Rachel tied the cloth back over the bread and other food as fast as she could. She held Sara tight to
her with one hand, and held the bundle just as tight with the other as she went between the men's
legs and out the door.

When she heard it clang shut, she started running. She ran fast as she could, not looking back, too
afraid to know for sure it anyone was chasing her. After a time, she had to know, and finally
stopped to check. No one. Out of breath, she sat down to rest on a fat root in the path.

She could see the outline of the castle against the starry sky, the notched top edge of the wall, the
towers with lights in them. She was never going back there again, never. Her and Giller were going
to run away to where people were nice and they were never going to come back. While she was
panting,, she heard a voice.

"Rachel?" It was Sara, she realized.

She laid Sara in her lap, on top of the bundle. "We're safe now, Sara. We got away."

Sara smiled. "I'm so glad, Rachel."

"We're never going back to that mean place again."

"Rachel, Giller wants you to know something."

She had to lean close; she could hardly hear Sara's voice. "What?"

"That he can't come with you. You must go on without him."

Rachel started to get tears. "But I want him to come with me."

"He would like to, more than anything, child, but he must stay and keep them from finding you, so
you can get away. It's the only way to keep you safe."

"But I'll be afraid by myself."

"You won't be by yourself, Rachel, you will have me with you. Always." ,

"But what am I to do? Where am I to go?"

"You must run away. Giller says not to go to your old wayward pine, they will find you there."
Rachel's eyes got big when she heard this. "Go to a different wayward pine, then the next day,
another, just keep running away and hiding until the winter comes. Then find some nice people
who will take good care of you."

"All right, if Giller says so, that's what I'll do."

"Rachel, Giller wants you to know he loves you."

"I love Giller too," Rachel said, "more than anything."

The doll smiled.

All at once, the woods lit up with blue and yellow light. She looked up. Then came a sudden loud
bang that made her jump. Her mouth dropped open; her eyes were wide as they would go.

A giant ball of fire came up from the-castle, from behind the walls.

The ball of fire lifted into the air. Sparks dropped from it, and black smoke rolled away. The fire
turned to black smoke as it went higher, until it was all dark again.

"Did you see that?" she asked Sara.

Sara didn't, say anything.

"I hope Giller is all right."

She looked down at the doll, but she didn't say anything, or even smile back.

Rachel hugged Sara to her and, picked up the bundle.

"We better get going, like Giller said."

When she went past the lake, she threw the key to her sleeping box as far as she could, out into the
water, and smiled when she heard it splash.

Sara didn't say anything as they rushed away from the castle, down the path. Rachel remembered
what Giller said, that she shouldn't go to the same wayward pine. She turned and went down a deer
trail, through the bramble, in a new direction.

West

CHAPTER 3

4
THERE WAS A SOUND. Small, soft, spitting.

In the fog of half sleep, half wake, it made no sense, no matter how hard he tried to understand it.
Slowly at first, then with accelerating urgency, he came awake, aware of the aroma of cooking
meat. Immediately, he regretted the experience of being conscious, the- memories of what had
happened, his longing for Kahlan. His knees were pulled up to his chest with his head resting
against them. The bark of the tree at his back dug painfully into his flesh, and his muscles were
cramped to near paralysis from sleeping in the same position all night. With his head against his
knees he couldn't see anything, except that it was only just .beginning to lighten with dawn.

There was someone, or something, near him.

Continuing to feign sleep, he took assessment of where hi,, hands were in relation to -his weapons.
The sword was a goodly reach, and then a long pull to draw it. The knife wasn't. His fingertips were
touching the hickory handle. Flexing his finger; slowly, carefully, he worked the handle into his
palm, tightening his grip around it. Whatever it was, was near to his left side. A spring and a thrust
with the knife, he thought.

He took a careful peek. With a shock, he saw that it was Kahlan. She was sitting, leaning against
the log, watching him. A rabbit was cooking on the fire. He sat up straight.

"What are you doing here?" he asked cautiously.

"Is it all right if we talk?"

Richard slid the knife back into its sheath, stretched his legs, rubbing the cramps from them. "I
thought we did all our talking last night." He immediately winced at his own words. She gave him
an unreadable look. "I'm sorry," he said, softening his tone. "Of course we can talk. What do you
want to talk about?"

She shrugged in the dim light. "I've been doing a lot of thinking." She had a length of birch branch
that he had cut the night before for the fire, and was stripping off pieces of white bark. "Last night,
after I left, well, I knew you had a headache . . ."

"How did you know that?"

She shrugged again. "I can always tell, by the look in your eyes, when you have a headache." Her
voice was soft, gentle. "I knew you hadn't been getting much sleep lately, and that it was my fault,
so I decided that before I . . . before I left, I would stand watch for you while you slept. So I went
over there," she pointed with the branch, "in those trees, where I could keep my eye on you." She
looked down at the branch as she peeled off strips of bark. "I wanted to make sure you got some
sleep."

"You were there the whole night?" Richard was afraid to hope at what this meant.

She nodded, but didn't look up. "While I was watching, I decided to make a snare, like you taught
me, to see if I could catch you some breakfast. While I was sitting there, I did a lot of thinking.
Mostly, I cried for a long time. I couldn't stand it that you thought those things about me. It hurt
that you thought of me like that. It made me angry too." 10,

Richard decided it was best not to say anything while she struggled to find the words. He didn't
know what to say, and was afraid if he said anything it might make her leave again. Kahlan pulled
off a curl of birch bark and tossed it in the fire; where it sizzled and flared to flame.

"Then I thought about what you said, and I decided there were some things I needed to tell you,
about how to conduct yourself when you are with the Queen. And then I remembered some things I
needed to tell you about which roads to avoid, and about where you might go. I just keep thinking
about things I needed to tell you, things you need to know. Before I knew it, I realized you were
right. About everything."

Richard thought she looked like she was near tears, but she didn't cry. Instead, she picked at the
branch with her fingernail, and avoided his eyes. Still he kept quiet. Then she asked him a question
he wasn't expecting.

"Do you think Shota is pretty?"

He smiled. "Yes. But not as pretty as you."

Kahlan smiled and pushed some hair back over her shoulder. "Not many would dare to say that to a
. . ." She caught herself again. Her secret stood between them like a third person. She started again.
"There is an old women's proverb, maybe you have heard it before. `Never let a beautiful woman
pick your path for you when there is a man in her line of sight.' "

Richard laughed a little and stood to stretch his legs. "No, I've not heard that before." He half
leaned, half sat against the log, as he folded his arms. He didn't think Kahlan needed to worry about
Shota stealing his heart; Shota had said she would kill him if she ever saw him again. Even without
Shota's vow, Kahlan had no cause for worry.

She tossed the branch aside and stood next to him, leaning her hip against the log. She looked into
his eyes at last, her eyebrows wrinkled together. "Richard"-her voice was low, almost a whisper"last night I figured out I was being very stupid. I had been afraid the witch woman would kill me,
and all of a sudden, I realized, she was about to succeed. Only I was doing it for her; letting her
pick my path for me.

"You were right about it all. I should have known better than to disregard the things a Seeker says."
She looked back down at the ground before her green eyes came back up to his. "If . . . if it is not
too late, I would like my job back, as your guide."

Richard couldn't believe it was over. He had never been this happy, this relieved, in his life. Instead
of answering, he reached out and pulled her into his arms, hugged her tight to him. Her arms
slipped around him as she laid her head against his chest for a moment. Then she pushed away.

"Richard, there is one other matter. Before you can say you will take me back, you must hear the
rest of it. I can't go on anymore without telling you about me. About what I am. It's cleaving my
heart, because I'm supposed to be your friend. I should have told you from the beginning. I have
never had a friend like you before. I didn't want it to end." Her gaze left his. "But now it must," she
added faintly.

"Kahlan, I've told you before; you're my friend, and nothing can change that."

"This secret can."- Her shoulders were slumped. "This is about magic."

Richard wasn't sure anymore that he wanted to hear her secret. He had just gotten her back; he
didn't want to lose her again. He squatted down in front of the fire, picking up the roasting stick
with the rabbit. Sparks swirled up into the waning darkness. He felt proud of her, for catching the
rabbit on her own, the way he had taught her.

"Kahlan, I don't care what your secret is. I care about you, that's all that matters. You don't. have to
tell me. Come on, the rabbit is done, come and have some."

Cutting off a piece with his knife, he handed it to her as she sat on the ground next to him, pulling
her hair back off her face. The meat was hot, so she held it lightly with her fingertips, and blew to
cool it. Richard cut a piece for himself and sat back.

"Richard, when you first saw Shota, did she really look like your mother?"

He looked over to Kahlan's face, lit by the fire, and nodded before he took a bite.

"Your mother was very pretty. You have her eyes, and her mouth."

Richard smiled a little at the memory. "But it wasn't really her."

"So you felt angry that Shota was pretending to be someone she could not be? That she was
deceiving you?" She took a bite of the rabbit, breathing in through her mouth because the meat was
still hot. She watched him carefully

Richard shrugged, feeling the sting of sorrow. "I guess. It wasn't fair."

Kahlan chewed a minute, and then swallowed. "That is why I must tell you who I am, even if you
hate me for it, because you have been my friend. Although I have not been the kind of friend you
deserve. That is the other reason I came back, because I didn't want someone else to tell you. I
wanted you to hear it from me. After I tell you, if you want me to I will leave."

Richard looked up at the sky, at the color coming. slowly to it. He suddenly wished Kahlan weren't
telling him what she was; he wished things could stay the way they were. "Don't worry, I'm not
sending you away. We have a job to do. Remember what Shota said? The Queen won't have the
box long; that can only mean someone will take it from her. Better us than Darken Rahl."

Kahlan put her hand on his arm. "I don't want you to decide until you hear what I have to say, until
you hear what I am. Then, if you want one to leave I will understand." She looked intently into his
eyes. "Richard, I just want you to know that I have never cared for anyone the way I care for you,
nor will I ever again. But it is not possible for it to go beyond that. Nothing can ever come of it.
Nothing good anyway."

He refused to believe that. There was a way, there had to be. Richard took a heavy breath, letting it
out slowly. "All right then, out with it."

She nodded. "Remember when I told you that some who lived in the Midlands were creatures of
magic? And that they couldn't give up that magic, because it was part of them?" He nodded to her.
"Well, I am one of those creatures. I am more than a woman."

"So, what are you?"

"I am a Confessor."

Confessor.

Richard knew that word.

Every muscle in his body went stiff. His breath caught in his throat. The Book of Counted Shadows
suddenly flooded through. his mind. Verification of the truth of the words of the Book of Counted
Shadows, if spoken by another, rather than read by the one who commands the boxes, can only be
insured by the use of a Confessor . . . .

His mind raced, as if flipping the pages in his mind's eye, scanning the words, trying to remember
the whole book, trying to remember if Confessor was mentioned again. No, it wasn't. He knew
every word in the book, and Confessor was in it only once, at the beginning. He could remember
puzzling over what a Confessor could be. He hadn't even been sure, before, that it was a person. He
felt the weight of the tooth hanging around his neck.

Kahlan frowned at the look on his face. "Do you know what a Confessor is?"

"No," he managed. "I heard the word before, that's all . . . from my father. But I don't know what it
means." He struggled to regain control of himself. "So, what does it mean, to be a Confessor?"

Kahlan pulled her knees up, hugging her arms around them, withdrawing just a little. "It's a power,
magic power; that is passed from mother to daughter, going back almost as far as there have been
the lands, back beyond the dark time."

Richard didn't know what the "dark time" was, but didn't interrupt. "It is something we are born
with, magic that is part of us, and cannot be separated from us any more than you could be
separated from your heart. Any woman who is a Confessor will bear children who are Confessors.
Always. But the power is not the same in all of us; in some it is weaker, in some, stronger."

"So you can't get rid of it, even if you wanted to. But what sort of magic is it?"

She looked away, to the fire. "It's a power invoked by touch. It's always there, inside us. We don't
bring it out to use it; instead, we must always hold it in, and use it by releasing our grip of it,
relaxing our hold and letting it come forth."

"Sort of like holding your stomach in?"

She smiled at his analogy. "Sort of."

"And what does this power do?"

She twisted the corner of her cloak. "It does not reveal itself well in words. I never thought it would
be this troublesome to explain, but to someone who is not from the Midlands, well, it's difficult to
put into words. I have never had to do this before, and I'm not even sure it can be done, accurately.
It's a little like trying to explain fog to a blind person."

"Try."

She nodded and stole a look into his eyes.

"It is the power of love."

Richard almost laughed. "And I'm supposed to be afraid of the power of love?"

Kahlan's back stiffened; indignation flared in her eyes: indignation and the kind of timeless look
Adie and Shota had flashed him, one that said that his words were disrespectful, that even his small
smile was insolent. It was a countenance he was not used to seeing her direct at him. He felt a cold
realization that Kahlan was not used to having anyone smile about her power, and who she was.
Her look said more to him about her power than any words could have. Whatever her magic was, it
was definitely not something to be smiled about. His small grin withered. When she seemed sure he
was not about to say anything else flippant, she went on.

"You don't understand. Do not take it lightly." Her eyes narrowed. "Once touched by it, you are no
longer the person you were. You are changed forever. Forevermore you are devoted to the one who
touches you, to the exclusion of all else. What you wanted, what you were, who you were, no
longer `means anything to you. You would do anything for the one who touches you. Your life is
no longer yours, it is hers. Your soul is no longer yours, it is hers. The person you were no longer
exists."

Richard felt bumps on the skin of his arms. "How long does this, this, magic, whatever it is, how
long does it last?"

"As long as the one I touch is alive;" she said evenly.

Richard felt the chill run the rest of the way through him. "So, it's sort of like you bewitch people?"

She let out a breath. "Not exactly, but if it helps you to understand, I guess you could put it that
way. But the touch of a Confessor is much more. Much more powerful, and final. A bewitching
could be removed. My touch cannot. Shota was bewitching you, even though you did not realize it.
It's an incremental thing. Witches cannot help it, it's their way. But your anger, and the anger from
the sword, protected you.

"The touch of my power is all at once, and final. Nothing could protect you. The person I touch
cannot be brought back, because once I touch them, that person is no longer there. That person is
gone forever. Their free will is gone forever. One reason I was afraid to go to Shota was because
witches hate Confessors. They are fiercely jealous of our power; jealous that once touched, the
person is totally devoted. The one touched by a Confessor would do anything she says." She gave
him a hard look. "Anything."

Richard felt his mouth go dry as his thoughts scattered in every direction at once, trying desperately
to hold on to his hopes, his dreams. The only way he could hold it together, and gain time to think,
was to ask questions. "Does it work on everyone?"

"Everyone human. Except Darken Rahl. The wizards warned me that the magic of Orden protects
him from our touch. He has nothing to fear from me. On those who are not human, it mostly doesn't
work because they don't have the capacity for compassion, which the magic requires in order to
work. A gar, for example, would not be changed by my touch. It works on some other creatures,
but not exactly the same as it does a human."

He watched her from under his eyebrows. "Shar? You touched her, didn't you?"

Kahlan nodded and leaned back a little, the slump _ settling back into her shoulders. "Yes. She was
dying, and lonely. She was suffering the pain of being away from her kind, the pain of dying alone.
She asked me to touch her. My touch took her fear, and replaced it with a love for me that left no
room for her own pain, for her own loneliness. Nothing was left of her except her love for me."

"What about when I first met you, when the quad was chasing us? You touched one of those men
too, didn't you?"

Kahlan nodded, leaning back the rest of the way against the log, pulling her cloak around her,
looking into the fire. "Even though they are sworn to kill me, once I touch one of them, they are
mine," she said with finality. "They will fight to the death to protect me. That is the reason Rahl
sends four men to kill a Confessor; it's expected she will touch one, then there are three left to kill
him, and her. It takes the three left because the one will fight so fiercely he usually kills one, often
two, but that still leaves at least one to kill the Confessor. On a rare occasion, he will kill the
remaining three. That happened to me with the quad that chased me before the wizards sent me
across the boundary. A quad is the most economical unit to send, they almost always succeed, and
if they don't, Rahl will simply send another.

"We weren't killed on the cliff because you separated them. The one I touched killed the other with
him while you held off the other two; then he went after the remaining two, but you had pushed one
off the edge, so he used his own life to take the leader over the cliff. He did that because then there
wouldn't be any chance of losing in a sword fight. It meant his life too, but that didn't matter to him
after I touched him. It was the only way for him to be sure he protected me."

"Can't you simply touch all four?"

"No. The power is expended with each use. It takes time for it to recover."

He felt the hilt of his sword against his elbow and a sudden thought came to him. "When we came
through the boundary, and that last man of the quad was after you, and I killed him . . . I wasn't
really saving you, was L"

She was silent for a moment before answering. "One man, no matter how big, or strong, is no threat
to a Confessor, even a weak Confessor, much less me. If you hadn't come when you did .. . I would
have dealt with him. I'm sorry, Richard," she whispered, "but there was no need for you to have
killed him. I could have handled it."

"Well," he said dryly, "at least I saved you from having to do it."

She didn't answer, only looked sadly at him. It seemed she had nothing to say that, could bring him
any comfort. "How much time?" he asked.

"How much time does it take to recover after a Confessor has used her power?"

"In every Confessor the power is different. In some it is weaker, and it may take several days and
nights to recover. In most, it takes about one day and one night."

Richard looked over at her. "And in you?"

She looked up at his eyes, -almost as if she wished he hadn't asked the question. "About two
hours.."

He turned back to the fire, not liking the sound of her answer. "Is that unusual?" She let out a
breath. "So I have been told." Her voice sounded weary. "Shorter time to recover the power also
means the power is stronger, works more powerfully in the one touched. That is why some of the
quad members I touch are able to kill the other three. It would not be so for a Confessor with a
weaker power.

"Confessors have position according to their power, because the ones with the strongest power will
bear daughters who have the best chance of having that stronger power. There is no jealousy among
the Confessors for those with the strongest power, only deeper affection and devotion in times of
trouble; like since Rahl came through the boundary. The lower ranks will protect the higher, with
their lives if need be."

He knew she wasn't going to say it unless he asked, so he did. "And what is your rank?"

Her eyes stared unblinking at the fire. "All Confessors follow me. Many laid down their lives to
protect mine . . ." Her voice caught for a moment. ". . . that I might survive, and somehow use my
power to stop Rahl. Of course, there are none to follow me now. I am the only one left. Darken
Rahl has killed every last one."

"I'm sorry, Kahlan," he said softly. He was only, just beginning to comprehend the importance of
the woman she was. "So, do you have a title? What do people call you?"

"I am the Mother Confessor."

Richard tensed. The sound of "Mother Confessor" had the chill of terrible authority to it. Richard
felt a little overwhelmed. He had always known Kahlan was important, but he had dealt with
important people when he was a guide, and had learned not to be awed by them. But he never knew
she was someone of such prominence. Mother Confessor. Even if he was just a guide, and she was
this important, he didn't care, he could live with that. Surely, she could, too. He wasn't going to lose
her, or send her away because of who she was.

"I don't know what that means. Is it something like a princess, or a queen?"

Kahlan lifted an eyebrow to him. "Queens bow down to the Mother Confessor."

Now he felt intimidated.

"You are more than a queen?" he winced

"The dress I wore when you first saw me? That is a Confessor's dress. We all wear them so there
can be no mistaking who we are, although most people of the Midlands would recognize us no
matter how we were to dress. All Confessors, no matter their age, wear a Confessor's dress that is
black-except the Mother Confessor; her dress is white." Kahlan seemed a little annoyed by having
to explain her eminence. "It feels very odd to me to explain all this, Richard. Everyone in the
Midlands knows it all, so I have never had to think about how to put it all into words. It sounds so .
. . I don't know, so arrogant when I put words to it."

"Well, I'm not from the Midlands. Just try, I need to understand."

She nodded and looked back up at him. "Kings and queens are masters of their land; they each have
their own domain. There are a number of them in the Midlands. Other lands are ruled in different
manners, such as by councils. Some are places of magic creatures. The night wisps, for example-no
humans live in their lands.

"The place where the Confessors live, my home, is called Aydindril. It is also the home of the
wizards, and the Central Council of the Midlands. Aydindril is a beautiful place. It's been a long
time since I have been home," she said wistfully. "The Confessors and the wizards are closely
linked, bonded; much the way the Old One, Zedd, is linked with the Seeker.

"No one holds claim to Aydindril. No ruler would dare to lay claim to it; they all fear it, fear the
Confessors and the wizards. All the lands of the Midlands contribute to the support of Aydindril.
They all pay tribute. Confessors are above the law of any one land, much the same way the Seeker
is ultimately above any law but his own. Yet at the same time, we serve all the people of the
Midlands through the Central Council.

"In the past, arrogant rulers had thought to make the Confessors submit to their word. In those
times, there were farsighted Confessors, now revered as legends, who knew they must lay the
foundation for our independence, or forever submit to domination; so the. Mother Confessor took
the rulers with her power. The rulers were removed from their thrones, and replaced with new
rulers who understood that Confessors were to be left alone: The old rulers, those who were taken,
were kept in Aydindril as little more than slaves. The Confessors took these old rulers with them
when they traveled to the different lands, made them carry the provisions and luxuries of travel.
Back then, there was more ceremony surrounding the Confessors than there is now. Anyway, it
made the intended impression."

"I don't understand," Richard said. "Kings and queens must be powerful leaders. Didn't they have
protection? Didn't they have guards, and others, to keep them safe? How could a Confessor get near
to a king or queen to touch them?"

"Yes, they have protection, a lot, in fact, but it's not as difficult as it sounds. A Confessor touches
one person, maybe a guard, then she has an ally, he takes her to another, he is taken, soon she is
inside. Each person she touches can get her close to one of higher rank, and gains her more allies.
Working her way up through the trusted positions and advisors, she can be at the king or queen
sooner than you would think, and often before so much as an eyebrow is raised, much less an
alarm. Any Confessor could do it. The Mother Confessor even easier.

"The Mother Confessor with a band of her sisters would sweep through a castle like the plague. Not
that such an effort is without danger, many Confessors died, but the goal was seen as worth it. This
is the reason no land is closed to a Confessor, though it may be to every other.

"Closing a land to a Confessor is tantamount to an admission of guilt, and is sufficient cause for the
leader to be taken from power. This is why the Mud People, for example, allow me in, even though
they do not often let other outsiders in. Not allowing a Confessor access would raise questions and
suspicions. A leader involved in any sort of plot would gladly grant a Confessor free access, to try
to hide their involvement in any subversion.

"In those times, there were some among the Confessors who were more than willing to use their
power as they wanted, to root out wrongdoing, as they saw it. The wizards exerted their influence
to bring this under control, but the Confessors' zeal showed the people what a Confessor was
capable of. But these were different times."

Taking a ruler from power. Different times or not, Richard found all this hard to take, to justify.
"What gave these Confessors the right?"

She shook her head slowly. "What we are doing now, you and 1, is it much different from what has
been done in the past? Taking a ruler from power? We all do what we think we must, what we
think is right."

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I see your point," he admitted. "Have you done this before?
Removing a ruler?"

She shook her head. "Still, the leaders of the lands are all keen to avoid my attention. It is much the
same way with the Seeker. At least, it used to be, before you and I were born. Then, Seekers were
more feared and respected than Confessors." She gave him a meaningful look. "They, too, have
dethroned kings. Now, though, because the Old One was ignored, and the sword had become a
political favor, they are seen as less; little more than pawns, thieves."

"I'm not sure that has changed," Richard said, more to himself than to her. "Much of the time, I feel
as if I am nothing more than a pawn, being moved by others. Even by Zedd, and . . ."

He shut his mouth and didn't finish; she did it for him.

"And by me."

"I don't mean it that way. It's just that, sometimes, I wish I had never heard of the Sword of Truth.
But at the same time, I can't allow Rahl to win, so I'm stuck with my duty. I guess I have no choice,
and that's what I hate."

Kahlan smiled sadly as she folded her legs under her. "Richard, as you come to understand what I
am, I hope you can remember it's the same with me. I, too, have no choice. But with me, it's worse;
because I was born with my power. At least when this is all done, you can give the sword back if
you want. I am a Confessor .for as long as I live." She paused, then added, "Since I have come to
know you, I would pay any price to be able to give it up, and just be a normal woman."

Richard didn't know what to do with his hands, so he picked up a stick and started drawing lines in
the dirt. "I still don't understand, why are you called `Confessors'? What does `Confessor' mean?"
He was .able to look up at her only with great difficulty.

Kahlan took on an expression of pain that made him feel sorry for her. "It is what we do. We are
the final arbiters of truth. It is the reason the wizards gave us the power, back in times long
forgotten. It is how we serve the people."

"Final arbiter of truth," he repeated with a frown. "Something like a Seeker."

She nodded. "Seekers and Confessors are linked in purpose. In a way, we are the opposite ends of
the same magic. The wizards of long ago were almost like rulers, and they became frustrated by the
corruption about them. They hated the lies and deception. They wanted a way to prevent corrupt
leaders from using their power to deceive and subvert the people. You see, these unscrupulous
leaders would simply accuse their political enemies of a crime, and have them executed for it, at
once dishonoring them and eliminating them.

"The wizards wanted a way to put a stop to this. They needed a way that left no room for doubt. So
they created a magic, and gave it a life of its own. They created the Confessors from a select group
of women. They picked the women carefully, because once brought to life in these women, the
power had a life of its own, and would pass to their offspring-forever." She looked down at the
stick, idly watching him draw lines. "We use our power to find the truth, when the truth is
important enough. Mostly, now, it is used to make sure a person sentenced to death is really guilty.
When a person is condemned to death, we touch them, and then, once. they are ours, we have them
confess."

Richard found himself leaning over, the stick frozen in place. He forced himself to move it as she
went on.

"Once touched, even the most vile of murderers will do as we command, and will confess his
crimes. Occasionally, the courts are not sure they have the _ right man, and so a Confessor is called
in to find the truth. In most lands, the law states that none can be put to death without first giving a
confession, so all can be sure they are putting the right man to death, and not letting the guilty
escape, and that it's not an act of political revenge.

"Some peoples of the Midlands won't use a Confessor; the Mud People, for example. They don't
want what they see as outside interference. But they still fear us, because they know what we can
do. We respect the wishes of these people; there is no law forcing them to use our services. But
still, we would force it on them if we suspected there was deception involved. Most lands, though,
do use us. They find it expedient.

"The Confessors were the ones who first uncovered the plotting and subversion taking place on
behalf of Darken Rahl. Discovering important truths, such as this, is the very reason wizards
created Confessors, and Seekers, in the first place. Darken Rahl was not happy we discovered his
scheming.

"In rare cases, someone who is to be put-to death without the use of a Confessor will call for a
Confessor to be brought in, so that he may give a true confession, and thus prove his innocence. In
all of the Midlands, this is the right of the condemned."

Her voice became softer, weaker. "I hate that the most. No one who is guilty would call for a
Confessor; it would only prove them to be guilty. Even before I touch these men, I know they are
innocent, but I must do it anyway. If you ever saw the look in their eyes when I touch them . . . you
would understand. So when we are called, and even though these men are innocent, they are left . .
."

Richard swallowed. "How many confessions have you . . . taken."

She shook her head slowly. "Too many to count. I have spent half my life in prisons and dungeons,
with the most vicious and loathsome animals you could imagine, yet most look to be nothing more
than a kindly shopkeeper, or brother, or father, or neighbor. After I touch them, I have heard them
all tell me the things they have done. For a long time, in the beginning, it gave me such nightmares
I feared sleeping. The stories of the things they had done . . . you can't even imagine . . ."

Richard tossed the stick aside and took her hand in his, squeezing it tightly. She was starting to cry.
"Kahlan, you don't, have to . . .

"I remember the first man I killed." Her lip quivered. "I still have dreams about him. He confessed
to me the things he had done to his neighbor's three daughters . . . the oldest was only five . . . he
looked up at me with wide eyes after he. told me the most ghastly things you could imagine . . . and
he said, `What is your wish, my mistress' . . . and without thinking, I said, `My wish is for you to
die.' " She wiped some. of the tears off her cheek with trembling fingers. "He dropped dead on the
spot." "What did the people there say?"

"What would they dare to say to a Confessor who has just made a man drop dead in front of their
eyes simply by her command? They all just backed up and got out of our way when we left. It is
not something every Confessor can do. It even scared my wizard speechless."

Richard frowned. "Your wizard?"

She nodded as she finished wiping the tears away. "Wizards see it as their duty to protect us, as we
are universally feared and hated. Confessors almost always travel with the protection of a wizard.
One is . . . well, one was, assigned to each of us when we were called to take a confession. Rahl
managed to separate us from our wizards, and now they are dead too. Except Zedd, and Giller."

Richard picked up the rabbit. It was getting cold. He cut off another piece and handed it to her, then
tore off a piece for himself. "Why would the Confessors be feared and hated?"

"The relatives and friends of the man to be executed hate us because they often don't believe their
loved one would do the things they confess to. They would rather believe we somehow trick them
in to confessing." She picked at the meat, pulling off little pieces and chewing. them slowly. "I have
found that people do not often want to believe the truth. It is of little value to them. Some have tried
to kill me. This is one of the reasons a wizard was always with us, to protect us until our power is
recovered."

Richard swallowed his mouthful. "That doesn't sound like enough reason to me."

"It is more than simply what we do. This must all sound very strange to someone who has not lived
with it. The ways of the Midlands, of magic, must seem very odd to you."

Odd was not the right word, he thought. Frightening was more like it.

"Confessors are independent; people resent that. Men resent that none of them can rule us, or even
tell us what to do. Women resent that we do not live the kind of life they do, that we do not live in
the traditional role of women; we do not take care of a man, or submit to one. We are seen as
privileged. Our hair is long, a symbol of our authority; they are made to keep their hair short, as a
sign of submission to their man and every other per- son of higher status than they. It may seem a
small matter to you, but to our people, no matter having to do with power is small. A woman who
allows her hair to grow beyond the length appropriate to her status is forced to forfeit some of that
status in punishment. In the Midlands, long hair on a woman is a sign of authority, bordering on
defiance. It is a sign that we have the power to do as we wish, and that none may command us; that
we are a threat to all. Much as your sword tells people the same thing. No Confessor would wear
her hair short, and that rankles people, that none could dare make us do so. It is ironic that we are
less free than they, yet they don't see that part of it. We do their distasteful tasks for them, and yet
we are not free to choose what we will do with our own lives. We are prisoners of our power."

Kahlan ate the rest of the meat he had given her while he thought about how ironic it also was that
the Confessors brought love to the most hateful of criminals, yet they could not bring it to ones
with whom they would choose closeness. He knew there was something else she was trying to
explain.

"I think your long hair is pretty," he said. "I like it the way it is."

Kahlan smiled. "Thank you." She tossed the bones into the fire, watching it for a time, then looked
down at her hands as she clicked her thumbnails together. "And then there is the matter of choosing
a mate."

Richard finished his piece of meat and threw the bone in the fire. He leaned back against the log,
not liking the sound of this. "Choosing a mate? What do you mean?"

She studied her hands as if trying to find refuge in them. "When a Confessor reaches the age to be a
proper mother, she must choose a mate. A Confessor may choose any man she wishes, even one
already married. She may roam the Midlands, searching for a proper father to her daughters, one
who is strong, and maybe one who is handsome to her eyes. Whatever she wants.

"Men are terrified of a Confessor who is looking for a mate, because they don't want to be chosen,
to be touched by her. Women are terrified because they don't want their man, or their brother, or
their son to be taken. They all know they have no say in the matter; any who stood in the way of a
Confessor's choosing would be taken by her. People are afraid of me, first because I am the Mother
Confessor, and second because I am long past the time I should have chosen a mate."

Richard still clung tenaciously to his hopes and dreams. "But what if you care about someone, and
they care for you?"

Kahlan shook her head sadly. "Confessors have no friends but other Confessors. It is not a problem;
no one would ever have feelings for a Confessor. Every man is afraid of us." She left unsaid that it
was a problem now. Her voice was choking up again. "We are taught from a young age that the
mate we choose must be a man of strength, so that the children we bear will be strong. But it must
not be someone we care for, because we would destroy him. That is why nothing can come of . . .
of us."

"But . . . why?" He felt himself fighting against her words, her power.

"Because . . ." She looked away, her face unable to mask her pain, her green eyes filling with tears.
"Because in the throes of passion, a Confessor's hold on the power would relax, and she would
release it into him, even though she didn't mean to, and then he would no longer be the person she
cared for. There is no way for her to prevent herself from doing it. None. He would be hers, but not
in the same way. The very one she cared for would be with her, but only because of the magic, no
longer by his choice, and not because he wanted to. He would only be a shell, holding what she had
put into him. No Confessor would want that for a man for whom she cared.

"That is why Confessors, since time long forgotten, have shut themselves away from men, for fear
they would grow to care for one. Though we are seen as heartless, it is not true; we all fear what
our touch would do to a man we held dear. Some Confessors choose men who are disliked, or even
hated, so as not to destroy a kind heart. Though it is only the choice of a few, it is the way they deal
with it, and is their right. No other Confessor would criticize one who has chosen in this manner;
we all understand it." Her tearful eyes looked at him, pleading for him to understand.

"But . . . I could . . ." He could think of no defense for his heart

"I could not. Foe me, it would be the same as you wanting to be with your mother, and instead
having Shota, appearing to be your mother. But she wasn't. It would just be an illusion of love. Do
you understand?" she cried. "Would that bring you any true joy?..

Richard felt the hopes of his world collapsing in the flames of his understanding. His heart sank
into the ashes.

"The spirit house," he asked in a dry voice, "is that what Shota was talking about? Is that when you
came within a breath of using your power on me?" His tone was a little colder than he wished it to
be.

"Yes." Her voice broke with emotion as she tried to keep from crying. "I'm sorry, Richard." She
knitted her fingers together. "I have never before cared for anyone the way I care for you. I wanted
to be with you so badly. I almost forgot who I was. I almost didn't care." Tears started running
down her cheeks. "Do you see now how dangerous my power is? Do you see how Easily I could
destroy you? If you hadn't stopped me when you did . . . you would have been lost."

He felt an agony of compassion for her, for what she was, and for the fact that she couldn't do
anything about it, and he felt the ache of his own pain at the feeling of loss, even though he realized
now that there was nothing to lose, she could never have been his, or more precisely, he hers; it all
had just been a fantasy in his mind.

Zedd had tried to warn him, tried to save him this pain. Why couldn't he have listened? Why did he
have to be so stupid and think he would be smart enough to figure something out? He knew why.
He stood slowly and took a step to the fire so she wouldn't see his tears. He kept swallowing so he
could try to talk.

"Why do you always say `she,' `her,' `daughter'? Why always women? What of the men, don't
Confessors bear male children?" He realized his voice sounded as if it were scraping over gravel.

He listened to the fire crackling for a long time as she didn't answer. He turned back to her when he
heard her crying. She looked up and held her hand out for him to help her up. Once up, she leaned
against the log, pulled her long hair back from her face, and then folded her arms below her breasts

"Yes, Confessors bear male children. Not as often as in the past, but they still do." She cleared her
throat. "But the power is stronger in them; they need no time to recover. Sometimes, the power
becomes everything to them, corrupts them. This is the mistake the wizards made.

"They chose women for this very reason, but didn't give sufficient thought to how the power would
take on a life of its own. They didn't foresee how the power would be passed on to the offspring,
and be so different in men.

"Long ago, a few male Confessors joined forces, and brought about a terrible reign of cruelty. It
was called the dark time. They were the cause of it. It was a time something like now, with Darken
Rahl. At last, the wizards hunted them all down and killed them. Many of the wizards died too.
From that time, the wizards withdrew from trying to rule the lands. Too many of them had been
killed anyway. Instead, now they only try to serve the people, to help where they can. But they no
longer interfere with rulers if they can help it. They have learned bitter lessons."

Kahlan looked down, away from his eyes as she went on. "For some reason, it takes the unique
compassion of a woman to handle the power, to be free from its corrupting influence. The wizards
don't know the reason for this. It is similar with the Seeker: he must be the right one, one found by
a wizard, or he will use the power for corrupt reasons. That is why Zedd was so angry at the council
of the Midlands for taking the naming away from him. Male Confessors, not all, but most, cannot
retain their sense of balance with the power. They don't have the strength to hold it back when they
should." She peered up at him.

"When they wanted a woman, they simply used the power and took her. Many women. They had
no restraint, no sense of responsibility for what they were doing. From what I have been told, the
dark time was one long night of terror. Their reign lasted for years. The wizards had to do a lot of
killing. They eventually killed all the offspring of this lust, to prevent the power from spreading,
uncontrolled. To say the wizards were displeased would not touch it."

"So what happens now?" he asked warily. "What happens when a Confessor bears a male child?"

She cleared her throat again, swallowing back her sobs

"When a boy is born to a Confessor, he is brought to a special place in the center of Aydindril,
where his mother places him on the Stone." She shifted her weight; she was clearly having
difficulty telling him about this. He took her soft hand in both of his and rubbed the back of it with
his thumbs, even though he felt for the first time that he had no business touching her in a familiar
manner. "As I told you, a man touched by a Confessor will do whatever she tells him." He could
feel her hand trembling. "The mother commands her husband in what she is to do . . . and he . . . he
places a rod over the baby's throat . . . and . . . and he steps on both ends."

Richard released her hand. Running the fingers of both hands through his hair, he turned to the fire.
"Every boy child?"

"Yes," she admitted in a voice he could hardly hear. "No chance can be taken that any male
Confessor lives, because he might be one who could not handle the power, and would use it to gain
dominance for himself, bring back the dark times. The wizards and the other Confessors watch
carefully any Confessor who is with child, and do everything they can to comfort her if it is a boy,
and therefore must be . . ." Her voice trailed off.

Richard suddenly realized that he hated the Midlands-hated

it with a vengeance second only to what he felt toward Darken

Rahl. For the first time, he understood why those in Westland had wanted a place to live without
magic. He wished he could be back there, away from any magic. Tears came to his eyes when he
thought of how much he missed the Hartland Woods. He vowed to himself that if he stopped Rahl,
he would see to it that the boundary was put back up. Zedd would help with that, there was no
doubt. Richard understood now why Zedd, too, had wanted to be away from the Midlands. And
when the boundary went back up, Richard would be on the other side. For as long as he lived. _

But first, there would be the matter of the sword; he would not give back the Sword of Truth. He
would destroy it.

"Thank you, Kahlan," he forced himself to say, "for telling me. I wouldn't have wanted to hear this
from another." He felt his world withering to nothing. He had always seen stopping Rahl as the
beginning of his life, a point from where he went forward and anything was possible. Now stopping
Rahl was an end

Not only of Rahl, but of him, too; there was nothing beyond that, everything beyond was dead.
When he stopped Rahl, and Kahlan was safe, he would go back to the Hartland Woods, alone, and
his life would be over.

He could hear her crying behind him. "Richard, if you want me to leave, please do not be afraid to
tell me so. I will understand it. It is something a Confessor is used to."

He looked down at the dying fire for a moment and then closed his eyes tight, forcing back the
lump in his throat, the tears. Pain seared through his chest as it sank with his labored breathing.

"Please, Kahlan, is there any way," he asked, "any way at all . . . that we could . . . for us . . ."

"No," she moaned.

He rubbed his shaking hands together. Everything was lost to him.

"Kahlan," he managed at last, "is there any law, or rule or something, that says we can't, be
friends?"

She answered in a whining cry. "No."

He turned numbly to her and put his arms around her. "I could really use a friend right now," he
whispered.

"Me too," she cried against his chest as she hugged him back. "But I can be no more."

"I know," he said as tears ran down his cheeks. "But Kahlan, I love . . .

She put her fingers to his lips to silence him. "Don't say that;" she cried. "Please, Richard, don't
ever say that."

She could stop him from saying it out loud, but not in his mind.

She clung to him, sobbing, and he remembered when they had been in the wayward pine after they
first met, and the underworld had almost reclaimed her; she had clung to him, and he had thought at
the time that she was not used to having anyone hold her. Now he knew why. He laid his cheek
against the top of her head.

A small flame of his anger flickered in the ashes of his dreams. "Have you picked your mate .yet?"

She shook her head. "There are more important things to worry about right now. But if we win, and
I live ... then I must."

"Make one promise for me."

"If I can."

His throat felt so hot he had to swallow twice to talk. "Promise me you won't pick him until I'm
back in Westland. I don't want to know who it is."

She sobbed for a moment before she answered; her fingers clutching tighter at his shirt. "I
promise."

After a time of standing, holding her, trying to get control of himself, fighting back the blackness,
he forced a smile. "You're wrong about one thing."

"And what would that be?"

"You said no man can command a Confessor. You are wrong. I command the Mother Confessor
herself. You are sworn to protect me, I hold you to your duty as my guide."

She laughed a painful little laugh against his chest. "It would appear you are right. Congratulationsyou are the first man ever to have done so. And what does my master command of his guide?"

"That she doesn't give me any more trouble about ending her life; I need her. And that she gets us
to the Queen, and the box, before Rahl, and then sees us safely away."

Kahlan nodded her head against his chest. "By your command, my lord." She separated from him,
put her hands on his upper arms, and gave them a squeeze as she smiled through her tears. "How is
it that you can always make me feel better, even at the worst times of my life?".

He shrugged, forcing himself to smile for her, even though he was dying inside. "I am the Seeker. I
can do anything." He wanted to say more, but his voice failed him.

Her smile widened as she shook her head. "You are a very rare person, Richard Cypher," she
whispered.

He only wished he were alone so he could cry

CHAPTER 3

5
WITH HIS BOOT, RICHARD pushed little piles of dirt over the dying embers of the fire, snuffing
out the only heat in the dawn of the cold new day. The sky was brightening into an icy blue, and a
sharp wind blew from the west. Well, at least the wind would be at their backs, he thought. Near his
other boot lay the roasting stick that Kahlan had used to cook the rabbit-the rabbit she had caught
herself, with a snare he had taught her to make.

He felt his face flush with the thought of that, the thought of him, a woods guide, teaching her
things like that. The Mother Confessor. More than a queen. Queens bow to the Mother Confessor,
she had said. He felt as foolish as he had ever felt in his life. Mother Confessor. Who did he think
he was? Zedd had tried to warn him, if he had only listened.

Emptiness threatened to consume him. He thought of his brother, his friends Zedd and Chase.
Though it didn't fill the void, at least he had them. Richard watched Kahlan shouldering her pack.
She had no one, he thought; her only friends, the other Confessors, were dead. She was alone in the
world, alone in the Midlands, surrounded by people she was trying to save, who feared and hated
her, and enemies who wanted to kill her, or worse, and not even her wizard to protect her.

He understood why she had been afraid to tell him. He was her only friend. He felt even more
foolish for thinking only of himself. If her friend was all he could be, then that's what he would be.
Even if it killed him.

"It must have been hard to tell me," he said as he adjusted the sword at his hip.

She pulled her cloak around herself, against the gusts of cold wind. Her face had resumed once
more the calm expression that showed nothing, except that, as well as he knew her, he could now
read the trace of pain in it. "It would have been easier to have killed myself."

He watched as she turned and started off, then followed after her. If she had told him in the
beginning, he wondered, would he still be with her? If she had told him before he had come to
know her, would he have been too afraid to be near her, same as everyone else? Maybe she had
been right in being afraid to tell him sooner. But then, if she had, it might have spared him what he
was feeling now.

Near to midday, they came to a juncture of trails, marked with a stone half again as tall as he.
Richard stopped, studying the symbols cut into the polished faces.

"What do they mean?"

"They give direction to different towns and villages, and their distances," she said, warming her
hands under her armpits. She inclined her head toward a trail. "If we want to avoid people, this trail
is best."

"How much farther?"

She looked at the stone again. "I usually travel the roads between towns, not these less-traveled
trails. The stone does not give the distance by the trail, only by the roads, but I would guess a few
more days."

Richard drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword. "Are there any towns near?"

She nodded. "We are an hour or two from Homers Mill. Why?"

"We could save ourselves time if we had horses."

She looked up the trail toward the town, as if she could some- how see it. "Homers Mill is a lumber
town, a sawmill. They would have a lot of horses, but it may not be a good idea. I have heard their
sympathies lie with D'Hara."

"Why don't we go have a look; if we had horses, it could save us a day at least. I have some silver,
and a piece or. two of gold. Maybe we could buy some."

"I guess if we are careful, we could go have a look. But don't you dare pull out any of your silver or
gold. It is Westland marked, and these people view anyone from across the western boundary as a
threat. Stories and superstition."

"Well, how will we get horses then? Steal them?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "Have you forgotten so soon? You are with the Mother Confessor. I have
but to ask."

Richard covered his displeasure as best he could with a blank face. "Let's go have a look."

Homers Mill sat hard on the edge of the Callisidrin River, drawing both power for the sawmills and
transportation for the logs and lumber from the muddy brown water. Spillways snaked through the
work areas, and ramshackle mill buildings loomed over the other structures. Stickered stacks of
lumber lay row upon row under roofs of open buildings, and even more lay under tarps, waiting for
either barges to take them by river or wagons to take them by road. Houses squatted close together
on the hillside above the mill, looking as if they had started life as temporary shelter and as the
years had worn on, became unfortunately permanent.

Even from a distance, Richard and Kahlan both knew that something was wrong. The mill was
silent, the streets empty. The whole town should have been alive with activity. There should have
been people at the shops, on the docks, at the mill, and in the streets, but there was no sign of beast
or man. The town hunched in quiet, except for some tarps flapping in the wind, and a few
squeaking and banging tin panels on the mill buildings.

When they got close enough, the wind brought something, other than flapping tarps and banging
tin; it brought the putrid smell of death. Richard checked that his sword was loose in its scabbard.

Bodies, puffy and swollen, nearly ready to burst, stretched but- tons, and oozed fluid that attracted
clouds of flies. The dead lay in corners and up against buildings, like autumn leaves blown into
piles. Most had ghastly wounds; some were pierced through with broken lances. The silence
seemed alive. Doors, smashed in and broken, hung at odd angles from a single hinge, or lay in the
street with personal belongings and broken pieces of furniture. Windows in every building were
shattered. Some of the buildings were nothing more than cold, charred piles of beams and rubble.
Richard and Kahlan both held their cloaks across their noses and mouths, trying to shield
themselves against the stench as their eyes were pulled to the dead.

"Rahl?" he asked her.

She studied different tumbled bodies from a distance. "No. This is not the way Rahl kills. This was
a battle."

"Looks more like a slaughter to me."

She nodded her agreement. "Remember the dead among the Mud People? That is what it looks like
when Rahl kills. It is always the same. This is different."

They walked along through the town, staying close to the buildings, away from the center of the
street, occasionally having to step over the gore. Every shop was looted, and what wasn't carried off
was destroyed. From one shop, a bolt of pale blue cloth, with evenly spaced dark- stains, had
unwound itself across the road, as if it had been thrown out because its owner had ruined it in
death. Kahlan pulled his sleeve, and pointed. On the wall of a building was written a message-in
blood. DEATH TO

ALL WHO RESIST THE WESTLAND.

"What do you suppose that means?" she whispered, as if the dead might hear her.

He stared at the dripping words. "I can't even imagine." He started off again, turning back twice to
frown at the words on the wall.

Richard's eye was caught by a cart sitting in front of a grain store. The cart was half loaded with
small furniture and clothes, the wind whipping at the sleeves of little dresses. He exchanged a
glance with Kahlan. Someone was left alive, and it looked as if they were preparing to leave.

He stepped carefully through the empty doorframe of the grain store, Kahlan close at his back.
Streamers of sunlight coming through the door and window sent shafts through the dust inside the
building, falling on spilled sacks of grain and broken barrels. Richard stood just inside the doorway,
to one side, with Kahlan to the other, until his eyes adjusted to the dark. There were fresh
footprints, mostly small ones, through the dust. His eyes followed them behind a counter. He
gripped the hilt of his sword, but didn't draw it, and went to the counter. People cowered behind,
trembling.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said in a gentle voice, "come out."

"Are you a soldier with the People's Peace Army, here to help us?" came a woman's voice from
behind the counter.

Richard and Kahlan frowned at each other. "No," she said. "We are . . . just travelers, passing
through."

A woman with a dirty, tearstained face and short, dark, matted hair pushed her head up. Her drab
brown dress was ragged and torn. Richard took his hand away from his sword so as not to frighten
her. Her lip quivered, and her hollow eyes blinked at them in the dim light as she motioned others
to come out. There were six children-five girls and one boy-another woman, and an old man. Once
they were out, the children clinging woodenly to the two women, the three adults glanced at
Richard, then stared openly at ' Kahn. Their eyes were wide, and they all shrank back as one against
the wall. Richard frowned in confusion; then he realized what they were staring at. Her hair.

The three adults collapsed to their knees, heads bowed, each with their eyes to the floor; the
children buried their faces silently in the women's skirts. With a sideways glance at Richard,
Kahlan quickly motioned with her hands for them to get up. They had their eyes fixed on the floor
and couldn't see her frantic gesturing.

"Get up," she said, "there is no need for that. Get up."

Their heads came up, confused. They looked at her hands, urging them to get to their feet. With
great reluctance, they complied.

"By your command, Mother Confessor," one woman said in a shaking voice. "Forgive us, Mother
Confessor, we . . . did not recognize you . . . by your clothes, at first. Forgive us, we are only
human people. Forgive us for . . ." Kahlan gently cut her off. "What is your name."

The woman bowed deeply from the waist, remaining bent. "I am Regina Clark, Mother Confessor."

Kahlan grabbed her by her shoulders and straightened her. "Regina, what has happened here?"

Regina's eyes filled with tears, and she cast a shrinking glance toward Richard as her lip trembled.
Kahlan looked back to him.

"Richard," she said softly, "why don't you take the old man and the children outside?"

He understood; the women were too afraid to talk in front of him. He gave a helping arm to the
stooped old man, and herded four of the children out. Two of the youngest girls refused to leave the
women's skirts, but Kahlan nodded to him that it was all right.

The four children clung together in a clump as they sat on the step outside, eyes empty and distant.
None would answer when he asked their names, or even look at him except with frightened peeks
to make sure he didn't come any closer. The old man only stared blankly ahead when Richard asked
his name.

"Can you tell me what happened here?" Richard asked him.

His eyes widened as he looked out over the street. "Westlanders . . .

Tears welled up and he wouldn't say anything else. Fearing to get any more forceful, he decided to
let the old man be. Richard offered him a piece of dried meat from his pack, but he ignored it. The
children shrank back from his hand as he held it out with the same offer. He put the meat back in
his pack. The oldest girl, just nearing womanhood, looked at him as if he might slay them, or eat
them, on the spot. He had never seen anyone so terrified. Not wanting to frighten her or the other
children more than they were, he kept his distance, smiled reassuringly, and promised he wouldn't
hurt them, or even touch them. They didn't look as if they believed him. Richard turned toward the
door often; he was uncomfortable and wished Kahlan would come out.

At last she did, her face an intense mask of calmness, a spring wound too tight. Richard stood and
the children ran back into the building. The old man stayed where he was. She took Richard's arm,
walking him away

"There are no horses here," she said, watching fixedly ahead as she walked back the way they had
come. "I think it best if we stay off the roads, stay to the less-traveled trails."

"Kahlan, what's going on?" He, looked back over his shoulder. "What happened here?"

She glared at the bloody message on the wall as they went past. DEATH TO ALL WHO RESIST
THE WESTLAND.

"Missionaries came, telling the people of the glory of Darken Rahl. They came often, telling the
town council of the things they would have when D'Hara rules all the lands. Telling everyone of
Rahl's love for all the people."

"That's crazy!" Richard whispered harshly.

"Nonetheless, the people of Horners Mill were won over. They all agreed to declare the town a
territory of D' Hara. The People's Peace Army marched in, treating everyone with the utmost
respect, buying goods from the merchants, spending silver and gold with abandon." She pointed
back at the rows of lumber under tarps. "The missionaries were as good as their word; orders came
down for lumber. A lot of lumber. To build new towns where people would live in prosperity under
the glowing rule of Father Rahl."

Richard shook his head in wonderment. "Then what?"

"Word spread; there was more work here than the town people could handle. Work for Father Rahl.
More people came in to work the orders for lumber. While all this was going on, the missionaries
told the people of the threat to them from Westland. The threat to Father Rahl from Westland."

"From Westland!" Richard was incredulous.

She nodded. "Then the People's Peace Army moved out, saying they were needed to fight the
Westland forces, to protect the other towns that had sworn allegiance to D'Hara. The people begged
for some to stay, for protection. In return for their loyalty and devotion, a small detachment was left
behind."

Richard ushered her back onto the trail ahead of him as he gave one last puzzled glance over his
shoulder. "So it .wasn't Rahl's army that did this?"

The trail was wide enough, so she waited until he was next to her before she went on. "No. They
said everything was fine for a while. Then, about a week ago, at sunrise, a military unit of the
Westland army swept in, killing the D'Hara detachment to a man. After that, they went on a
rampage, killing people indiscriminately, and sacking the town. As the Westland soldiers killed,
they yelled that this was what happens to anyone following Rahl, to anyone who resists Westland.
Before the sun set, they were gone."

Richard grabbed a fistful of shirt at her shoulder, jerking her to face him.

"That's not true! Westlanders wouldn't do this! It wasn't them! It couldn't be!"

She blinked at him. "Richard, I did not say it was true. I am merely telling you what I was told,
what those people back there believe."

He released his grip of her shirt, his face having a second reason for its flush. He couldn't help
himself from adding, "No Westland army did this." He started-to turn back to the trail, but she took
his arm, halting him.

"That is not the end of it."

By her eyes, he knew he didn't want to hear the end of it. He nodded for her to go on.

"Those left alive began leaving at once, taking what they could carry. More left the next day, some
after burying members of their families. That night, a detachment of Westlanders came back,
maybe fifty men. There were only a handful of townspeople left by that time. The people were told
that resisters to Westland are not allowed to be buried, that they are to be left, for animals to pick
clean, as a reminder to all of what will happen to any who resist the rule of Westland. To make
their point, they collected all the men still left, even the boys, and executed them." By Kahlan's
inflection of the word executed, and making no mention of the manner, he knew he didn't want to
know. "The little boy and the old man back there were somehow overlooked or they would have
been killed too. The women were made to watch." She paused.

"How many women were left?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, not many." She peered back up the trail, staring off toward the .
town a moment before her intensely angry eyes returned to his. "The soldiers raped the women.
And the girls." Her eyes burned into his. "Each one of those girls you saw back there was raped by
at least . . ."

"Westlanders did not do this!"

She studied his face. "I know. But who? Why?" Her expression cooled back to calm.

He stared back at her in frustration. "Isn't there anything we can do for them?"

"Our job is not to protect a few people, or the dead; it is to protect the living, by stopping Darken
Rahl. We do not have the time to give; we must get to Tamarang. Whatever trouble is about, we
had best stay off the roads."

"You're right," he admitted reluctantly. "But I don't like it."

"Nor do L" Her features softened. "Richard, I think they will be safe. Whatever army it was that did
this is not likely to return for a couple of women and children; they will be off to hunt bigger
game."

Some solace that was, that the killers would be off to hunt larger groups of people to hurt, in the
name of his homeland. Richard thought about how he hated all this, and remembered how when he
was back in Hartland, his biggest trouble was his brother always telling him what to do.

"A group of soldiers that big isn't going to be traveling by trail through a thick wood such as this,
they'll stay to the roads, but I think it best if we start looking for wayward pines at night. No telling
who could be watching."

She nodded her agreement. "Richard, many people of my homeland have joined with Rahl, and
done unspeakable crimes. Does that make you think less of me?"

He frowned. "Of course not."

"And I would think no less of you were it Westland soldiers. It is no crime upon you, to have your
countrymen do things you abhor. We are at war. We are trying to do as our ancestors have done in
the past, Seekers and Confessors alike; dethrone a ruler. In this, there are only two we can count on.
You and me." She studied him with an intense, timeless expression. He realized he was gripping
the hilt of his sword tightly. "A time may come when it is only you. We all do as we must." It was
not Kahlan who had spoken; it was the Mother Confessor.

It was a hard, uncomfortable moment before she released his eyes, turning at last and starting off.
He pulled his cloak tight, chilled from without, and within.

"It was not Westlanders," he muttered under his breath, following behind her.

-+---
"Light for me," Rachel said. The little pile of sticks with rocks all around burst into flame, lighting
the inside of the wayward pine with a bright red glow. She put the fire stick back in her pocket and
with a shiver warmed her hands at the fire as she looked down at Sara lying in her lap.

"We'll be safe here tonight," she told her doll. Sara didn't answer-she hadn't talked since the night
they ran away from the castle-so Rachel just pretended the doll was talking, telling her she loved
her. She gave Sara's silent words an answering hug.

She pulled some berries from her pocket, eating them one at a time, warming her hands in between
each one. Sara didn't want any berries. Rachel nibbled on the piece of hard cheese; all the other
food she had brought from the castle was gone. Except the loaf of bread, of course. But she couldn't
eat that; the box was hidden inside it.

Rachel missed Giller something fierce, but she had to do as he had said; she had to keep running
away, finding a new wayward pine every night. She didn't know how far she was from the castle;
she just kept going while it was day, the sun at her back in the morning and in her face at evening.
She had learned that from Brophy. He called it traveling by the sun. She guessed that was what she
was doing. Traveling.

A pine bough moved by itself, making her start. She saw a big hand holding it back: Then the shiny
blade of a long sword. She stared, her eyes wide. She couldn't move.

A man stuck his head in. "What have -we here?" He smiled.

Rachel heard a whine, and realized it was coming from her own throat. Still, she couldn't move. A
woman pushed her head in beside the man's. She pulled the man back behind her. Rachel clutched
Sara to her chest

"Put the sword away," the woman scolded, "you're scaring her."

Rachel pulled the partly unbundled loaf of bread close to her hip. She wanted to run, but her legs
didn't work. The woman pushed into the wayward pine, came close and knelt down, sitting back on
her heels, the man right behind her. Rachel's eyes looked up at her face; then she saw the woman's
long hair, lit by the firelight. Her eyes went even wider, and another cry came from her throat. At
last her legs worked, at least a little: they scooted her backward against the trunk -of the tree,
pulling the bread with her. Women with long hair were always trouble. She bit down on Sara's foot,
panting, a whine coming with each breath. She squeezed Sara with all her strength. She tore her
eyes from the woman's hair; she darted glances to the sides, looking for a place to run.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the woman said. Her voice sounded nice, but Princess Violet said the
same thing, sometimes, just before she slapped her.

The woman reached out and touched Rachel's arm. She jumped with a cry, pulling back.

"Please," she said, her eyes filling with tears, "don't burn Sara up.'

"Who's Sara?" the man asked.

The woman turned and made him hush. She turned back, her long hair falling from her shoulder,
Rachel's eyes fixed on it. "I won't burn Sara," she said in a nice voice. Rachel knew that when a
woman with long hair talked in a nice voice, it meant she was probably lying. Still, her voice did
sound like it was really nice.

"Please," she whined, "can't you just leave us be?"

"Us?" The woman glanced around. She looked back, right to Sara. "Oh. I see. So this is Sara?"
Rachel nodded, biting down harder on Sara's foot. She knew she would get a hard slap if she didn't
answer a woman with long hair. "She's a very nice looking doll." She smiled. Rachel wished she
wouldn't smile. When women with long hair smiled, it usually meant there was going to be trouble.

The man stuck his head around the woman. "My name's Richard. What's yours?" She liked his
eyes. "Rachel."

"Rachel. That's a pretty name. But I have to tell you, Rachel, you have the ugliest hair I've ever
seen."

"Richard!" the woman squawked. "How could you say such a thing!"

"Well, it's true. Who cut it all crooked like that, Rachel, some old witch?"

Rachel giggled.

"Richard!" the woman squawked again. "You're going to frighten her."

"Oh, nonsense. Rachel, I have a little scissors here in my pack, and I'm pretty good at cutting hair.
Would you like me to fix your hair for you? At least I could make it straight. If you leave it like
that, you might scare a dragon or something."

Rachel giggled again. "Yes, please. I would like to have my hair straight."

"All right then, come over here and sit on my lap and we'll fix it right up."

Rachel got up and walked around the woman, watching her hands, keeping far away, at least as far
away as she could inside the wayward pine. Richard picked her up with a big hand on each side of
her waist and set her on his lap. He pulled some strands of hair out. "Let's have a look at what we
have here."

Rachel kept an eye toward the woman, fearing a slap. He looked over, too. He pointed with the
scissors.

"This is Kahlan. She scared me at first, too. She's awfully ugly, isn't she."

"Richard! Where did you learn to speak to children like this!"

He smiled. "Picked it up from a boundary warden I know."

Rachel giggled at him; she couldn't help it. "I don't think she's ugly, I think she's the prettiest lady I
ever saw." That was the truth. But Kahlan's long hair scared her something fierce.

"Well, thank you, Rachel, and you are very pretty, too. Are you hungry?"

Rachel wasn't ever supposed to tell anyone with long hair, any lord or lady, that she was hungry.
Princess Violet said it was improper, and punished her one time for telling someone she was
hungry when she was asked. She looked at up Richard's face. He smiled, but still she was too afraid
to tell Kahlan she was hungry

Kahlan patted her arm. "I bet you are. We caught some fish, and if you let us share your fire, we
would share some fish with you. What do you say?" She smiled real pretty.

Rachel looked up at Richard again. He gave her a wink, .then sighed. "I'm afraid I caught more than
we can eat. If you don't help us, we'll just have to throw some out."

"All right then. If you're just going to throw them out, I'll help you eat them."

Kahlan started taking off her pack. "Where are your parents?"

Rachel told the truth because she couldn't think of anything else to say. "Dead."

Richard's hands stopped working, then started again. Kahlan got a look like she was sad, but Rachel
didn't know if it was real or not. She gave her a squeeze on her arm with a soft hand "I'm sorry,
Rachel." Rachel didn't feel too sad; she didn't remember her parents, only the place she lived with
the other children.

Richard snipped at her hair while Kahlan took out a pan and started to fry the fish. Richard was
right, there were a lot of fish. Kahlan put some kind of spices on them while they cooked, as Rachel
had seen cooks doing. It smelled so good, and her stomach was making noises. Little pieces of hair
were falling down around her. She smiled to herself at how mad Princess Violet would be if she
knew Rachel's hair was cut straight. Richard snipped off one of the longer curls, and tied a thin
little vine around one end of it. He put it in her hand. She frowned up at him.

"You're supposed to keep that. Then someday if you like a boy, you can give him a lock of your
hair, and he can keep it in his pocket, right next to his heart." He winked at her. "To remember you
by."

Rachel giggled. "You're the silliest man I ever saw." He laughed. Kahlan smiled while she looked
over at him. Rachel stuffed the lock of hair in her pocket. "Are you a lord?"

"Sorry, Rachel, I'm just a woods guide." His face got a little sad then. She was glad he wasn't a
lord. He turned and dug a little mirror out of his pack and handed it to her. "Have a look. Tell me
what you think."

She held it up, trying to see herself in the mirror. It was the littlest mirror she ever saw, and it took
a minute to get it in the right place so she could see herself in the firelight. When she did, her eyes
went wide, and she got tears.

She threw her arm around Richard. "Oh, thank you, Richard, thank you. It's the prettiest my hair
has ever been." He gave her back a hug that felt as good as any Giller had ever given her. One of
his big, warm hands rubbed her back. It was a long hug, too, the longest she had ever got, and she
wished it would never end. But it did.

Kahlan shook her head to herself. "You are a very rare person, Richard Cypher," she whispered to
him.

Kahlan stuck a big piece of fish on a stick for her, and told her to blow on it until it was cool
enough not to burn her mouth. Rachel blew a little, but she was too hungry to blow for long. It was
the bestest fish she ever had. It was as good as the piece of meat the cooks had given her that one
time.

"Ready for another piece?" Kahlan asked. Rachel nodded. Then she pulled a knife from her belt.
"Should we all have a slice of your bread with the fish?" She started to reach for it.

Rachel dove for the loaf of bead, snatching it away just before Kahlan got her hand on it. Rachel
hugged it to her with both arms. "No!" She pushed with her heels, scooting back, away from
Kahlan.

Richard stopped eating; Kahlan frowned. Rachel reached one hand into her pocket, her fingers
clutching the fire stick Giller had given her.

"Rachel? What's the matter?" Kahlan asked.

Giller had told her, told her not to trust anyone. She had to think of something. What would Giller
say?

"It's for my grandmother!" She could feel a tear run down her cheek.

"Well then," Richard said, "since it's for your grandmother, we won't touch it. Promise. Isn't that
right, Kahlan?"

"Of course. I'm song, Rachel, we didn't know. I promise, too. Forgive me?"

Rachel took her hand back out of her pocket, and nodded. The lump in her throat was too big to talk
past.

"Rachel," Richard asked, "where is your grandmother?"

Rachel froze stiff; she didn't really have a grandmother. She tried to think of the name of a place
she had heard of. She thought about places she had heard the Queen's advisors name. She said the
first one that came into her head.

"Homers Mill."

Before the words were finished coming out of her mouth, she knew it was a mistake. Richard and
Kahlan both got scared looks on their faces and turned to look at each other. It was real quiet for a
minute; Rachel didn't know what was going to happen. She looked to the sides of the wayward
pine, the spaces between the branches.

"Rachel, we won't touch your grandmother's bread," Richard said in a soft voice, "we promise."

"Come, have another piece of fish," Kahlan said. "You can leave the loaf of bread over there; we
won't bother it."

Rachel still didn't move. She thought about running away, fast as she could, but she knew they
could run faster, and would catch her. She had to do as Giller told her, hide with the box until
winter, or all those people would get their heads chopped off.

Richard picked up Sara, and put her on his lap. He pretended to give her a piece of fish. "Sara's
going to eat all the fish. If you want any, you better get over here and have your share. Come on,
you can sit on my lap and eat. All right?"

Rachel searched their faces, trying to decide if they were telling the truth. Women with long hair
could lie easily. She looked at Richard; he didn't look like he was lying: She got up and ran over to
him. He pulled her into his lap, then put Sara on her lap.

Rachel snuggled up against him while they all ate fish. She didn't look at Kahlan. Sometimes when
you looked at a lady with long hair, it was improper, Princess Violet said. She didn't want to do
anything that would get her a slap. Or anything to. get taken off Richard's lap. It was warm in his
lap, and made her feel safe.

"Rachel," Richard said, "I'm sorry, but we can't let you go to Homers Mill. There's no one left in
Homers Mill. It's not safe

"That's all right. I'll go somewhere else then."

"I'm afraid it's not safe anywhere, Rachel," Kahlan said. "We will take you with us, so you will be
safe."

"Where?"

Kahlan smiled. "We are going to Tamarang, to see the Queen." Rachel stopped chewing. She
couldn't breathe. "We will take you with us. I'm sure the Queen will be- able to find someone to
take care of you, if I ask."

"Kahlan, are you sure about this?" Richard whispered. "What about the wizard?"

Kahlan nodded and spoke softly to him. "We will see to her before I skin Giller."

Rachel forced herself to swallow, so she could breathe. She knew it! She knew she shouldn't trust a
woman with long hair. She almost cried; she was just starting to like Kahlan. Richard was so nice.
Why would he be nice to Kahlan? Why would he even be with a woman mean enough to hurt
Giller. It must be like when she was nice to Princess Violet, so she wouldn't get hurt. He must be
afraid of getting hurt, too. She felt sorry for Richard. She wished he could run away from Kahlan
like she was running away from Princess Violet. Maybe she should tell Richard about the box, and
he could run away from Kahlan with her.

No. Giller said not to trust anyone. He might be too afraid of Kahlan, and tell her. She had to be
brave for Giller. For all the other people. She had to get away.

"We can deal with it in the morning," Kahlan said. "We better get some sleep- so we can be off at
first light."

Richard nodded as he hugged her. "I'll take the first watch. You get some sleep."

He picked her up and handed her to Kahlan. Rachel bit her tongue to keep from screaming. Kahlan
hugged her tight. Rachel looked down at her knife; even the Princess didn't have a knife. She put
her arms out to Richard with a whine. Richard smiled and put Sara in her hands. That wasn't what
she wanted, but she hugged Sara tight, and bit down on her foot to keep from crying.

Richard mussed her hair. "See you in the morning, little one."

And then he was gone, and she was alone with Kahlan, She squeezed her eyes shut. She had to be
brave, she couldn't cry. But then she did.

Kahlan held her tight. Rachel shook. Fingers stroked her hair. Kahlan rocked her while Rachel eyed
a dark gap in the boughs on the other side of the wayward pine. Kahlan's chest was making funny
little movements, and Rachel realized with wonder that she was crying, too. Kahlan put her cheek
against the top of her head.

She almost started to believe .. . but then she remembered what Princess Violet said sometimes;
that it hurt more to punish than to be punished. Her eyes went wide at what Kahlan must be
planning that would make her cry. Even Princess Violet never cried when she dealt out a
punishment. Rachel cried harder, and shook.

Kahlan took her hands away and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Rachel's legs were too wobbly to
run.

"Are you cold?" Kahlan whispered. Her voice sounded like there were still tears in it. ,

Rachel was afraid that no matter what she said she would get a slap. She gave a nod, ready for what
might happen. Instead, Kahlan took a blanket out of her pack and wrapped it around the both of
them, she guessed so it would be harder to get away.

"Come, lie close and I will tell you a story. We will keep each other warm. All right?"

Rachel lay on her side, her back against Kahlan, who curled all around her and put her arm over
her. It felt nice, but she knew it was a trick. Kahlan's face was close to her ear, and as she lay there,
Kahlan told her a story about a fisherman who turned into a fish. The words made pictures in her
head, and for a while she forgot about her troubles. Once, she and Kahlan even laughed together.
When she was finished with the story, Kahlan kissed the top of her head and then stroked the side
of her forehead.

She pretended Kahlan wasn't really mean. It couldn't hurt to pretend. Nothing had ever felt as good
as those fingers on her, and the little song Kahlan sang in her ear. Rachel thought this must be what
it felt like to have a mother.

Against her will, she fell asleep, and had wonderful dreams.

She came awake in the middle of the night when Richard woke Kahlan, but she pretended she was
still asleep.

"You want to keep sleeping with her?" he whispered real soft.

Rachel held her breath.

"No," Kahlan whispered back, "I'll take my watch."

Rachel could hear her putting on her cloak and going outside. She listened to which way Kahlan's
feet went. After he put some more wood in the fire, Richard lay down, close. She could see the
inside of the wayward pine brighten. She knew Richard was watching her; she could feel his eyes
on her back. She wanted so much to tell him how mean Kahlan really was, and ask him to run away
with her. He was such a nice man, and his hugs were the bestest things in the whole world. He
reached over and pulled the blanket up around her tighter, tucking it under her chin. Tears ran down
her cheeks.

She could hear him lie on his back and pull his blanket up. Rachel waited until she heard his even
breathing and she knew he was asleep before she slipped out from under the blanket

CHAPTER 3

6
KA14LAN TURNED EXPECTANTLY WHEN he batted a limb out of the way as he pushed into
the wayward pine and flopped down in front of the fire. He pulled his pack across the ground and
started jamming things in it.

"Well?" .

Richard shot her an angry glare. "I found her tracks, going west, back the way we came. They join
the trail a few hundred yards out. They're hours old." He pointed to the ground at the back of the
wayward pine. "That's where she went out. She circled around you through the woods, well clear of
us. I've tracked men who didn't want to be found, and their trails were easier to follow. She walks
on top of things, roots, rocks, and she's too little to make a print where another would. Did you see
her arms?"

"I saw long bruises. They are from a switch."

"No, I mean scratches."

"I saw no scratches."

"Exactly. Her dress had burrs on it; she's been through the bramble, yet she had no scratches on her
arms. She's tender, so she avoids brushing up against anything. An adult would just push past, leave
a trail of disturbed or broken branches. She almost never touches anything. You should see the trail
I left, going through the bushes trying to track her; a blind man could follow it. She moves through
the underbrush like air. Even when she was back on the trail, I couldn't tell for a while. Her feet are
bare; she doesn't like stepping in water or mud-it makes her feet colder-so she steps where it's dry,
where you can't see her passing."

"I should have seen her leaving."

He realized Kahlan thought he was blaming her. He let out an exasperated breath. "It's not your
fault, Kahlan. If I had been standing watch, I wouldn't have seen her go either. She didn't want to be
seen. She's one smart little girl."

It didn't seem to make her feel any better. "But you can track her, right?"

He gave her a sidelong glance. "I can." He reached to his breast. "I found this in my shirt pocket."
He lifted an eyebrow. "By my heart." He pulled out the lock of Rachel's hair, tied with the vine. He
twisted it in his fingers. "To remember her by."

Kahlan's face was ashen as she rose. "This is my fault." She pushed out of the wayward pine. He
tried to grab her arm, but she tore away from him.

Richard set his pack aside and followed. Kahlan stood off a ways, her arms folded below her
breasts, her back to him. She stared off into the woods.

"Kahlan, it isn't your fault."

She nodded. "It was my hair. Didn't you see the fear in her eyes when she looked at my hair? I have
seen that look a thousand times. Do you have any idea what it's like to frighten people, even
children, all the time?" He didn't answer. "Richard? Cut my hair for me?"

"What?"

She turned to him, pleading in her eyes. "Cut it off for me?"

He watched the hurt in her eyes. "Why haven't you just cut it yourself?"

She turned away. "I cannot. The magic will not allow a Confessor to cut her own hair. If we try, it
brings pain so great, it prevents us from doing so."

"How could that be?" "Remember the pain you suffered, from the magic of the sword, when you
killed a man the first time? It is the same pain. It will render a Confessor unconscious before the
task can be accomplished. I tried only once. Every Confessor tries once. But only once. Our hair
must be cut by another when it needs trimming. But none would dare to cut it all of." She turned to
him once more. "Will you do it for me? Will you cut my hair?"

He looked away from her eyes, to the brightening slate blue sky, trying to understand what it was
he was feeling, what it was she must be feeling. There was so much he didn't know about her, still.
Her life, her world, was a mystery to him. There had been a time when he wanted to know it all.
Now he knew he never could; the gulf between them was filled with magic. Magic, designed, it
seemed, explicitly to keep them apart.

His eyes returned to her. "No.".

"May I know why?"

"Because I respect you for who you are. The Kahlan I know wouldn't want to fool people by trying
to make them think she is less than she is. Even if you did fool some, it would change nothing. You
are who you are: the Mother Confessor. We all can be no more, or less, than who we are." He
smiled. "A wise woman, a friend of mine, told me that once."

"Any man would leap for the chance to cut a Confessor's hair."

"Not this one. This one is your friend."

She gave a nod, her arms still folded against her stomach. "She must be cold. She didn't even take a
blanket."

"She didn't take any food either, other than that loaf of bread she's saving for some reason, and she
was starving."

Kahlan smiled at last. "She ate more than you and me together. At least her belly is full. Richard,
when she gets to Homers Mill . . ."

"She isn't going to Homers Mill."

Kahlan came closer. "But that's where her grandmother is."

Richard shook his head. "She doesn't have a grandmother. When she said her grandmother was in
Homers Mill, and I told her she couldn't go there, she didn't even falter. She simply said she would
go somewhere else. She never gave it a thought, never asked about her grandmother, or even raised
an objection. She's running from something."

"Running? Maybe from whoever put those bruises on her arms."

"And on her back. Whenever my hand touched one, she flinched, but she didn't say anything. She
wanted to be hugged that badly." Kahlan's brow wrinkled with sorrow. "I'd say she was running
from whoever cut her hair like that."

"Her hair?"

He nodded again. "It was meant to mark her, maybe as property. No one would cut someone's hair
like that, except to give a message. Especially in the Midlands, where everyone pays so much
attention to hair. It was deliberate, a message of power over her. That's why I cut it for. her, to
remove the mark."

Kahlan stared at nothing in particular. "That was why she was so happy to have it cut even," she
whispered.

"There is more to it, though, than simply running away. She lies easier than a gambler. She lies
with the ease of someone who has a powerful need."

Her eyes came to his again. "Like what?"

"I don't know." He sighed. "But it has something to do with that loaf 'of bread."

"The bread? Do you really think so?"

"She had no shoes, no cloak, nothing but her doll. It's her most precious possession, she's devoted
to it, yet she let us touch it. But she wouldn't let us get within an arm's length of that loaf of bread. I
don't know much about the magic in the Midlands, but where I come from, a little girl will not
value a loaf of bread more than her doll, and I don't think it's any different here. Did you see the
look in her eyes when you reached for the bread, and she snatched it away? If she had had a knife,
and you hadn't backed off, she would have used it on you."

"Richard," she admonished, "you can't really believe that about a little girl. A loaf of bread couldn't
be that important to her."

"No? You said yourself she ate as much as both of us put together. I was beginning to think she was
related to Zedd. Explain why if she was half starved, she hadn't even nibbled on that loaf of bread:"
He shook his head. "There is something going on, and that loaf of bread is at the center of it."

Kahlan took a step toward him. "So, we're going after her?"

Richard felt the weight of the tooth against his chest. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
"No. As Zedd is fond of saying, nothing is ever easy. How can we justify going after one little girl,
to solve the riddle of her loaf of bread, while Rahl goes after the box?"

She took his hand in one of hers, looked down at it. "I hate what Darken Rahl does to us, the way
he twists us." She squeezed his hand. "She got into our hearts awfully quick."

Richard gave her a one-armed hug. "That she did. She's one special little girl. I hope she finds what
she's after, and that she is safe." He let go -of Kahlan and started for the wayward pine, to get their
things. "Let's get moving."

Neither wanted to think about how they felt, that they were deserting Rachel, condemning her to
the embrace of dangers she knew nothing about and was defenseless against, and so both set their
minds to covering as much ground as fast as they could. The bright day wore on with an endless
expanse of rugged forest, and with their exertion they didn't notice the cold.

Richard was always glad when he saw a spiderweb stretched across the trail; he had begun to think
of spiders as his guardians. When he had been a guide, he had always been annoyed to have them
tickle his face. Thank you, sister spider, he said to himself every time he passed one now.

Near midday, they stopped for a break on sunlit rocks in an icy stream. Richard splashed the frigid
water on his face, trying to work up some energy. He was tired already. Lunch was cold, too, and
lasted only as long as it took to bolt it down. They both stuffed the last bites in their, mouths,
brushed their hands off on their pants, and hopped down off the flat, pink rock.

As much as he tried not to think about Rachel, he found himself frowning with worry before he
realized he was doing it again. He saw Kahlan's brow wrinkle sometimes when she turned,
checking to the sides. One time he asked if she thought he had made the right decision. She didn't
have to ask which decision he was talking about. She asked how long he thought it would have
taken to catch her. He thought two days, if every- thing went right, at least one to catch her and
another back. Two days, she had told him, was more than they could afford. It felt reassuring to
hear her say it.

Late in the afternoon, the sun slipped behind a distant peak of one of the mountains of the
Rang'Shada, muting and softening the colors of the woods, calming the wind, and settling a
stillness over the countryside. Richard was able to set aside his thought of Rachel as he
concentrated on what they would do when they reached Tamarang.

"Kahlan, Zedd told us we both had to stay away from Darken Rahl, that we have no power against
him, no defense."

She gave a short glance over her shoulder. "That's what he said."

Richard frowned. "Well, Shota said the Queen wouldn't have the box for long."

"Maybe when she said that, she meant we would get it soon."

"No, it was a warning, that the Queen wouldn't have it long, meaning we must hurry. So what if
Darken Rahl is already there?"

She looked over her shoulder, then slowed, and walked next to him. "So what if he is? There is no
other way. I'm going to Tamarang. Do you wish to wait behind for me?"

"Of course not! I'm only saying we should keep in mind what we are walking into; that Darken
Rahl might be there."

"I have had that thought in my mind for a long time now."

He walked next to her for a minute without saying anything. At last he asked, "And what have you
concluded? What will we do if he is there?"

She stared straight ahead as she spoke. "If .Darken Rahl is in Tamarang, and we go there, then in all
likelihood-we will die."

Richard lost a stride; she didn't wait for him, but walked on.

As the woods grew darker, a few small clouds glowed red, the dying embers of day. The trail had
begun following the Callisidrin River, sometimes taking them close enough for a view of it, and
even when it didn't, they could still hear the rush of its brown waters. Richard hadn't seen a
wayward pine all afternoon. Glancing about at the treetops, he saw no sign of one now, either. As it
grew dark, he gave up hope of finding one before nightfall, and so began looking for other shelter.
Off the trail a safe distance, he found a short, cleft face of rock at the bottom of a rise. Trees were
sheltering all about, and he felt it a well hidden camp, even if it was open to the sky.

The moon was well up by the time Kahlan had a stew cooking on the fire, and by a bit of luck that
surprised him, Richard had two rabbits in the snare before he expected to, and was able to add them
to the pot.

"I think we have enough to feed Zedd," she said.

As if bidden by her words, the old man, white hair in disarray, strode into the circle of light,
stopping on the other side of the fire, hands on his hips, his robes looking a little tattered.

"I'm starved!" he announced. "Let's eat."

Richard and Kahlan both blinked, wide-eyed, and came to their feet. The old man blinked, too,
when Richard drew the sword. In a heartbeat, Richard was over the fire, the sword's point to his
ribs.

"What's this?" the old man asked.

"Back up," Richard ordered. They moved, the sword between them, to the trees. Richard eyed the
trees carefully.

"Mind if I inquire as to what we're doing, my boy?"

"I've been called by you once, and seen you once, yet neither was you. Third time tricked, marks
the fool," Richard quoted. He saw what he was looking for. "I'll not be tricked the third time, I'll not
be the fool. Over there." He pointed with his chin. "Walk. between those two trees."