one Mother Confessor, here, both in very bad moods," Kahlan said in a level voice. "I would suggest you not give us an excuse to lose our temper, or we may never find it again in your lifetime."

Zedd's fingers found Verna's arm and gently urged her back.

"We're all tired," he said. "We have enough troubles with the Order." He shot Kahlan a scowl. "No matter how tired or distraught we are, though, let's remember we're all on the same side here."

Kahlan's eyes told him she challenged that statement, but she said nothing.

Verna changed the subject. "I will get together some of the gifted to escort you on the raid."

"Thank you, but we will be taking no gifted."

"But you will at least need them to help you find your way in the dark."

"We will have the enemy campfires to show us our way."

"Kahlan," Zedd said, hoping to interject some reason, "the Order will have gifted-including Sisters of the Dark. You will need protection from them."

"No. I don't want any gifted with us. They are expecting any attack to be accompanied by our gifted. Their gifted will be watching for shields of magic. Any riders they do see without detecting magic they will be more likely to discount. We'll be able to get in deeper and draw more blood without gifted along."

Verna sighed at such foolishness, but didn't argue. General Meiffert liked her plan. Zedd knew she was right about getting in deeper, but he knew, too, that getting back out would be more difficult, once the enemy was on to them.

"Zedd, I would like one bit of magic."

He scratched his brow in resignation. "What would you like me to do?"

Kahlan gestured at the ground. "Make that dust glow. I want it to show up in the dark, and I want it sticky."

"For how long?"

She shrugged. "The rest of the night would be enough."

After Zedd had spun a web over the dusty patch of ground, giving it a green glow, Kahlan bent and rubbed her hand in it. She walked around back of her horse and slapped the hand on each flank, leaving a glowing green handprint on each hindquarter.

"What are you doing?" Zedd asked.

"It's dark. I want them to be able to see me. They can't come after me if they can't find me in the dark."

Zedd sighed at the madness.

General Meiffert squatted and rubbed his hand in the glowing dust. "I'd also hate for them to miss me in the dark."

"Be sure to wash your hand clean before we go," she said.

After she had explained her plan to the new general, Kahlan, Cara, and General Meiffert started off to their tasks.

Before they could get far, Zedd halted Kahlan with a softly spoken question.

"Kahlan, do you have any idea how we can get Richard back?"

She gazed boldly into his eyes. "Yes. I have a plan."

"Would you mind sharing it with me?"

"It's simple. I plan on killing every Imperial Order man, woman, and child until I get to the very last one left alive, and then if she doesn't give him back, I'm going to kill her, too."

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CHAPTER 32

Kahlan focused past the black void to the glowing points of the fires as she leaned forward over the withers of her galloping horse, urging him onward, faster and faster. The muscles in her thighs strained as she pressed her weight against the stirrups and squeezed her legs against the feverish warmth of the massive body rhythmically, incessantly, frantically flexing and stretching, feeling its every pounding strike against the ground. Her ears were filled with the hammering of her own heart and the thunder of yet more hooves behind her. She was distantly aware of the weight of the Sword of Truth sheathed in its scabbard, an ever-present reminder of Richard.

She gripped the reins in one fist. With her other, she lifted her royal Galean sword high. The lights were coming. Unexpectedly, the first came out of nowhere and exploded into her vision.

Racing past what looked to be the light of a single candle, she was there, at last. Crying out with the sudden power of emotions that could no longer be stifled, she slammed her sword down against the dark shape of a man. The impact of the blade against bone jarred her wrist. The hilt stung against her palm.

On their way by, the men behind her unleashed their fury against the remaining sentries at the outpost. Kahlan held tight, knowing the greater unleashing of her need was yet to come. She would not be denied, now.

The fires of the outer fringes of the camp flew toward her. Her muscles were rigid with expectation. She felt at the brink of control. And then she was upon them. At last, she was there. She met them with all her strength. Her blade came down again and again, lashing against their bodies, slashing anyone within her reach. The outer fires shot past the sides of her horse with dizzying speed. She gasped for breath.

Laying the reins over, Kahlan pulled her big warhorse around in a tight circle. He was not as agile as she would have preferred, but he was well trained and for this job he would do. He bellowed with the excitement of battle begun.

Tents and wagons were scattered everywhere, with little apparent order. Kahlan could hear the merry laughter of those not yet aware of the enemy in their midst. She had brought a small attack force, keeping them tight and close on the way in so it wouldn't raise the kind of alarm a broad attack would. It had worked. She saw men around fires tipping up bottles, or eating meat off skewers. She saw men sleeping, with their feet sticking out of tents. She saw a man walking with his arm around the waist of a woman. In the dim light she saw men in tents between the legs of other women.

The couple, arm in arm-undoubtedly at a price-was close. The man was on the far side of the woman as Kahlan raced up behind them, so with a mighty swing

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she took off the woman's head, instead. The stupefied man clutched the headless body as it began to fall. The cavalry man right behind Kahlan took the startled man down.

Kahlan dug in her heels and charged her big warhorse over a haphazard row of tents with men and women inside. She could feel the huge hooves crushing bone. Screams rose around her and her mount.

A soldier with a pike stood with his legs spread in a stance of sudden alarm. On her way past, Kahlan snatched the pike from his grip, stabbed it into a small tent, twisting it, getting the canvas tangled up on its barbs, and then backed her horse, hauling the tent off a man and woman. Her men following behind stabbed the exposed couple as Kahlan pulled the remnants of the tent through a fire. As soon as it lit, she dragged the flaming canvas to a wagon, setting that wagon's tarp afire, and then threw the blazing remains in another wagon full of supplies.

With a backhanded swing of her sword, Kahlan smashed the face of a burly man who ran up to pull her off her horse. She had to yank the blade free of his skull. Before more men could snatch at her, she dug in her heels again and charged off toward another fire, where men were just jumping to their feet. The horse knocked down several, and her sword cut another. By now, the shrieks of women sent up an effective alarm, and men were rushing out of tents and wagons with weapons in their fists. The whole scene was one of erupting pandemonium.

Kahlan wheeled her mount, stabbing anyone within reach. Many were not soldiers. Her sword felled leatherworkers and wagon masters, whores and soldiers. High-stepping at her command, her horse trampled down a line of big tents where wounded were being cared for. Beside a lamp, Kahlan spotted a surgeon with needle and thread working on a man's leg. She drove her horse around to trample the surgeon and the man he was sewing up. The surgeon held his arms up before his face, but his arms were no good at warding the weight of a huge warhorse.

Kahlan signaled her men in. Army surgeons were valuable. The D'Harans killed every one they saw. She knew that killing each was as good as killing untold numbers of enemy soldiers. Kahlan and her men wreaked havoc through the whores' tents, toppled cook wagons, cut down soldiers and civilians alike. When her men saw lamps, they leaped off their horses and snatched them up to use to start fires. Kahlan hacked at an enraged cook who came at her with a butcher knife. It took three rapid cuts to dispatch him.

To her left, Cara's horse cut off a man about to throw a spear. Cara coolly went about killing him and anyone else within her reach. A twist of her Agiel usually seized up their hearts, and if not, Kahlan could at least hear bones snap. Their cries of death and pain seemed frightful enough to send a shiver up the spines of the dead, and did add to the general confusion and panic. It was glorious music to Kahlan's ears.

The Agiel would only function through the bond to the Lord Rahl. Because it worked, she and Cara knew Richard was alive. That alone gave Kahlan heart. It was almost as if he were there with her. His sword strapped to her back was like his hand touching her, encouraging her to throw herself into the fight, telling her to cut.

The indiscriminate nature of the killing in among the camp followers confused the enemy soldiers, and terrorized the people who commonly believed themselves impervious to the violence they ultimately fed off of. Now, rather than being the vultures picking at the carcasses, they were the hapless prey. Life in the Imperial Order's camp would never be the same-Kahlan would see to that. No more would

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the enemy soldiers enjoy the comforts provided by these people. They would now know they were no less targets than officers. They would know the price of their participation. The price was a merciless death and payment had come due.

Slashing her way through the running crowds of screaming people, Kahlan kept an eye on a large group of the Imperial Order's horses, stabled not far off, watching as soldiers threw saddles on their mounts. She drove her horse over men and tents, getting closer, until she was sure she was within earshot of those cavalry men saddling their horses.

Kahlan stood in her stirrups, waving her sword high in the air. Men paused to stare.

"I am the Mother Confessor! For the crime of invading the Midlands, I condemn you all to death! Every one of you!"

The hundred men with her sent up a cheer. Their voices joined in a chant.

"Death to the Order! Death to the Order! Death to the Order!"

Kahlan and her men charged their horses around in an ever-widening circle, trampling anyone they could, hacking anyone within reach, stabbing anyone who rushed them, setting fire to anything that would burn. These D'Haran soldiers were the best at what they did, and they did it with brilliant effectiveness. When they found a wagon with oil, they broke the barrels open and tossed on flaming logs they plucked up with lances from fires. Night whooshed into day. Everyone could plainly see Kahlan, now, as she charged through their midst, screaming her pronouncement of death.

Kahlan saw the Order's cavalry mounting up, pulling their lances from racks, drawing their swords. She reared her horse, holding her sword high.

"You are all cowards! You will never catch me or best me! You will all die like the cowards you are at the hands of the Mother Confessor!"

When her horse came down, she thumped its ribs with her boots. The horse charged off at a dead run, Cara right at her side, her hundred men at her heels, a few thousand infuriated Imperial Order cavalry right behind them, with more mounting up all the time.

Being at the edge of the Order's camp, they wouldn't have much ground to cover before they were out of the camp, again, and into the open countryside. As they raced away, Kahlan took the opportunity to kill anyone who presented themselves. It was too dark to tell if they were men or woman, and it didn't matter anyway. She wanted them all dead. Each time her sword made contact, slashing muscle or breaking bone, was a delicious release.

Running at full speed, past the last of the campfires, they plunged suddenly into the black void of night. Kahlan leaned forward over her horse's muscular neck, as they ran west, hoping there were no holes in the ground. If they hit one, it would be all over not just for her horse, but, most likely, for her as well.

She knew this land well enough, the gentle hills, the bluffs ahead. She knew where she was, even in the dark, and she knew where she was going. She was counting on the enemy not knowing. In the disorienting sweep of darkness, they would fixate on following the glowing handprints on her horse's rump, thinking one of their gifted had gotten close enough to mark her horse for them. They would be gleeful with the blinding anticipation of having her naked to their swords.

Kahlan used the flat of her own sword to smack her horse's flanks, urging him on, whipping him into a wild state. They were away from the excitement of battle, now, and out in the lonely openness of the countryside. Horses dreaded predators

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nipping at their flanks, especially in the dark. She encouraged him to think teeth were snapping at his hindquarters.

Her men were right behind her, but, as instructed, rode to each side so there was a gap, allowing the enemy to see the glowing marks on her horse. When Kahlan feared she was as close as they dared get, she signaled with a whistle. Over her shoulders, she watched her men, her protection, peeling away, off into the night. She would not see them again until she returned to the D'Haran camp.

With her advantage of the distant fires of the Order's camp in back of them, Kahlan was able to see the silhouette of the enemy cavalry close behind, coming at a full charge, their hungry gazes no doubt fixed on the glowing handprints on her horse's flanks, the only thing they could see out in the wide-open countryside on a moonless night.

"How far?" Cara called over from close beside her.

"Should be-"

Kahlan's words cut off when she suddenly spotted briefly what was right there before her.

"Now, Cara!"

Kahlan pulled her leg up just in time as Cara rammed her horse over. The two huge animals jostled dangerously. Kahlan threw her arm around Cara's shoulders. Cara's arm seized Kahlan's waist and yanked her over, off her horse. Kahlan gave her horse one last smack with the flat of her sword. The horse snorted in panic as it charged onward at full speed into the blackness.

Kahlan threw her leg over the rump of Cara's horse, sheathed her sword, and then held tight to Cara's waist as the Mord-Sith pulled her horse's head hard to the left, forcing it, at a full gallop, to turn away just in time.

For an instant, through a break in the clouds, Kahlan spied the dull slur of starlight reflecting off the churning, icy waters of the Drun River below.

She felt a pang of sorrow for her startled, bewildered, terrified horse as it sailed out over the bluff. It was giving its life to take many more with it. The beast would probably never know what had happened.

Neither would the Imperial Order cavalry as they followed the glowing handprints on into the dark. This was her Midlands; Kahlan knew what was there; they were invaders, and did not. Even if they did see it coming in the last twinkling of their lives, at a full charge into pitch blackness they would never have a chance to avert their doom.

She hoped, though, that those men did realize what was happening just before they gasped in the frigid dark waters, or before their lungs burst with the need of air as the merciless river dragged them down into its inky embrace. She hoped every one of those men suffered a horrifying death in the dark depths of those treacherous currents.

Kahlan turned her thoughts away from the heat of battle. The forces of the D'Haran Empire could sleep, now, with a victory over their enemy and with the sweet taste of vengeance. Kahlan found that it did little, though, to quell the fires of her raging anger.

After a brief time, Cara's horse slowed to a canter, and then a walk. They heard no hoofbeats behind them, only winter's vast silence. After the crush of people, the noise, and the turbulence of the Imperial Order's camp, the isolation of the empty grasslands seemed somehow oppressive. Kahlan felt as if she were a speck of nothing in the middle of nowhere.

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Cold and exhausted, Kahlan pulled her fur mantle around her shoulders. Her legs trembled from the effort finally finished. She felt as if everything had been washed out of her. Her head slumped forward to rest against Cara's back. Kahlan was aware of the weight of Richard's sword lying against her own back.

"Well," Cara said over her shoulder after they had ridden for a time through the hushed expanse of countryside, "we do this every night for a year or two, and that should just about wipe them all out."

For the first time in what seemed an eternity, Kahlan almost laughed. Almost.

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CHAPTER 33

By the time Kahlan and Cara rode in among the wounded, the exhausted, and the sleeping D'Haran troops, it was only a few hours from dawn. Kahlan had thought they might have to find a safe place out in the grasslands to sleep and wait for daylight in order to find their way back, but they had been fortunate; a break in the cloud cover had allowed the stars to show them the way. In the shimmering sweep of stars alone, they had been able to see the black drape of mountains at the horizon. With that visual guide, they were able to make their way far out into the empty country so that they could safely get around the Imperial Order, and then head back north to their own troops.

A reception party awaited them. Men rushed up to form cheering rows as they passed into camp. Kahlan felt a distant sense of pride that she had given these men what they needed most right then: a measure of retribution. From the back of Cara's horse, Kahlan lifted a hand to wave at the men she passed. She smiled for them alone.

Near the area where the horses were picketed, General Meiffert, having heard the cheering, was waiting impatiently. He trotted over to meet them. Beside the gate of the temporary corral, one of the soldiers took the reins to the horse as Kahlan and then Cara jumped down. Kahlan winced at the ache in her muscles from the recent days of hard riding, and the night of fighting. Her right arm socket throbbed from the blows she had landed. She mused to herself that her sword arm never hurt like that in her mock battles with Richard. For the benefit of anyone watching, she forced herself to walk as if she had just had a three-day rest.

General Meiffert, looking no worse for the battle he had seen that night, clapped a fist to his heart. "Mother Confessor, you can't imagine how relieved I am to see you."

"And I you, General."

He leaned forward. "Please, Mother Confessor, you aren't going to do anything that foolhardy again, are you?"

"It wasn't foolhardy," Cara said. "I was with her, watching out for her."

He frowned over at Cara, but didn't argue with her. Kahlan wondered how one could fight a war without doing anything foolhardy. The entire thing was foolhardy.

"How many men did we lose?" Kahlan asked instead.

General Meiffert's face split with a grin. "None, Mother Confessor. Can you believe it? With the Creator's help, they all came back."

"I don't recall the Creator wielding a sword with us," Cara said.

Kahlan was dumbfounded. "That's the best news I could have, General."

"Mother Confessor, I can't tell you what a boost that was to the men. But, please, you won't do anything like that again, will you?"

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"I'm not here to smile and wave and look pretty for the men, General. I'm here to help them send those murderous bastards into the eternal arms of the Keeper."

He sighed in resignation. "We have a tent for you. I'm sure you're tired."

Kahlan nodded and let the general lead her and Cara through the now quiet camp. Men not sleeping stood and silently saluted with fists to their hearts. Kahlan tried to smile for them. She could see in their eyes how much they appreciated what she had done to turn the tide of the grim battle back a little in their favor. They probably thought she had done it for them. That was only partly true.

Arriving at a well-guarded group of a half-dozen tents, General Meiffert gestured to the one in the center.

"This was General Reibisch's tent, Mother Confessor. I had your things put inside. I thought you should have the best tent. If it bothers you to sleep in his tent, though, I'll have your belongings moved to anywhere you wish."

"It will be fine, General." Kahlan took stock of the man's young face, seeing the shadow of sorrow. She reminded herself that he was about the same age as she. "We all miss him."

His expression showed only some of the pain she thought he must feel. "I can't replace a man like that, Mother Confessor. He was not just a great general, but a great man, too. He taught me a lot and honored me with his trust. He was the best man I ever served under. I don't want you to have any illusions about my replacing him. I know I can't."

"No one asked you to. Your best effort is all we expect and will serve us well, I'm sure."

He smiled at her generosity. "You'll have that, Mother Confessor. I promise you, you'll have that." He turned to Cara and changed the subject. "I had your things put in this tent, here, Mistress Cara." It was the one right beside Kahlan's tent.

Cara scanned the scene, taking note of the patrolling guards. When Kahlan told her that she was going to go right to bed, and that she should get some sleep, too, Cara agreed and bade the two of them a good night before disappearing into her tent.

"I appreciated your help, tonight, General. You should get some sleep, too."

He bowed his head, turned to leave, but then turned back.

"You know, I always hoped to someday become a general. Ever since I was a boy, I've dreamed of it. I imagined . . ." He looked away from Kahlan's eyes. "I guess I imagined it would make me proud and happy." He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and gazed out over the dark camp, perhaps seeing all those dreams from his past, or maybe seeing all his new duties.

"It didn't make me feel happy at all," he finally said.

"I know," she answered in sincere sympathy. "This wasn't the way any good man would want to gain rank, but sometimes challenges arise, and we must face them." She let out a silent sigh, and tried to envision how he must feel. "Someday, General, the pride and satisfaction will come. It comes from doing the job well and knowing that you are making a difference."

He nodded. "I know it felt pretty good, tonight, Mother Confessor, when I saw you on the back of Cara's horse, returning safely to camp. I look forward to the day when I see Lord Rahl ride into camp, too." He started away. "Sleep well. Dawn is in a couple of hours. Then we'll find out what the new day will bring. I'll have reports ready for you."

258 --]--- Inside her tent, Zedd was sitting alone, waiting. Kahlan groaned inwardly.

She was dead tired and didn't want to face the old wizard's questioning. Sometimes, especially if you were tired, his nettling questions could become irksome. She knew he meant well, but she was in no mood for it. She didn't think she could even be civil to him if he started down his road of a thousand questions. It was so late, and she was so tired, she simply wished he would let her be.

She stood just inside, saying nothing, watching him as he rose to his feet. His wavy white hair was more disorderly than usual. His heavy robes were filthy and spattered with blood. Around his knees the robes were dark with dried blood.

He gave her a long look, and then enclosed her in his skinny arms. She just wanted to sleep. He silently held her head to his shoulder. Maybe he thought she might be about to start crying, but there seemed no tears left. She felt numb. She supposed it was the constant rage, but she just couldn't cry anymore. She seemed only able to feel anger.

Zedd finally held her out at arm's length, squeezing her shoulders in his surprisingly strong fingers. "I just wanted to wait until you were back, and safe, before I went to bed. I wanted to let my eyes take you in." He smiled in a sad way. "I'm so very relieved you're safe. Sleep well, Kahlan."

Her bedroll, still tied up with its leather thongs, lay atop a pallet with a strawfilled mattress. Saddlebags were draped over her pack, sitting in the corner. Opposite the bed there was a small folding table and chair. Beside them, a basket with rolls of maps. Another little folding table held a ewer and basin. A clean towel was draped over the table legs' stretcher bar.

The tent was spacious, by army standards, but it was still cramped. The canvas looked heavy enough to keep out most any weather. Lamps, hanging at each end of the tent from a rod forming the peak of the roof, cast a warm glow inside the snug tent. Kahlan tried to imagine the burly General Reibisch pacing in such a small space, tugging his rust-colored beard, worrying over the problems of an army bigger than many cities.

Zedd looked exhausted. Creases etched an inner anguish on his bony face. She reminded herself that he had only just learned that his grandson, the only family he had left in the world, was in the cruel hands of the enemy.

Besides that, Zedd had been fighting for two days and healing soldiers at night. She had seen him, when she arrived, staggering to his feet beside the corpse of what turned out to be General Reibisch. She knew that if Zedd couldn't save the man, he was beyond saving.

With her fingers, Kahlan combed back her hair and then gestured to the chair.

"You could sit for a minute, Zedd. Couldn't you?"

He looked at the chair, then at her bedroll. "For a minute, I suppose, while you get your bed ready. You need some rest."

Kahlan couldn't argue with that. She realized her head was throbbing. The passions of battle masked little things, like a pounding headache. The straw-filled mattress looked as good as a feather bed to her right then. She tossed her wolf-fur mantle and her cloak on the bed. They would keep her warm.

Without comment, Zedd watched as she unstrapped the Sword of Truth and pulled it off her back. He had given the weapon to Richard. Kahlan had been there,

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and begged Zedd not to do it, but he said he had no choice, that Richard was the one. Zedd had been right. Richard was indeed the one.

She felt her face flush when, just before she laid the sword down, she kissed the top of the hilt, where Richard's hand had so often rested. Zedd, if he even noticed, said nothing, and she laid the gleaming scabbard and sword to rest beside her mattress.

In the awkward quiet, Kahlan took off the royal Galean sword. She saw then that there was blood running down the scabbard. She unstrapped and removed the layer of light leather armor and laid it beside her pack. When she leaned the royal sword and scabbard against the plates of leather armor, she saw then that they were splattered with blood.

She noticed, too, that the leather leg armor had bloody handprints here and there on it, and there were long gouges in the leather from mens' fingernails. She remembered men grabbing for her, trying to unhorse her, but she didn't recall their hands actually clawing at her. The images that started flooding back threatened to make her nauseated, so she directed her mind to other things.

"Cara and I crossed over the Rang'Shada mountains, north of Agaden Reach, and came down through Galea," she said into the uncomfortable silence.

"I gathered," he said.

She gestured vaguely to suggest the surrounding camp. "I thought I'd better bring some troops with me."

"We can use them."

Kahlan glanced up at his hazel eyes. "I brought all I could without waiting. I didn't want to wait."

Zedd nodded. "That was wise."

"Prince Harold wanted to come, but I asked him to gather together a larger force and then bring them down. If we're to defend the Midlands, we'll need more troops. He thought that was a good idea."

"Sounds so."

"Prince Harold will be here to help just as soon as he can gather his army from their defensive positions."

Zedd only nodded.

She cleared her throat. "I wish we could have gotten here sooner."

Zedd shrugged. "You came as fast as possible. You're here, now."

Kahlan turned away to the bedroll. She sank down to her knees and bent to the work of undoing the leather thongs holding the bedding all rolled up together. For some reason, the knots looked blurry-she guessed it was because she was so tired.

She glanced over her shoulder briefly in the dim lamplight and then went back to picking at the knot. "I suppose you'd like to know how that Sister of the Dark managed to capture Richard."

He was silent for a moment. His voice finally came, soft and gentle. "There's time enough for that later, Kahlan. There's no need tonight."

As she picked at the stubborn knot, her hair fell forward over her shoulder. She had to push it back in order to see what she was doing. The stupid leather thong was tightly knotted. She wanted to yell at the person who had tied it, but she had done it up herself and had no one else to blame.

"She used a maternity spell on me. It links us. She said she could-she could kill me if Richard didn't do as she said and go with her."

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At the news, Zedd only let out a desolate sigh.

"Richard can't kill her, or I die, too."

She waited for his voice behind her. It finally came.

"I've only read about such spells, but from what I know, it sounds as if she told you the truth of it."

"I have a cut on my mouth. I didn't do it. It happened to me the other daythrough that link. What happens to her happens to me. I hope Richard struck her. It was worth it."

"I don't think Richard would do that."

She knew he wouldn't. It was only a wish.

One of the little lamps was flickering, making shadows waver. The other was hissing softly. Kahlan wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"Richard gave up his freedom to keep me alive. I wish I could die, to free him, but he made me promise I wouldn't do that."

Kahlan felt a comforting hand on her shoulder. Zedd said nothing. It was the greatest kindness he could have given her at that moment-not burying her heart under an avalanche of questions.

Enjoying the calming effect of his hand, Kahlan finally managed to get the knot undone. Zedd sat back in his chair as she unfurled her bedding. The carving of Spirit was rolled up inside, for safekeeping. Its height was just right to fit crosswise in her bedroll. Kahlan lifted it out and held it to her heart a moment. She turned, then, and set Spirit on the little table.

Zedd slowly rose to his feet. He was a collection of bony angles under his maroon robes. With one arm crooked to point while he gaped at Spirit standing proudly atop the small table, his lanky body looked as stiff as a spindly tree in winter.

"Where else did you stop on your way here?" He cast a suspicious look in her direction. "Have you been looting treasures from palaces?"

She realized then that the look wasn't so much meant to be suspicious, as teasing. Kahlan ran a finger down Spirit's flowing robes, letting her gaze follow the strength in the lines of the woman's strong pose. Something felt so right about the way her head was thrown back, with her fists at her sides, and her back arched, standing against the invisible power trying to subdue her.

"No." Kahlan swallowed. "Richard carved it for me."

Zedd's brow drew lower. He stared at the carving for a time before reaching out a sticklike finger to touch it, as if it were some priceless antiquity.

"Dear spirits. . ."

Kahlan pretended a smile. "Almost. It's called Spirit, he said. Richard carved it for me when I was feeling like I would never get better. It helped me . . ."

In the awful silence, Zedd finally turned from the woman with her fists at her sides and her head thrown back to peer into Kahlan's eyes. He frowned in the oddest way.

"It's you," he said half to himself. "Dear spirits . . . the boy carved a statue of your spirit. I recognize it. It's as plain as day."

Zedd was not only Richard's grandfather-he was now hers, too. He was not merely the First Wizard. He was also the man who had helped raise Richard. Zedd had no family left save Richard.

Other than a half sister and brother who were strangers but for blood, neither did she. She was as alone in the world as was Zedd.

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Now, through Richard, Zedd was her family, but even if he wasn't, she realized he could mean no less to her.

"We'll get him back, dear one," he whispered in tender compassion. His sticklike hand reverently cupped her face. "We'll get him back."

Everything seemed to be swimming. Kahlan fell into his protective arms and dissolved into tears.

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Chapter 34

Warren carefully pulled the snow-laden pine bough aside for her. Kahlan peered through the gap.

"There," he said in a low voice. "You see?"

Kahlan nodded as she squinted off into the narrow valley far below. The scene was frosted whitewhite trees, white rocks, white meadows. Enemy troops moving up the distant valley floor looked like a dark line of ants marching across powdered sugar.

"I don't think you need to whisper, Warren," Cara said from behind Kahlan's other shoulder. "They can't hear you. Not from this far."

Warren's blue eyes turned to the Mord-Sith. Cara's red leather would have stood out like a beacon, were she not sheathed in wolf fur that made her melt into the background of snow-dusted brush. Kahlan's own fur mantle was soft and warm against the sides of her face. Sometimes, since Richard had made it for her, the feel against her skin was evocative of his gentle caress protecting her and keeping her warm.

"Oh, but their gifted can hear us, Cara, even from this distance, if we are too vociferous."

Cara's nose wrinkled. "What's that mean?"

"Loud," Kahlan whispered in a way as if to suggest Cara should use a little more caution and be more quiet.

Cara's face distorted with her displeasure at the thought of magic. She shifted her weight to her other foot, went back to watching the line of troops slowly flowing up the valley, and kept silent.

After she'd seen enough, Kahlan gestured, and the three of them started back through the ankledeep snow. At their elevation in the mountains, they were right at the base of oppressive gray clouds, making it feel as if they were looking down from another world. She didn't like the world she had seen.

They trudged up the slope dense with pine and naked aspen, to the thickly wooded top of the ridge, where the backbone of rock broke through the snow here and there like half-buried bones. Their horses waited a good distance back down off the rocky slope. Farther back down the mountain, where Warren and Kahlan were sure they would not be detected by any gifted who might be protecting the Order troops, waited an escort of D'Haran guards General Meiffert had handpicked to protect Kahlan and the two with her, who were also protecting her.

"So you see?" Warren asked in little more than a whisper. "They're still at it-moving more and more men up this way, trying to get around us without us being aware of it."

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Kahlan held up the fur to shelter her face as a light breeze dragged a curtain of snow past them. At least it wasn't snowing again, yet.

"I don't think so, Warren."

His questioning, handsome face turned her way. "Then what?"

"I think they want it to look like they're sending troops past us so we will send men way out here after them."

"A diversion?"

"I think so. It's just close enough to us to be likely we would discover them, yet far enough away and through difficult enough terrain that it would require us to split our forces in order to do anything about it. Besides, every one of our scouts came back."

"Isn't that good?"

"Sure it is. But what if they have gifted with them, as you believe? How is it that not one of our scouts failed to make it back to report these massive troop movements?"

Warren thought that over a moment as the three of them carefully made it over a high spot, sliding on their bottoms down the far side of the slippery sloping rock.

"I think they're fishing," Cara said as her boots thumped down on solid ground behind them. "Their gifted don't try to net the small fry, hoping to draw bigger fish close."

Kahlan brushed the snow from her backside. "Like us."

Warren looked skeptical. "You think this is all just some sort of elaborate trap to snare officers or gifted?"

"Well, no," Kahlan said. "That would only be a bonus for them. I think their main intent is to spur us into splitting our forces to deal with what they want us to believe is this threat."

Warren scratched his head of curly blond hair. His blue eyes twitched back in the direction the three of them had come down off the ridge, as if trying to look again at what he could not see.

"But if they're sending great numbers of troops north-even if it is to draw away some of our forces-shouldn't that concern us?"

"Of course it should," Kahlan said. "If it were true."

Warren glanced over at her as they struggled through deeper snow drifted under crags they passed beneath on their way up a steep little rise. Her legs were weary with the effort. Warren held out his hand to help her up a high step. He did the same for Cara. Cara gestured that she didn't need the hand, but she didn't level a scowl at him, either. Kahlan was always pleased to see evidence that Cara was learning that offers of modest aid were simply a courtesy and not necessarily accusations of weakness.

"Then I'm confused," Warren said as he panted.

Kahlan came to a halt to let them all catch their breath. She lifted an arm back toward the enemy troops off beyond the ridge.

"Yes, if it were true that great numbers of troops were going out around us and heading north, that would concern us. But I don't believe they are."

Warren swiped a blond lock off his forehead. "You don't think all those men are heading north? Where, then?"

"Nowhere," Kahlan said.

"That many men? You've got to be joking."

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She smiled at the look on his face. "I believe it's a trick. I think it's only a small number of men."

"But the scouts have been reporting mass numbers of men moving north for three days now!"

"Hush," Cara warned, getting even with an air of mock scolding.

Warren covered his mouth with both hands when he realized he'd shouted.

They had their breath back, so Kahlan started out again, taking them over the top of the little rise onto flatter ground, following their footsteps back the way they had come.

"Remember what the scouts said yesterday?" she asked him. "They tried to go over to the mountains on the other side to have a look at the lay of the land beyond and the enemy troops moving north through it, but the passes were too heavily guarded?"

"I remember."

"I think I've just figured out why." She gestured by looping her hand around as she went on. "I think what we're seeing is a relatively small group of the same men just going around in a big circle. We're only seeing them at the point where they pass up this valley. We see troops marching by continuously for days and we assume they're moving a lot of men, but I think it's just a circle of the same ones going round and round."

Warren stopped to stare at her. His face turned grave at the implications. "So if we're tricked into thinking they're moving an army up this way, then we will split our army in response and send part of them out after this phantom force."

"We're already outnumbered," Cara said as she nodded to herself, "but we have the advantage of defending terrain that suits our purpose. However, if they could reduce our numbers substantially simply by getting us to send a large percentage off on some mission, first, their entire army might finally be able to overrun a smaller number of remaining defenders."

"Makes sense." Warren stroked his chin in thought, looking back at the ridge. "What if you're wrong?"

Kahlan turned to look back toward the ridge, too. "Well, if I'm wrong, then. . ."

Kahlan frowned at a fat old maple tree not ten feet away. She thought she saw the bark move. The dusting of snow on the scaly gray, furrowed bark began disappearing, melting away in an ever widening area. Like dross floating on the surface of a boiling cauldron, the bark moved.

Kahlan gasped as Warren seized her and Cara by the collar and flung them both down on their backs. The wind knocked from her lungs, Kahlan tried to sit up, but Warren dived to the ground between them, pinning them both down.

Before Kahlan had a chance to get her breath or ask what was wrong, blinding light flashed in the still woods. A deafening boom rent the air and jolted the ground beneath her. Splintered wood, from toothpick-size fragments to fence-post-size sections, howled past inches above her face. Huge sections of wood thanked as they rebounded off rocks. Others spun, caroming off tree trunks. Pieces tumbling along the ground kicking up snow peppered with frozen chunks of dirt. The air went white as the shock from the blast blew a wall of snow up into the air.

If any of them had been standing, they would have been torn to shreds.

As soon as the last pieces of timber, trailing smoke, thudded to ground, Warren rolled toward her. "Gifted," he whispered.

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Kahlan frowned at him. "What?"

"Gifted," he whispered again. "They focused their power to boil the frozen tree inside and make it explode. That's how we lost so many men when we gathered back in that valley during the first battle, back just before you came to us. They surprised us."

Kahlan nodded. She peeked up, but saw no one. She glanced over to see if Cara was all right.

"Where's Cara," she asked in an urgent whisper.

Warren cautiously peered off, searching the empty scene. Kahlan lifted herself a little on an elbow and saw only the disturbed snow where Cara had been.

"Dear Creator," Warren said. "You don't suppose they've snatched her, do you?"

Kahlan saw tracks where there had been none before, leading off to the side. "I think-"

A scream that would have made a brave man blanch reverberated through the trees. It trailed off in an agonizing echo.

:,Cara?" Warren asked.

"I don't think so."

Kahlan carefully sat up and saw that a hole had been torn open in the crowded growth of the forest crown, letting harsh light penetrate the shaded woodland sanctuary below. The ground all around was littered with splintered wood, broken branches, huge limbs fallen to ground, and boughs ripped from other trees. Gouges down through the white layer of snow into the dark forest floor radiated from a ragged bowl-shaped depression where the tree had been. Fragments of wood and root lay on the ground everywhere and were even caught up in the surrounding trees.

Warren put a hand to her shoulder, urging Kahlan to stay down as he rolled into a crouch. She flipped over onto her stomach and cautiously rose up onto her hands and knees.

Kahlan jumped up and pointed. "There."

Through the trees, she saw Cara returning. The Mord-Sith was herding a small man in obvious pain along before her. Each time he stumbled and fell, she kicked him in the ribs, rolling him through the snow before her. He cried out, his words coming as a whining cry that Kahlan couldn't make out because of the distance. The words weren't hard to imagine, though.

Cara had captured one of the gifted. It was for tasks such as this that Mord-Sith had been created. For someone with the gift, trying to use magic against a Mord Sith was a mistake that cost them their control over their own ability.

Kahlan stood, brushing snow from herself. Warren, his violet robes crusted with snow, rose beside her, transfixed by the sight. This was one of the wizards responsible for killing so many men when the D'Harans had gathered in the valley after the Order began moving north. This was the vicious animal who did Jagang's bidding. He didn't seem like a vicious animal, now, as he wept and begged before the implacable captor driving him on before her.

He was a bundle of rags, flinging out around him as he rolled through the snow with a final mighty kick that deposited him at Kahlan and Warren's feet. He lay facedown, whimpering like a child.

Cara bent, seized him by his tangled mat of dark hair, and yanked him to his feet.

It was a child.

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"Lyle?" Warren stared incredulously. "Lyle? It was you?"

Tears ran from wintery eyes. He wiped his nose on the back of a tattered sleeve as he glared at Warren. Young Lyle looked to be a boy of perhaps ten or twelve years, but since Warren knew him, Kahlan realized he was probably from the Palace of the Prophets, too. Lyle was a young wizard.

Warren reached out to cup the boy's bloody chin. Kahlan snatched Warren's wrist. The boy lunged to bite Warren's hand. Cara was quicker. She snatched him back by the hair as she rammed her Agiel into his back.

Shrieking in pain, he crumpled to the ground. She kicked the injured lad in the ribs.

Warren held his hands out, imploring. "Cars, don't-"

Her icy blue eyes turned up to challenge him. "He tried to kill us. He tried to kill the Mother Confessor."

She ground her teeth and, while looking Warren in the eye, kicked the whimpering boy again.

Warren licked his lips. "I know . . . but..."

"But what?"

"He's so young. It isn't right."

"And so it would be better if we just let him kill us? Would that make it right for you?"

Kahlan knew Cara was right. As difficult as it was to witness, Cara was right. If they died, how many men, women, and children would the Imperial Order go on to slaughter? Child though he was, he was a tool of the Order.

Nonetheless, Kahlan gestured Cara that that was enough. When Kahlan signaled, Cara again seized his tangled mat of dirty hair in her fist and hauled him to his feet. With Cara's thighs at his back, he stood shivering, blood running down his face, pulling short, ragged breaths.

As Kahlan stared down into terrified, tear-filled brown eyes, she put on her Confessor's face, the face her mother had taught her when she was but a little girl, the face that masked her inner tumult.

"I know you're, there, Jagang," she said in a quiet voice devoid of emotion.

The boy's bloody mouth turned up in a smile that was not his own.

"You made a mistake, Jagang. We'll have an army soon on its way to stop them."

The boy smiled a vacant bloody smile, but said nothing.

"Lyle," Warren said, his voice brittle with anguish, "you can be free of the dream walker. You must only swear loyalty to Richard and you will be flee. Believe me, Lyle. Try. I know what it's like. Try, Lyle, and I swear I'll help you."

Kahlan thought that, with Warren there, a man he knew, he might throw himself toward the unexpected light coming from the open dungeon door. The boy behind the smile that was not his own watched Warren with longing that slowly curdled to loathing. This was a child who had seen the struggle for freedom bring horror and death and knew that servile obedience brought rewards and life. He was not old enough to understand what more there was to it.

With a gentle touch of her fingers, Kahlan urged Warren to back away. He reluctantly complied.

"This isn't the first of Jagang's wizards we've captured," she said, offhandedly, to Warren. Her words, though, were not meant for Warren.

Kahlan looked up into Cara's stern blue eyes and then glanced off to the side, hoping the Mord-Sith understood the instruction.

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"Marlin Pickard," Kahlan said, as if recalling the name for Warren, but her words were still meant for Cara. "He was grown, and even with this pompous pretend emperor directing him, Marlin still wasn't able to give us much trouble."

Marlin had in fact given them a great deal of trouble. He had nearly killed Cara and Kahlan both. Kahlan hoped Cara remembered how tenuous was her control over someone possessed by the dream walker.

The mood in the quiet woods was still and tense as the boy glared up at Kahlan.

"We discovered your scheme in time, Jagang. You made a mistake thinking you could get by our scouts. I hope you're with those men, so that when we wipe them out we can cut your throat."

The bloody grin widened. "A woman like you is wasted on the side of the weak," the boy said in the menacing voice of a man. "You'd have a much better time serving strength, and the Order."

"I'm afraid my husband likes me right where I am."

"And where is your husband, darlin? I was hoping to say hello."

"He's around," Kahlan said in the same dispassionate voice.

She saw Warren, when she had spoken the words, move in a way that was a little too much like surprise.

"Is he, now?" The boy's eyes turned from Warren, back to Kahlan. "Why is it I don't believe you?"

She wanted to kick the boy's teeth in as she watched his cruel grin. Kahlan's mind raced, trying to figure out what Jagang could possibly know, and what he was trying to discover.

"You'll see him soon enough, when we get this poor child back to camp. I'm sure Richard Rahl will want to laugh in your cowardly face when I tell him how we discovered the great emperor's plan to sneak troops north. He'll want to personally tell you what a fool you are."

The boy tried to take a step toward her, but Cara's fist in his hair restrained him. He was a cougar on a leash, still testing its chains. The bloody smile remained, but it was not as self-satisfied as it had been. In the brown eyes, Kahlan thought she saw hesitation.

"Ah, but I don't believe you," he said, as if losing interest. "We both know he's not there at all. Don't we, darlin?"

Kahlan resolved to take a risk. "You'll see him for yourself, soon enough." She made to look as if she were going to turn away, but turned back to him instead.

Kahlan let a sarcastic smile taint her lips. "Oh-you must mean Nicci?"

The smile vanished from the boy's face. The brow drew down, but he managed to keep any anger out of his voice.

"Nicci? I don't know what you're talking about, darlin."

"Sister of the Dark? Shapely? Blond hair? Blue eyes? Black dress? Surely, you would remember a woman that hauntingly beautiful. Or, besides your other shortcomings, are you also a eunuch?"

The eyes watched, and in them Kahlan could see careful calculations weighing her every word. But it was Nicci's words about Jagang that Kahlan was remembering.

"I know who Nicci is. I know every private inch of her. One day, I will come to know you as intimately as I know Nicci."