Faith of the Fallen (61 page)

Most in the room sighed unhappily with the news.

“Any direction, yet?” Kahlan asked.

Captain Zimmer nodded. “From the looks of it, he’s sending maybe a third, possibly a little more, up the Callisidrin Valley toward Galea. The main force is heading to the northeast, probably to enter and go north up the Kern Valley.”

They all knew the eventual goal.

Zedd made a fist. “There’s no joy in being right, but that’s just what Kahlan and I talked about. That was our guess.”

General Meiffert was still rubbing his chin as he studied the map. “It’s an obvious move, but with the size of his force the obvious is not a liability.”

No one wanted to broach the issue, so Kahlan settled the matter. “Galea is on its own. We’re not sending any troops to help them.”

Captain Zimmer finally waggled a finger at the map. “We need to put our forces in front of their main force to slow them down. If we stay on their heels instead, we will only be cleaning up the mess they make.”

“I’d have to agree.” The general shifted his weight to his other foot. “We have no choice but to try to slow them. We’ll have to keep giving ground, but at least we can slow them. Otherwise, they are going to move up through the center of the Midlands with the speed and power of a spring flood.”

Zedd was watching the young wizard off by himself at the window. “Warren, what do you think?”

Warren looked up at the sound of his name, as if he hadn’t been paying attention. Something about him didn’t look well. He took a breath and straightened, his face brightening, making Kahlan think she had been mistaken. Hands clasped behind his back, Warren strode to the table.

He peered at the map from over Verna’s shoulder. “Forget Galea—it’s a lost cause. We cannot help them. They will suffer the sentence imposed upon them by the Mother Confessor—not because she spoke the words, but because her words were simple truth. Any troops we sent to help would be forfeit.”

Zedd cast a sidelong glance at his fellow wizard. “What else?”

Warren finally moved closer to the table, wedging himself between Verna and the general. With authority, he firmly planted his finger on the map, far to the north—almost three-quarters of the way to Aydindril from where they were camped.

“You have to go there.”

General Meiffert frowned. “Up there? Why?”

“Because,” Warren said, “you can’t stop Jagang’s army—his main force. You can only hope to slow them as they move north, up into the Kern Valley. This is where you must make a stand, if you hope to delay them next winter. Once they move through you, they will be upon Aydindril.”

“Move through us?” General Meiffert asked in an surly manner.

Warren looked up at him. “Well, do you suppose you are going to be able to stop them? It wouldn’t surprise me if by then they have three and a half to four million men.”

The general let out an ill-tempered breath. “Then why do you think we should be at that spot—right in their way?”

“You can’t stop them, but if you harry them sufficiently as they move north, you can keep them from reaching Aydindril this year. At this spot, they will be running out of time before the weather closes in. With a bit of stiff resistance, you can grind them to a halt for the winter, buying Aydindril one more season of freedom.”

Warren looked up into Kahlan’s eyes. “The following summer, a year from now, Aydindril will fall. Prepare them for it in whatever way you are able, but make no mistake: the city will fall to the Order.”

Kahlan’s blood ran cold. To hear him say the words aloud staggered her. She wanted to slap him.

To contemplate the Imperial Order taking their attack into the heart of the Midlands was horrifying. To accept, as foreordained, the Imperial Order seizing the heart of the New World was unthinkable. Kahlan’s mental image of Jagang and his bloodthirsty thugs strolling the halls of the Confessors’ Palace sickened her.

Warren leaned around the general to look at Zedd. “The Wizard’s Keep must be protected—you know that better than I. It would be the end of all hope if their gifted were to gain the Keep and the dangerous things of magic stored there. I think the time has come to keep that above all else in our thinking. Holding the Keep is vital.”

Zedd smoothed back his unruly white hair. “I could hold the Keep by myself, if I had to.”

Warren looked away from Zedd’s hazel eyes. “You may have to,” he said in a quiet voice. “When we get to this place”—he tapped the map again—“then you can do no more with the army, Zedd, and you must go to safeguard the Wizard’s Keep and the things of magic kept there.”

Kahlan could feel the blood heating her face. “You’re talking about this as if it’s all settled—as if it has been decided by fate and there is nothing we can do about it. We can’t win if we hold such a defeatist attitude.”

Warren smiled, his shy manner suddenly surfacing. “I’m sorry, Mother Confessor. I didn’t mean to give you that impression. I am only offering my analysis of the facts of the situation. We aren’t going to be able to stop them—there’s no use deluding ourselves about that. They grow larger by the day. We must also take into account that there are going to be lands, such as Anderith and Galea, which fear the Order and will join them rather than suffer the brutal fate of those who refuse to surrender.

“I lived in the Old World as it fell, bit by bit, to the Imperial Order. I’ve studied Jagang’s methods. I know the man’s patience. He methodically conquered the entire Old World when such a feat seemed inconceivable. He spent years building roads just to be able to accomplish his plans. He never wavers from his goal. There are times when you can anger or humiliate him into a rash action, but he quickly comes to his senses.

“He quickly comes to his senses because he has a cause that is paramount to him.

“You must understand something important about Jagang. It’s the most important thing I can tell you about the man: he believes with all his heart that what he is doing is right. He revels in the glory of conquest and victory, to be sure, but his deepest pleasure is being the one who has brought what he sees as righteousness to those he views as heathens. He believes that mankind can only advance, ethically, if they are all brought under the moral authority of the Order.”

“That’s just nonsense,” Kahlan said.

“You may think so, but he truly believes he is serving the cause of the greater good for mankind. He believes piously in this. It is a sacred moral truth to him and his ilk.”

“He believes that murder, rape, and enslavement are just?” General Meiffert asked. “He would have to be out of his mind.”

“He was raised at the feet of priests of the Fellowship of Order.” Warren lifted a finger to make sure they all noted his point. “He believes that all those things and more are justified. He believes that only the next world matters, because then we will be in the eternal Light of the Creator. The Order believes that you earn that reward in the next world by sacrificing for your fellow man in this world. All those who refuse to see this—that would be us—must either be brought to follow the Order’s ways, or die.”

“So,” General Meiffert said, “it’s his sacred duty to crush us. It’s not plunder he seeks, primarily, but his bizarre version of the salvation of mankind.”

“Exactly.”

“All right,” Kahlan said with a sigh. “So, what do you think this holy man of justice will do?”

“He basically has two choices, I believe. If he is to conquer the New World and bring all of mankind under the authority of the Order, he must take two important places, or he has not really succeeded: Aydindril, because it is the seat of power in the Midlands, and the People’s Palace in D’Hara, because it reigns over the D’Haran people. If those two fall, everything else will crumble. He could have gone for either. Emperor Jagang has now made his choice of which falls first.

“The Imperial Order is going for Aydindril in order to split the Midlands. Why else would they go north? What better way to defeat an enemy than to cleave them in two? After they have Aydindril, they will turn their swords to an isolated D’Hara. What better way to demoralize an enemy than to first go for their heart?

“I am not saying that it is preordained, but merely telling you the way the Order goes about its grisly work. This is the same thing Richard has already figured out. Given that we can’t realistically expect to stop them, I think it only wise to face the reality of what is, don’t you?”

Kahlan’s gaze sank to the map. “I believe that in the darkest hours we must believe in ourselves. I do not intend to surrender the D’Haran Empire to the Imperial Order. We need to wage the best war we can until we can turn it around.”

“The Mother Confessor is right,” Zedd insisted with quiet authority. “The last great war I fought, in my youth, seemed just as hopeless for a time. We prevailed, and drove the invaders back to the place from where they had come.”

None of the D’Haran officers said anything. It was D’Hara that was that invader.

“But things are different, now. That was a war pressed by an evil leader.” Zedd met the gaze of General Meiffert, Captain Zimmer, and the other D’Haran officers. “Every side in a war has good people, just as they all have the bad. Richard, as the new Lord Rahl, has given those good people a chance to flourish.

“We must prevail in this. As difficult as it may now be to believe, there are good people in the Old World, too, who would not wish to be under the boot heel of the Order, or to press a war for the Order’s reasons. Nonetheless, we must stop them.”

“So,” Kahlan said, gesturing at the map before Warren, “how do you think Jagang will press the war?”

Warren tapped the map again, to the south of Aydindril. “Knowing Jagang and the way he conquers his opponents, I think he will stick to his grand plan. He has a goal and will doggedly continue to move toward it. There is nothing we have shown him that he has not seen from other opponents for his whole life. With that experience, I’m sure he finds this war unexceptional. I don’t mean to discount our efforts—all war has its surprises, and we’ve given him some nasty ones. I would say, though, that it is going largely as he expected.

“It will take them the summer to advance to this place I’ve shown you, given his usual pace and the fact that you will be harrying them. Jagang, in general, has always moved slowly, but with unstoppable force. He will simply pour in enough men to crush the opposition. He feels that if he takes time to get to his enemy, it only gives them more time to tremble in fear of him. When he finally arrives, his enemies are often ready to crumble from the agony of the wait.

“If you put your force there, where I showed you, you will be able to protect Aydindril next winter, as Jagang will be content to bide his time. He has learned what a hardship the winters are in the New World. He will not needlessly press a winter campaign. But in the summer, when they move again, like they do now, then Aydindril will fall—whether or not you stand against the weight of their main force. When they move on Aydindril, we must hold the Wizard’s Keep. That is all we can do.”

The room was silent. The fire was cold, now. Warren and Verna had already packed their things and were ready to go, as was most of the rest of the army. Warren and Verna were losing their home. Kahlan glanced to the side, letting her gaze linger on the curtains she had long ago made for them. Their wedding seemed but a dim memory.

Her own wedding seemed but a distant dream. Every time she woke, Richard seemed almost a ghost to her. Mind-numbing, relentless, never-ending war seemed the only reality. There were occasional fleeting moments when she thought that she might have only dreamed him, that he couldn’t possibly have really existed, that their long-ago happy summer home in the mountains never happened. Those moments of doubt terrified her more than Jagang’s army.

“Warren,” Kahlan asked in a soft voice, “what then? What do you think will happen the following summer, after they have taken Aydindril?”

Warren shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe Jagang will be content to digest Aydindril for a while, to establish firm control over the Midlands. He believes it his duty to his Creator to bring all of mankind under the Order. Sooner or later, he will move on D’Hara.”

Kahlan finally directed her attention to Captain Zimmer.

“Captain, get your men ready. While we’re getting all our supplies and such on the way, you might as well go and remind Jagang that we have kept our blades sharp.”

The captain grinned and clapped his fist to his heart.

Kahlan swept her gaze across everyone in the room.

“I intend to make the Order shed blood for every inch they take. If that is all I can do, then I will do it until I breathe my last breath.”

The dead-still air was sweltering and reeked of stagnant sewage. Richard wiped sweat from his brow. At least as long as his sturdy wagon was rolling through the streets he could enjoy a little breeze.

Distracted out of his concern over knowing Kahlan and Cara had to have long since left the safety of their mountain home, he noticed an unusual amount of activity for the middle of the night. Shadowy figures hurried down the dark streets to dart into dim buildings. Slashes of light briefly fell to the street until doors could be pulled shut. The moon was out, and in the darker alleys he thought he saw people watching him, waiting until he passed before they went on their way. Over the rumble of his wagon’s wheels he couldn’t hear anything they might be saying.

As he turned onto the road that would take him out to the charcoal maker, he had to pull his team up short as men with long pole weapons stepped out and blocked his way. A guard seized the horses’ bits. Other of the city guard swept out of the side street to point lances up at him.

“What are you doing out here?” one of the voices asked from the side of the wagon.

Richard calmly yanked up on the lever to set the brake.

“I have a special pass to move goods at night. It’s for the emperor’s palace.”

The words “emperor’s palace” were usually enough to have him on his way.

The guard waggled his fingers. “If you have a special pass, then let’s see it.”

This night, the guards wanted more. Richard pulled a folded piece of paper from a protective leather sleeve inside his shirt and held it down to the guard. Metal squeaked as the guard slid open a tiny door on his shielded lantern, letting a narrow slit of light fall across the paper. Several heads bent in to read the words and inspect the official seals. They were all genuine. They should be—they had cost Richard a small fortune.

“Here you go.” The guard handed the paper back to Richard. “Have you seen anything unusual as you have gone through the city?”

“Unusual? What do you mean?”

The guard grunted. “If you had seen anything, you wouldn’t have to ask.” He waved his hand. “On your way.”

Richard made no effort to leave. “Should I be worried?” He made a show of looking around. “Are there highwaymen about? Am I in danger? Is it safe for a citizen to be out? I’ll take the wagon back if it’s dangerous.”

The man chuckled derisively. “You’ve got nothing to be afraid of. It’s just some foolish people making trouble because they’ve nothing better to do.”

“That’s all it is? Are you sure?”

“You have work to do for the palace. Get to it.”

“Yes, sir.” Richard clicked his tongue and flicked the reins. The heavy wagon lurched ahead.

He didn’t know what was going on, but suspected the guards were out to catch some more insurgents for questioning. They probably wanted to get back to their post, so anyone they got their hands on was likely to end up being an insurgent. A man from Ishaq’s place had been arrested several days before. He had been drunk on homemade liquor and left a meeting early. He never made it home. A few days later, Ishaq had received word that the man had confessed to crimes against the Order. The man’s wife and daughter were arrested. The wife was released after receiving a specified number of lashes for confessing to speaking ill of the Order and having hateful thoughts about her neighbors. The daughter had not yet been released. No one even knew where she was being held.

Eventually he reached the edge of the city where it gave way to open fields. Richard took a deep breath of the agreeable aroma of freshly turned earth. Lights from occasional farms glimmered like lonely stars. In the moonlight Richard could finally see the rough skyline of forest. As he rolled into the charcoal maker’s place, the charcoal maker, a nervous man named Faval, scurried up to the side of the wagon.

“Richard Cypher! There you are. I was worried about you coming.”

“Why?”

The man let out a high-pitched titter. Faval frequently giggled at things that weren’t funny. Richard understood that it was just his way. He was a jumpy fellow and his laugh was not meant as disrespect, but was rather something he couldn’t help. A lot of people, though, avoided Faval because of his strange laugh, fearing he might be crazy—a punishment, they believed, imposed on sinners by the Creator. Others got angry at him because they thought he was laughing at them. That only made Faval more nervous, which made him laugh all the more. Faval was missing his front teeth and his nose was crooked from being broken a number of times. Richard knew the man couldn’t really help it, and so never gave him trouble about it. Faval had taken a liking to him.

“I don’t know, I just thought you might not come.”

Faval’s big eyes blinked in the moonlight. Richard’s face wrinkled in a puzzlement.

“Faval, I said I was coming. Why would you think I might not?”

Faval’s fingers worried at his earlobe. “No reason.”

Richard climbed down. “The city guards stopped me—”

“No!” Faval’s titter rippled out through the darkness. “What did they want? Did they ask you anything?”

“They wanted to know if I’d seen anything unusual.”

“But you didn’t.” He giggled. “They let you go. You saw nothing.”

“Well,” Richard drawled, “I did see that fellow with the two heads.”

Crickets chirped in the silence. Faval blinked in astonishment. In the moonlight, Richard could see his mouth hanging open.

“You saw a man with two heads?”

This time, it was Richard who laughed. “No, Faval, I didn’t. It was just a joke.”

“It was? But it wasn’t funny.”

Richard sighed. “I suppose not. Have you got the load of charcoal ready? I’ve got a long night ahead of me. Victor needs a load of steel, and Priska needs charcoal or he said he would have to close down. He said you didn’t send your last order.” Faval giggled. “I couldn’t! I wanted to, Richard Cypher. I need the money. I owe the loggers for the trees I made into this charcoal. They told me they were going to quit bringing me wood if I didn’t pay them.”

Faval lived at the edge of a forest, so his source of wood was handy, but he wasn’t allowed to cut the wood. All resources belonged to the Order. Trees were cut when the loggers, who had permits, needed work, not when someone needed wood. Most of the wood lay on the ground and rotted. Anyone caught picking up wood was liable to be arrested for stealing from the Order.

Faval held his hands up as if to implore Richard’s understanding. “I tried to get the charcoal transported to Priska, but the committee denied me permission to transport it. They said I don’t need the money. Don’t need the money! Can you imagine?” He laughed painfully. “They told me that I was a rich man, because I had a business, and that I had to wait while they saw to the needs of the common people, first. I am only trying to live.”

“I know, Faval. I told Priska that it wasn’t your fault. He understands—he has troubles like that of his own. He’s just desperate because he needs the charcoal. You know Priska; he gets hot at those who have nothing to do with the problem. I told him I would bring a load of charcoal tonight, and another two tomorrow night. Can I count on you for two more loads tomorrow?”

Richard held out the silver coins for the load of charcoal.

Faval clapped his hands together prayerfully. “Oh, thank you, Richard Cypher. You are a savior. Those loggers are a nasty lot. Yes, yes, and two tomorrow. I have them cooling now. You are as good as a son to me, Richard Cypher.” He motioned off into the darkness as he tittered. “They are there, cooking. You will have them.”

Richard could see the dozens and dozens of mounds, like little haystacks, that were the earthen ovens. Small pieces of split wood were tightly stacked around in a circle, with tinder stuffed in the center, building them up into a rounded pile which was then covered over with fern leaves and broom and then plastered over with firm earth. Fire was put in at the bottom, then that opening was closed over. Moisture and smoke escaped from small vents in the top for six to eight days. When the smoke ceased, the vents were sealed to kill the fire. After it cooled, the earthen ovens could be opened and the charcoal removed. It was a labor-intensive occupation, but rather simple work.

“Let me help you load your wagon,” Faval said.

Richard caught the man’s shirt at his shoulder as he started away. “Faval, what’s going on?”

Faval put a finger to his lower lip as he laughed. It almost sounded like it was painful for him to laugh. He hesitated, but finally whispered his answer.

“The revolt. It has started.”

Richard had suspected as much. “What do you know about it, Faval?”

“Nothing! I know nothing!”

“Faval, it’s me, Richard. I’m not going to turn you in.”

Faval laughed. This time it sounded more like relief. “Of course not. Of course not. Forgive me, Richard Cypher. I get so nervous, I wasn’t thinking.”

“So, what about this revolt?”

Faval turned up his hands in a helpless gesture. “The Order, they strangle people. We can’t live. If not for you, Richard Cypher, I would be…well, I don’t want to think about it. But others, they are not so fortunate. They starve. The Order takes the food they grow. People have loved ones who have been arrested. They confess to things they did not do.

“Did you know that, Richard Cypher? That they confess to things they did not do? I never believed it myself. I thought that if they confessed, then they were guilty. Why confess if you are innocent?” He giggled. “Why? I thought they were terrible people wanting to hurt the Order. I thought it served them right, and I was glad they were arrested and punished.”

“So what changed your mind?”

“My brother.” Faval’s chuckles suddenly were sobs. “He helped me make charcoal. We made it together. We supported our families making charcoal. We worked from sunup until sundown. We slept in the same house, there. That one there. One room. We were together all the time.

“Last year, at a meeting where we all had to stand up and tell how the Order made our lives better, as we were leaving, they arrested him. Someone gave his name as maybe an insurgent. I was not worried. My brother was not guilty of anything. He makes charcoal.”

Richard waited in the darkness, sweat trickling down his neck, as Faval stared off into the dark visions.

“For a week, I went every day to the barracks to tell them that he would not do anything against the Order. We loved the Order. The Order wishes all people to be fed and cared for.

“The guards said my brother finally confessed. High crimes, they called it—plotting to overthrow the Order. They said he confessed it to them.

“The next day, I was going to go to see more people, the officials at the barracks—I was so angry—to tell them that they were cruel animals. My wife, she cried and begged me not to go back to the barracks yet again, for fear they would arrest me, too. For her sake, and the children, I did not go. It would do no good, anyway. They had my brother’s confession. No one who confesses is innocent. Everyone knows that.

“They put my brother to death. His wife and children live with us, still. We can hardly…” Faval giggled as he bit down on his knuckle.

Richard put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I understand, Faval. There was nothing you could have done.”

Faval wiped at his eyes. “Now I am guilty of thinking hateful thoughts. That is a crime, you know. I am guilty of it. I think about life without the Order. I dream of having a cart of my own—just a cart—and my sons and nephew could deliver the charcoal we make. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Richard Cypher? I could buy…” His voice trailed off.

He looked up in confusion. “But the Order says such thoughts are a crime because I am putting my wants before the needs of others. Why are their needs more important than mine? Why?

“I went to ask for a permit to buy a cart. They say I cannot have one because it would put the cart drivers out of work. They said I was greedy for wanting to put people out of work. They called me selfish for having such thoughts.”

“That’s wrong,” Richard said in quiet assurance. “Your thoughts are not a crime, nor are they evil. It’s your life, Faval—you should be able to live it as you see fit. You should be able to buy your cart and work hard and make the best of your life for you and your family.”

Faval chortled. “You sound like a revolutionary, Richard Cypher.”

Richard sighed, thinking about how useless the whole thing was. “No, Faval.”

Faval appraised him in the moonlight for a time. “It has already started, Richard Cypher. The revolt. It has begun.”

“I have charcoal to deliver.” Richard went around the back of the wagon and hoisted a basket up onto the wagon bed.

Faval helped with the next basket. “You should join them, Richard Cypher. You are a smart man. They could use your help.”

“Why?” Richard wondered if he dared get his hopes up. “What do they have planned? What are they going to do with this revolt?”

Faval giggled. “Why, they are marching in the streets, tomorrow. They are going to demand changes.”

“What changes?”

“Well, I think they want to be able to work. They are going to demand they be allowed to do what they want.” He giggled. “Maybe, I can get a cart? Do you think, Richard Cypher? Do you think that when they have this revolt I can get a cart and deliver my charcoal? I could make more charcoal, then.”

“But what do they plan to do? How are they going to change anything if the Order says no?—Which they will.”

“Do? Why, I think they will be very angry if the Order tells them no. They may not go back to their jobs. Some say they will break into the stores and take the bread.”

Richard’s hopes faded back into the shadows.

The man clutched at Richard’s sleeve. “What should I do, Richard Cypher? Should I join the revolt? Tell me.”

“Faval, you should not ask anyone else what you should do about something like this. How can you endanger your life, the lives of your family, on what a man with a wagon says?”

“But you are a smart man, Richard Cypher. I am not so smart as you.”

Richard tapped his finger against the man’s forehead. “Faval, in here, in your head, you are smart enough to know what you must do. You have already told me why the Order can never help people have better lives by telling them how they must live. You figured that out all on your own. You, Faval the charcoal maker, are smarter than the Order.”