Stone of Tears (87 page)

Richard had to stop the Keeper.

Kahlan frowned in the darkness under her mantle. The veil to the underworld was still torn. She shouldn’t be running around, swinging a sword at D’Haran troops.

She remembered Darken Rahl’s laughter.

She touched her neck, and felt the swollen, broken skin. It had been real. He had laughed at how foolish she was.

Kahlan sat up. What was she doing? She had to help stop the Keeper. Shota had said the veil was torn, so had Darken Rahl and Denna. Kahlan had seen a screeling, a creature straight from the underworld. She had spoken with Denna. Denna had taken Richard’s place with the Keeper so that he could live to repair the tear in the veil.

Kahlan was supposed to be going to Zedd. She shouldn’t be running around playing at soldier.

But if the Imperial Order wasn’t stopped …

But if the veil was torn …

She had to get to Aydindril. She had to get to Zedd. These men could fight a war without her. That was their job. She was the Mother Confessor. She shouldn’t be running around foolishly risking her life, when the Midlands—

The world of the living—was in danger.

That was what Darken Rahl was laughing at: her foolishness.

She picked up the cup of tea Prindin had made for her and held it in her hands, letting it warm her fingers. She was the leader of the Midlands and had to act like a leader, and tend to the most important things above all else, to the things that she, and only she, could do. She downed the rest of the tea, making a face at the bitter taste.

Kahlan lay down again, holding the teacup on her stomach. The faces of the dead women again floated before her eyes. The weapon which most readily conquers reason is terror and violence; that was what the enemy had done to her—the horror of what they had done had conquered her reason.

That very day, she and her men could have been lost if the scouts had all been killed. Without those guides, they would have been lost, and vincible to the enemy.

That was what she was: a guide. She was a guide to the Midlands. She belonged in Aydindril, guiding the Council, pulling everyone together against the threat. Without that guidance, they would be ignorant, and lost in the fog of what was happening.

She was also Richard’s guide, for the help he needed. It was up to her to get Zedd’s help. Without that guidance, Richard, and all the living were lost.

She sat up, staring into the candle flame.

No wonder Darken Rahl had been laughing at her. She had been letting the enemy conquer her reason. She had almost been diverted from her duties, and given the Keeper time to work his plans.

She knew now what she had to do. She had done enough to get these men started, had shown them their responsibility, and how to carry it out. Now they had the knowledge they needed to conquer the enemy. What she had done was right, but now they had their jobs, and she had hers.

This army knew what to do, now. She had to get to Aydindril.

Having decided, it felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her, but at the same time she felt infused with purpose. Richard, even though he hasn’t with her, had helped her find the truth in all the confusion, and helped her to see her true duty.

She looked in the teacup, but she had drunk the tea, and the cup was empty. Her head felt fuzzy. Her eyes wouldn’t stay opened. She was so tired she could no longer sit up.

As she flopped back down, she wondered what Richard was doing, where he was. Probably with the Sisters, learning how to control the gift. She prayed to the good spirits that they would help him realize how much she loved him.

Her arm, suddenly too heavy to hold up, fell to the side, and the cup rolled away.

Sleep was as dreamless as death.

She plunged into a void, a wasteland of brutal blackness bereft of all sense of time or awareness of place. She was lost to the world. The dark deprivation was beyond understanding, or comfort.

Drifting in the depths of that void, she felt something. That there was something to feel sparked hope in her, hope of escape from this forsaken nowhere. With that tingling of sense, she snatched desperately at substance, as if clutching a rock in a vast, dark river. Trying to fight back from the suffocating darkness brought sensation to her body.

She floated back, her head throbbing with a dull ache, and numbly she tried to understand what it was that was happening to her. Someone called to her. Mother Confessor, they called. No, that wasn’t her name.

It came to her. Kahlan. That was her name. Hands shook her. Someone was calling to her, and shaking her.

She returned from a great distance.

Kahlan’s eyes opened, and the world spun. Captain Ryan was gripping her shoulders, shaking her, calling to her.

She drew a deep breath of cold air into her lungs. She twisted her arms away from him, but then had to put her hands back on the ground for support. Concern creased his features.

“Mother Confessor, are you all right?”

“I … I …” She looked about. Tossidin was there, too. She sat up the rest of the way and put her cold fingers to her forehead. “My head … What time is it?”

“It will be light soon.” With a look of concern, he glanced back over his shoulder at Tossidin. “We came to wake you, as you told me to. The swordsmen are ready to go.”

Kahlan pushed her mantle off. “I’ll be ready in a moment, and we can …”

She remembered her decision to get to Aydindril. She had to get to Zedd. She had to get help for Richard. If it were true that the veil was torn …

“Mother Confessor, you don’t look well. You’ve been through a lot, you hadn’t slept in days, and you’ve only just gotten a few hours of sleep. I think you need more.”

Yes, she did. Though she could feel that her power was back, she definitely did not feel recovered. She put a hand on his arm.

“Captain, I must leave for Aydindril. I must…”

He gave her a little smile. “You rest. You’re not rested enough to travel. Stay here and rest. When we get back, you will be rested and you can leave.”

She nodded, still clutching his sleeve for support. “Yes. And then, I must leave. I thought about it last night. I must get to Aydindril. I’ll rest until you get back, but then I must leave.” She looked about. Only Tossidin was there with the Captain. “Where’s Chandalen, and Prindin?”

“My brother went to check on their sentries, to make sure that they didn’t place any,” Tossidin said, “so that our attack will be without warning.”

“Chandalen is attacking with the pikemen,” Captain Ryan said, “I am to meet him with the swordsmen for the next attack.”

Kahlan comforted her sore lip. “Tossidin, tell Chandalen that when your attack is finished, we must leave. You three be careful. You must get me to Aydindril.” She could hardly keep her eyes opened. She could hardly bring forth the energy to speak. She knew she wasn’t able to travel, yet. “I’ll rest until you return.”

Captain Ryan sighed with relief that she wasn’t going with them, that she would be safe, here. “I’ll leave some men to stand guard while you rest.”

She gestured with her hand. “This camp is well hidden. I’m safe up here.”

He leaned forward insistently. “Ten or twelve men are not going to make any difference to us, and I would be better able to put my mind to our task if I’m not worrying about you all alone back here.”

She didn’t have the energy to argue. “All right …”

She flopped back down. With a troubled frown, Tossidin pulled the mantle up over her. She was sinking back into the blackness as the two of them crawled out the opening. She tried to keep herself from going into that unfeeling place, but she was helplessly swept away.

The crushing weight of the void closed in around her. She tried to escape its grasp, tried to come back up, but the darkness was too thick, like being encased in mud. She was trapped, still being sucked deeper. She felt surge of panic.

She tried to think, but could not form thoughts into coherent concepts. She had the sense that something was wrong, but could not bring her mind to bear on the solution.

This time, instead of surrendering, she focused all her strength on thoughts of Richard, on her need to help him, and the darkness then was not a total void. She had an inkling of time, sensing its incremental passing. She felt as if she was sleeping her whole lifetime away as she tenaciously kept Richard in her thoughts.

Her concern for him, and her anxiety over the strangeness of the depthless sleep, let her slowly, methodically, claw her way back. Yet it seemed to take hours.

With a desperate gasp, she came awake. Her head swirled with a throbbing ache. Her whole body tingled with sharp little pricks of pain. She laboriously pushed herself up, to sit, staring about her dark shelter. The candle was burned almost all the way down. Quiet hummed in her ears.

She thought maybe she needed cold air to wake up. Her arms and legs felt thick and heavy as she crawled through the opening of the shelter. Outside, it was dusk. She looked up at the first stars winking through the trees. Her breath fogged before her face as she stood on wobbly legs.

Kahlan took a step, and promptly tripped over something, falling on her face in the snow. Her cheek still against the ground, she opened her eyes. Inches away, glassy eyes were staring at her. The side of a young man’s face was laying against the snow, close to hers. It was his leg she had tripped over. It felt as if her bones wanted to leap out of her skin and run.

His throat was gaping open, his neck nearly sliced in two, letting his head bend back from his body at an impossible angle. She could see the opening of his severed windpipe. Clotted blood covered snow. A bloom of bile rose up into her throat. She swallowed, forcing it back down.

Slowly lifting her head, she saw the dark forms of other bodies. They were all Galean. Every sword still rested in its scabbard. They had died without the chance to fight back.

Kahlan’s legs tensed, wanting to run, but she strained to be still. In the dull fog of the half-sleep she couldn’t throw off, she struggled to think. Her mind seemed to be mired in a dream-like stupor, unable to concentrate. Someone had killed these men, and could still be around; she somehow had to force herself to think.

She touched her fingers to the dead soldier’s hand. It was still warm. This must have just happened. Maybe that was what had wakened her.

She peered up, among the trees. Men moved in the shadows. They had seen her, and were moving into the clearing around her. They laughed and hooted as they came forward, and she saw who they were—close to a dozen D’Harans, and a couple of Keltans. Men of the Imperial Order. With a gasp, Kahlan sprang to her feet.

One man, the one closest, had a puffy, red wound down the left side of his face, from his temple to his jaw, where Nick’s hoof had caught him. Ragged stitches held the black and red flesh closed. He gave a sneering smile with the good side of his mouth. It was General Riggs.

“Well, well, I have found you at last, Confessor.”

Kahlan flinched with the rest of the men when a dark form screaming a battle cry crashed through the underbrush. As the men turned, Kahlan bolted the other way.

Before she turned, she had seen the fading light glint off a huge war axe. The crescent shaped blade struck down two men in one swing. It was Orsk. He must have been searching for her, too, so he could protect her. One touched by a Confessor never gave up.

Her legs felt thick, and tingled, as if she had slept on them, but she ran as hard as she could. Yelling and screaming erupted behind her. Steel rang against steel. Orsk roared as he tore into the men after her.

Spruce branches slapped her face as she staggered through the trees. Dead limbs and brush snagged her pants and shirt. Dizzy, she stumbled through the drifts. Snow splashed against her face as she crashed through drooping boughs. She couldn’t make her legs run fast enough.

The man on her heels grunted as he dove for her. His arms snared her legs and she went down hard. She spit snow out as she kicked and struggled to get away. The man clawed his way up her legs, grabbing hold of her belt and throwing himself on top of her.

The red face with the angry wound down one side hovered right over hers. In triumph, he gave her a one sided grin. Back though the trees, she could hear the sounds of furious battle. She and Riggs were alone as she struggled to squirm away.

One fist grabbed her hair and held her head to the ground. His other fist punched her in the side, knocking the wind from her lungs. He hit her again. Nausea swept through her in a hot wave as she fought to get her breath.

“I’ve got you now, Confessor. You’ll not get away again. You may as well resign yourself to it.”

He was alone. What was he thinking? She slapped a hand to his chest. It seemed a puzzle to her that a lone man would think he could take a Confessor.

“You have no one, Riggs,” she managed to say under the weight of him. “You have lost. You are mine.”

“I don’t think so.” He gave her a sneer of a smile. “He said you can’t use your power, now.”

He lifted her head and thumped it against the ground. Her vision blurred. She tried to concentrate on what she needed to do. He lifted her heard again to bang it against the ground. Though she was bewildered by what he had said, she had to do it now, before he knocked her unconscious, before it was too late. Now, when time was hers.

In the silence of her mind, as he lifted her head, she let her Confessor’s power sweep through her. She released her restraint.

There was thunder with no sound. The impact of power, of magic, made Riggs flinch. Tree branches all around shook with a jolt. Snow dropped down, splattering on his back and her face.

His eyes went wide, his jaw slack. “Mistress! Command me.”

With the last of her strength, she managed to ask, “Who told you my power couldn’t harm you!”

“Mistress, it was …”

The bloody point of an arrow exploded from the prominence on the fore of his throat. The broad, steel point stopped a scant inch from her chin. His eyes teared as his mouth moved and blood frothed, but no words came forth. As his breath rattled from his lungs, he began slumping onto her.

A fist gripped the shoulder of his uniform and pulled Riggs away. At first, she thought it would be Orsk, but it wasn’t.

“Mother Confessor!” A worried Prindin peered down at her. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”

He hastily rolled the General off her and offered his hand to help her up as his eyes glided down the length of her laying on the snow. She stared up at him, but didn’t take his hand. Using her power had left her exhausted and limp as never before.

His customary grin spread on his face as he shouldered his bow. “I can see you are not hurt. You look very fine.”

“You didn’t need to kill him. I had already used my power on him. He was mine. He was just about to tell me who it was that said I could not harm …”

Her whole body tingled with apprehension at the way his eyes took her in. His familiar grin ran a cold shiver up her arms and the back of her neck, making the fine hairs stand stiffly out.

Orsk crashed through the trees. “Mistress! Are you safe?”

She could hear others coming in the woods behind him. She heard Chandalen’s voice. Prindin swiftly nocked an arrow. Orsk lifted his axe with one big fist.

“Prindin! No! Don’t hurt him!” Prindin drew his bow. “Orsk! Run!”

The big man spun without question and darted back into the brush. An arrow followed him in. She heard the arrow strike something solid. She could hear Orsk stumble through the barren undergrowth, breaking branches and saplings. The snapping of twigs died out, and then she heard him hit the ground.

She tried to stand, but feebly fell back. It felt as if she had no bones, and her muscles were melting. Her strength was gone. The blackness was trying to suck her back in.

Prindin turned his grin back to her as he shouldered his bow once more.

Kahlan strained to bring forth the strength to speak. It came in a breathy whisper. “Prindin, why did you do that?”

He shrugged. “So we can be alone.” His smile widened. “Before they chop off your head.”

Prindin. Prindin had told Riggs her power wouldn’t hurt him, so she would expend it on him, and would have nothing left. Her legs trembled with the effort of trying to lift herself. She fell back again as he watched.

A voice came through the trees. It was a breathless Chandalen, calling to her. In another direction, she heard Tossidin calling. She tried to scream to them. Only a weak, hoarse complaint came from her throat. Darkness pressed into her.

Maybe she was still asleep, she thought. She could hardly speak, hardly move, just like a nightmare. She wished it was.

But she knew it was no dream.

Prindin turned to the insistent calls. Kahlan dug her heels into the snow and, with a mighty effort, managed to scoot herself back. Her hand fell on a stout maple limb lying on the ground.