eople had hit
him harder than she had realized. She caught two of his fingers and squeezed
sympathetically.  He had  put  his  heart into  sparing  those  people  from
enslavement by the Order. He had tried  to show them the value of freedom by
allowing them the freedom to  choose their own destiny. He had put his faith
in their hands.
     In  a crushing defeat,  an  enormous majority had spurned  all  he  had
offered, and in so doing devastated that faith.
     Kahlan thought that perhaps  with  some time to heal, the same  as with
her, the pain would fade for him, too. "You can't hold yourself to blame for
the fall of Anderith, Richard. You did your best. It wasn't your fault."
     He picked up his big leather over-belt with its gold-worked pouches and
cinched it over the magnificent tunic.
     "When you're the leader, everything is your fault."
     Kahlan knew  the truth of that. She thought to dissuade him by taking a
different tack.
     "What form did this vision assume?"
     Richard's piercing gray eyes locked on her, almost in warning.
     "Vision,   revelation,  realization,   postulation,  prophecy  .  .   .
understanding--call it what you will, for  in  this they are  all in one the
same, and unequivocal. I can't describe it but to say  it seems as if I must
have always known it.  Maybe I have. It wasn't  so much words  as  it  was a
complete concept, a conclusion, a truth that became absolutely clear to me."
     She  knew he expected  her to leave it at  that. "If it became so clear
and is unambiguous," she pressed, "you must be able to express it in words."
     Richard slipped the baldric  over his  head,  laying it over his  right
shoulder. As he  adjusted the sword against his left hip, light sparkled off
the raised gold wire woven through the silver wire of the hilt  to spell out
the word TRUTH.
     His brow was smooth and his face calm. She knew she had at last brought
him to the heart of  the matter. His certainty would afford him no reason to
keep it  from  her  if she chose to hear it,  and she did. His words  rolled
forth with quiet power, like prophecy come to life.
     "I have been  a leader too soon. It  is not I who  must prove myself to
the people,  but the people who must now prove themselves to me. Until then,
I must not lead them, or all hope is lost."
     Standing there, erect,  masculine,  masterful in  his  black war wizard
outfit, he looked as  if he could be posing for a statue  of who he was: the
Seeker of  Truth, rightfully  named  by  Zeddicus Zu'1  Zorander, the  First
Wizard himself-and Richard's grandfather. It had  nearly broken Zedd's heart
to do so, because Seekers so often died young and violently.
     While he lived, a  Seeker was a law unto himself. Backed by the awesome
power of his sword, a Seeker could bring down kingdoms. That  was one reason
it was so  important to name the right  person-a moral  person-to the  post.
Zedd claimed that the Seeker, in a way, named himself by  the nature  of his
own mind and by his actions, and that the First Wizard's function was simply
to  act  on his observations by  officially naming him and  giving  him  the
weapon that was to be his lifelong companion.

     So many different qualities and responsibilities had converged in  this
man she loved that she sometimes wondered how he could reconcile them all.
     "Richard, are you so sure?"
     Because of the importance of the  post, Kahlan and then  Zedd had sworn
their lives in  defense of Richard  as the newly named Seeker of Truth. That
had been shortly after Kahlan had met him. It was as Seeker that Richard had
first come to accept all that had been thrust upon  him,  and to  live up to
the extraordinary trust put in him.
     His gray eyes fairly blazed with clarity of purpose as he answered her.
     "The only sovereign I can allow to rule me is reason. The  first law of
reason is  this: what exists,  exists; what  is, is. From  this irreducible,
bedrock principle, all knowledge is built. This is the foundation from which
life is embraced.
     "Reason is  a  choice. Wishes and whims are not facts, nor  are  they a
means to discovering them. Reason is  our only  way of grasping reality-it's
our basic tool of survival. We are free to  evade the effort of thinking, to
reject reason,  but  we  are not free to  avoid the penalty of the abyss  we
refuse to see.
     "If  I fail to use reason in this struggle, if  I close  my eyes to the
reality of what is, in favor of what I would wish, then we will  both die in
this, and for nothing. We will be  but two more  among uncounted millions of
nameless  corpses beneath the gray, gloomy decay of mankind. In the darkness
that will follow, our bones will be meaningless dust.
     "Eventually, perhaps a thousand years from now, perhaps more, the light
of  liberty will again be raised up to shine over a free people, but between
now and then,  millions upon millions  of people will be born into  hopeless
misery and have no choice but to bear the weight of the Order's yoke. We, by
ignoring reason, will have purchased  those mountains of broken  bodies, the
wreckage of lives endured but never lived."
     Kahlan found herself unable to summon  the courage to  speak, much less
argue; to do so right then  would be to ask him to disregard his judgment at
a cost he  believed would  be a sea of blood. But doing  as he saw they must
would cast her people helpless into the jaws of death.
     Kahlan, her vision turning to a watery blur, looked away.
     "Cara," Richard said, "get the horses hitched to the carnage. I'm going
to scout a circle to make sure we don't have any surprises."
     "I will scout while you hitch the horses. I am your guard."
     "You're  my  friend, too. I know  this land  better than you. Hitch the
horses and don't give me any trouble about it."
     Cara rolled her eyes and huffed, but marched off to do his bidding.
     The room rang with silence. Richard's  shadow slipped  off the blanket.
When Kahlan  whispered  her love to him,  he  paused  and looked  back.  His
shoulders seemed to betray the weight he carried.
     "I wish  I could,  but  I can't  make  people  understand freedom.  I'm
sorry."
     From somewhere inside, Kahlan found a smile for him. "Maybe it isn't so
hard."  She gestured toward the bird he  had carved in the wall. "Just  show
them that, and they will  understand  what freedom really means:  to soar on
your own wings."
     Richard smiled, she thought gratefully, before he vanished  through the
doorway.


        Chapter 3

     All  the troubling thoughts tumbling through her mind  kept Kahlan from
falling back  to sleep. She tried not to think about Richard's vision of the
future.  As  exhausted as she  was by pain, his  words were too troubling to
contemplate,  and  besides, there was nothing she  could do about  it  right
then. But she was  determined to  help him get over the loss of Anderith and
focus on stopping the Imperial Order.
     It  was more difficult to shake her thoughts about the men who had been
outside, men Richard  had grown up with. The  haunting memory of their angry
threats echoed  in her mind. She knew that ordinary men who had never before
acted violently,  could,  in the right circumstances,  be  incited  to great
brutality. With the way they viewed mankind as sinful,  wretched,  and evil,
it was only  a  small step more to  actually doing evil. After all, any evil
they might do, they  had already  rationalized as being  predestined by what
they viewed as man's inescapable nature.
     It was unnerving to contemplate an attack by such men when she could do
nothing  but  lie there waiting to be killed. Kahlan envisioned  a grinning,
toothless Tommy Lancaster leaning  over her to  cut her throat while all she
could do was  stare helplessly  up at him.  She  had  often  been afraid  in
battle, but at least then she could  fight with all her strength to survive.
That helped counter  the  fear. It was different to be helpless and have  no
means to fight back; it was a different sort of fear.
     If she had to, she could always resort to her Confessor's power, but in
her condition that was a dubious proposition. She had never had to call upon
her  power  when in  anything  like the  condition  in which she  now  found
herself. She  reminded  herself that  the three of them  would be long  gone
before the men returned, and besides, Richard  and Cara would never let them
get near her.
     Kahlan  had a  more  immediate fear, though, and  that one was all  too
real.  But she wouldn't feel it for long; she would pass out, she  knew. She
hoped.
     She tried not to think of it, and instead put her  hand gently over her
belly,  over  their  child,  as  she listened  to the  nearby  splashing and
burbling  of a stream. The sound of the water reminded her  of  how much she
wished she could take a bath. The bandages over the oozing wound in her side
stank and needed to be changed often. The sheets were soaked with sweat. Her
scalp itched. The mat of grass that was the bedding under the sheet was hard
and chafed her back. Richard had probably made the  pallet quickly, planning
to improve it later.
     As hot as the day was, the stream's cold  water  would  be welcome. She
longed for a bath, to be clean, and to smell fresh. She longed to be better,
to be able to do things for herself, to be healed. She could only  hope that
as time passed, Richard, too,  would recover from his invisible,  but  real,
wounds.
     Cara finally returned, grumbling about the horses being stubborn today.
She

     looked  up to see the room was empty. "I had better go look for him and
make sure: he's safe."
     "He's fine. He knows what he's doing.  Just wait, Cara, or he will then
have toy go out and look for you."
     Cara sighed and reluctantly agreed. Retrieving a cool,  wet cloth,  she
set to mopping Kahlan's forehead and temples. Kahlan didn't like to complain
when  people; were  doing  their  best  to care for her,  so  she didn't say
anything about  how much it hurt  her  torn neck  muscles when her  head was
shifted  in that way.  Cara  never  complained about  any of  it.  Cara only
complained when she believed her  charges were  in needless danger-and  when
Richard wouldn't let her eliminate those she viewed as a danger.
     Outside, a bird let out a high-pitched  trill.  The tedious  repetition
was  becoming, grating.  In  the  distance,  Kahlan  could  hear a  squirrel
chattering an objection to something, or perhaps arguing over his territory.
He'd been doing  it  for what seemed' an hour. The stream babbled on without
letup.
     This was Richard's idea of restful.
     "I hate this," she muttered.
     "You should be happy-lying about without anything to do."
     "And I bet you would be happy to trade places?"
     "I am Mord-Sith. For a Mord-Sith, nothing could be worse than to die in
bed." Her blue eyes  turned to Kahlan's.  "Old and toothless," she added. "I
didn't mean; that you-"
     "I know what you meant."
     Cara looked relieved. "Anyway, you couldn't die-that would be too easy.
You never do anything easy."
     "I married Richard."
     "See what I mean?"
     Kahlan smiled.
     Cara  dunked the  cloth in a pail on the floor and wrung it out  as she
stood. "It` isn't too bad, is it? Just lying there?"
     "How would you  like  to have to have someone push  a wooden bowl under
yours. bottom every time your bladder was full?"
     Cara carefully  blotted  the damp cloth along Kahlan's neck.  "I  don't
mind doing it for a sister of the Agiel."
     The Agiel, the weapon a  Mord-Sith always carried,  looked like nothing
more; than a short,  red leather rod hanging on  a fine chain from her right
wrist. A Mord~. Sith's Agiel was never more than a flick away from her grip.
It somehow functioned: by means  of the magic of  a Mord-Sith's  bond to the
Lord Rahl.
     Kahlan  had  once  felt the partial touch of an  Agiel. In  a  blinding
instant, it could inflict the kind of pain  that the entire  gang of men had
dealt Kahlan.  The  touch of  a,  Mord-Sith's Agiel  was  easily capable  of
delivering bone-breaking torture, and just as easily, if she desired, death.
     Richard  had given  Kahlan the Agiel that  had belonged  to Denna,  the
Mord-Sith
     who  had captured him  by order of Darken  Rahl.  Only Richard had ever
come to  understand  and  empathize  with the pain  an Agiel  also gave  the
Mord-Sith who '°' wielded it. Before he was forced to kill Denna in order to
escape,  she had  given . him her  Agiel, asking to be remembered  as simply
Derma, the woman beyond the appellation  of  Mord-Sith, the woman no one but
Richard had ever before seen a understood. 28
     That Kahlan  understood, and  kept the Agiel  as a symbol of that  same
respect for women whose young lives had been stolen and twisted to nightmare
purposes and duties, was deeply  meaningful to the other  Mord-Sith. Because
of  that compassion-untainted  by pity-and  more, Cara  had  named  Kahlan a
sister of the Agiel. It was an informal but heartfelt accolade.
     "Messengers have come to see Lord Rahl," Cara said. "You were sleeping,
and  Lord  Rahl saw no reason to wake you,"  she added in answer to Kahlan's
questioning look.  The messengers were D'Haran, and able  to find Richard by
their bond to him as  their Lord Rahl. Kahlan,  not  able to  duplicate  the
feat, had always found it unsettling.
     "What did they have to say?"
     Cara  shrugged. "Not a lot. Jagang's army of the Imperial Order remains
in Anderith for  the time being, with Reibisch's force staying safely to the
north to watch and be ready should the Order decide to threaten the  rest of
the Midlands.  We know  little  of the  situation inside Anderith, under the
Order's occupation. The rivers flow  away from  our men, toward the  sea, so
they have  not seen  bodies  to indicate  if  there has been mass death, but
there  have been a few people who managed to escape. They  report that there
was some death due to the poison which was released, but they don't know how
widespread  it was. General Reibisch has  sent  scouts and spies in to learn
what they will."
     "What orders did Richard give them to take back?"
     "None."
     "None? He sent no orders?"
     Cara shook her head and then leaned  over to dunk  the cloth again. "He
wrote letters to the general, though."
     She drew the blanket  down,  lifted the bandage  at  Kahlan's side, and
inspected its weak red charge before tossing it on  the floor. With a gentle
touch, she cleaned the wound.
     When Kahlan was  able  to  get her breath,  she asked, "Did you see the
letters?"
     "Yes. They  say  much the same as  he has told  you-that  he has  had a
vision that  has caused him to come to see the nature of what he must do. He
explained to the general that he could not  give orders  for fear of causing
the end of our chances."
     "Did General Reibisch answer?"
     "Lord Rahl has had a vision. D'Harans know the Lord Rahl must deal with
the terrifying mysteries  of magic.  D'Harans do  not  expect  to understand
their Lord  Rahl and would not question his behavior:  he is the  Lord Rahl.
The  general made no  comment,  but  sent word  that  he  would  use his own
judgment."
     Richard had probably told them it was a  vision, rather than say it was
simply a realization, for that very reason. Kahlan considered that a moment,
weighing the possibilities.
     "We have that much luck, then. General Reibisch is a good man, and will
know what  to  do.  Before too  long, I'll  be  up and about. By then, maybe
Richard will be better, too."
     Cara tossed the cloth  into the  pail. As she  leaned  closer, her brow
creased with frustration and concern.
     "Mother Confessor, Lord Rahl said he will not  act to lead us until the
people prove themselves to him."
     "I'm getting better. I hope to help him get over what happened-help him
to see that he must fight."
     "But this involves magic." She picked at the frayed  edge  of the  blue
blanket.  "Lord Rahl said it's a vision. If it is magic, then it's something
he would know about and must handle in the way he sees it must be done."
     "We need to  be a little  understanding  of what he's  been through-the
loss we've  all suffered to the Order-and remember, too, that Richard didn't
grow up around magic, much less ruling armies."
     Cara squatted and rinsed her cloth in the  pail. After wringing it out,
she went back to cleaning the wound in Kahlan's side. "He is  the Lord Rahl,
though. Hasn't he already proven himself to be a master of magic a number of
times?"
     Kahlan couldn't dispute that  much of it, but he still didn't have much
experience,  and experience was valuable. Cara not only feared magic but was
easily  impressed by any  act  of wizardry.  Like most  people, she couldn't
distinguish  between  a simple  conjuring and the  kind of magic  that could
alter the very nature of the  world. Kahlan realized now  that this wasn't a
vision, as such, but a conclusion Richard had arrived at.
     Much of what he'd said made sense, but Kahlan believed that emotion was
clouding his thinking.
     Cara  looked  up  from  her  work.  Her  voice  bore  an  undertone  of
uncertainty, if not despairing bewilderment. "Mother Confessor, how will the
people ever be able to prove themselves to Lord Rahl?"
     "I've no idea."
     Cara set down the cloth and looked Kahlan  in the eye. It  was  a long,
uncomfortable moment before she finally decided to speak.
     "Mother Confessor, I think maybe Lord Rahl has lost his mind."
     Kahlan's  immediate thought  was to wonder  if General  Reibisch  might
believe the same thing.
     "I thought  D'Harans  do not  expect to understand  their Lord Rahl and
would not question his behavior."
     "Lord Rahl also says he wants me to think for myself."
     Kahlan put her hand over  Cara's. "How  many times have we doubted  him
before?  Remember the chicken that-wasn't-a-chicken? We both thought he  was
crazy. He wasn't."
     "This is not some monster chasing us. This is something much bigger."
     "Care, do you always follow Richard's orders?"
     "Of course not. He must be protected and I  can't allow his foolishness
to interfere with my  duty. I only follow his orders if they do not endanger
him, or if  they  tell me  to do  what  I would  have done anyway,  or if it
involves his male pride."
     "Did you always follow Darken Rahl's orders?"
     Cara stiffened  at the  unexpected  encounter  with  the  name,  as  if
speaking  it might summon him back from the world of the dead. "You followed
Darken Rahl's  orders, no matter how foolish they were, or you were tortured
to death."
     "Which Lord Rahl do you respect?"
     "I would lay down my life for any Lord Rahl." Cara  hesitated, and then
touched her fingertips to the red leather over her heart. "But I could never
feel this way for  any other. I . . . love Lord Rahl. Not like you love him,
not like a woman loves a  man, but it is still love. Sometimes I have dreams
of how proud I am to serve and defend  him, and sometimes I  have nightmares
that I will fail him."
     Cara's  brow drew down with sudden  dread. "You  won't tell  him that I
said I love '; him, will you? He must not know."

     Kahlan smiled. "Cara, I think he already knows, because he  has similar
feelings about you, but if you don't wish it, I won't say anything."
     Cara let out a sigh of relief. "Good."
     "And what made you come to feel that way about him?"
     "Many things .... He wishes us to think for ourselves. He allows  us to
serve  him by choice. No Lord Rahl has ever done that before. I know that if
I  said I  wished  to quit him, he  would let me  go.  He  would not have me
tortured to death for it. He would wish me a good life."
     "That, and more, is  what you value about him:  he never pretended  any
claim to your  lives. He  believes no such claim can ever  rightfully exist.
It's  the first time  since you  were captured and  trained to be Mord-Sith,
that you have felt the reality of freedom.
     "That, Cara, is what Richard wants for everyone."
     She  swished a  hand,  as if dismissing  the  seriousness of  the whole
thing. "He would  be foolish to  grant me  my freedom if I asked for  it. He
needs me too much."
     "You  wouldn't need to ask for your freedom, Cara, and you know it. You
already  have  your freedom, and because  of him  you know that, too. That's
what makes him a  leader you are  honored to follow. That's why you feel the
way you do about him. He has earned your loyalty."
     Cara mulled it over.
     "I still think he has lost his mind."
     In the past, Richard had more than once expressed his faith that, given
a chance,  people would do the right  thing. That was what  he had done with
the  Mord-Sith. That was also  what he had done with the people of Anderith.
Now . . .
     Kahlan swallowed back  her emotion. "Not his  mind, Cara, but maybe his
heart."
     Cara, seeing  the look on Kahlan's face, dismissed  the seriousness  of
the matter with a shrug and a smile.  "I guess we will simply  have to bring
him around to the way things are going to be-talk some sense into him."
     Cara dabbed away the  remnant  of  a tear as  it rolled  down  Kahlan's
cheek.
     "Before he comes  back, how about getting that stupid  wooden  bowl for
me?"
     Cara  nodded  and  bent to  retrieve  it. Kahlan was  already fretting,
knowing how much it was going to hurt, but there was no avoiding it.
     Cara  came up  with  the shallow  bowl. "Before those men  came,  I was
planning on making a fire and warming some water. I  was going to give you a
bed bath-you know, with a soapy cloth and a bucket  of warm water. I guess I
can do it when we get where we are going."
     Kahlan half closed her  eyes with the dreamy  thought of being at least
somewhat clean and fresh. She thought she needed a  bath  even more than she
needed the wooden bowl to relieve herself.
     "Cara, if you  would do that for me, I  would kiss your feet when I get
better, and name you to the most important post I can think of."
     "I am Mord-Sith." Cara looked nonplussed. She finally drew  the blanket
down.  "That is the  most important post there is-except perhaps wife to the
Lord Rahl. Since he already has a wife,  and I am  already Mord-Sith, I will
have to be content with having my feet kissed."
     Kahlan  chuckled,  but  a stab  of  pain through her  abdomen and  ribs
brought it to an abrupt halt.
     --}----

     Richard was a long time in returning. Cara had made  Kahlan  drink  two
cups of cold  tea heavily laced with herbs to dull the pain. It  wouldn't be
long before she was in a stupor, if not exactly asleep. Kahlan had been just
about to yield to Cara's desire to go look for Richard, when he  called from
a distance to let them know it was him.
     "Did  you  see any of  the men?"  Cara asked when  he  appeared  in the
doorway.
     With a straight  finger, Richard swiped glistening  beads  of sweat off
his forehead. His damp hair was plastered to his neck. "No. They're no doubt
off to Hartland to  do some drinking  and complaining. By the time they come
back we'll be long gone."
     "I still say we should lie  in wait and end the threat," Cara muttered.
Richard ignored her.
     "I cut and stripped some stout saplings  and used some canvas to make a
litter." He came closer  and with a knuckle  nudged Kahlan's chin, as if  to
playfully buck up her courage. "From now on we'll just let you  stay  on the
litter, and then we can move you in and out of the carriage without. . ." He
had  that look in his eyes-that look that  hurt her to see. He showed her  a
smile. "It will make it easier on Cara and me."
     Kahlan tried to face the thought with composure. "We're ready then?"
     His gaze dropped as he nodded.
     "Good," Kahlan said, cheerfully. "I'm in the  mood for a nice ride. I'd
like to see some of the countryside."
     He smiled, more convincingly this time,  she  thought.  "You shall have
it. And we'll end up at a beautiful place. It's going to take a while to get
there,  traveling  as slow  as  we must, but it will be worth  the  journey,
you'll see."
     Kahlan tried  to keep  her breathing even.  She said his name  over and
over in  her head,  telling herself  that she would not forget it this time,
that she would not forget her own name. She hated forgetting things; it made
her  feel a  fool to  learn  things  she  should  have  remembered  but  had
forgotten. She was going to remember this time.
     "Well, do I have to get up and walk? Or are you going to be a gentleman
and carry me?"
     He bent and kissed her forehead-the one part on her face  that the soft
touch of his lips would not hurt. He glanced at Cara and tilted his  head to
signal her to get Kahlan's legs.
     "Will those men be drinking a long time?" Kahlan asked.
     "It's still midday.  Don't worry,  we'll be long gone before  they ever
get back', here."
     "I'm  sorry,  Richard.  I  know  you thought  these  people  from  your
homeland-"
     "They're people, just like everyone else."
     She nodded as  she fondly stroked the back of his big hand.  "Cara gave
me some of your  herbs. I'll sleep for a long time, so  don't go  slow on my
account-I won't feel it. I don't want you to have to fight all those men."
     "I won't be doing any fighting just traveling my forests."
     "That's good."  Kahlan felt daggers twist in her ribs as her  breathing
started getting too fast. "I love you, you know. In case I forgot to say it,
I love you."
     Despite  the pain in his  gray  eyes, he smiled. "I love you, too. Just
try to relax. Cara and I will be as gentle as we can. We'll go easy. There's
no rush.  Don't  try  to help us. Just relax.  You're getting better,  so it
won't be so hard."
     She had  been hurt before and  knew that it  was  always better to move
yourself  because you knew  exactly  how  to  do  it. But she  couldn't move
herself this time.,

     She had  come to  know that the worst thing when you  were  hurt was to
have someone else move you.
     As  he leaned over, she  slipped her right arm around his neck while he
carefully slid his left arm under her shoulders. Being lifted even that much
ignited  a  shock of  pain.  Kahlan  tried to  ignore the burning stitch and
attempted to relax as she said his name over and over in her mind.
     She suddenly remembered something important. It was her last  chance to
remind him.
     "Richard," she whispered urgently just  before he  pushed his right arm
under  her bottom to lift  her. "Please . . .  remember to be careful not to
hurt the baby."
     She was startled to see her words stagger him. It took  a moment before
his eyes turned up to look into hers. What she saw there nearly  stopped her
heart.
     "Kahlan . . . you remember, don't you?"
     "Remember?"
     His eyes glistened. "That you lost the baby. When you were attacked."
     The memory slammed into her like a fist, nearly taking her breath.
     "...Oh...
     "Are you all right?"
     "Yes. I forgot for a moment. I just wasn't thinking. I remember, now. I
remember you told me about it."
     And she did. Their child, their child that  had  only begun to  grow in
her, was  long  since dead and gone. Those beasts who had  attacked  her had
taken that from her, too.
     The world seemed to turn gray and lifeless.
     "I'm so sorry, Kahlan," he whispered.
     She  caressed his  hair.  "No, Richard. I  should  have remembered. I'm
sorry I forgot. I didn't mean to . . ."
     He nodded.
     She felt a warm tear drop onto the hollow of her throat,  close  to her
necklace. The necklace, with its small dark stone, had  been a wedding  gift
from Shota, the witch woman. The gift was a proposal of truce. Shota said it
would allow  them  to be together and share their love,  as they  had always
wanted, without Kahlan getting  pregnant.  Richard  and Kahlan  had  decided
that, for the time  being, they  would reluctantly accept Shota's gift,  her
truce. They already had worries enough on their hands.
     But for a time, when the  chimes had been loose in the world, the magic
of the  necklace,  unbeknownst to Richard and Kahlan, had failed. One  small
but miraculous balance to the horrors the  chimes  had brought had been that
it had given their love the opportunity to bring a child to life.
     Now that life was gone.
     "Please, Richard, let's go."
     He nodded again.
     "Dear spirits," he whispered to himself so softly she could hardly hear
him, "forgive me for what I am about to do."
     She clutched his neck. She now longed for what was coming-she wanted to
forget.
     He lifted her as gently  as he could. It felt  like wild stallions tied
to  each limb all leaped into  a gallop at  the same instant. Pain ripped up
from the  core of her, the shock of it making her eyes go wide as she sucked
in a breath. And then she screamed.
     The blackness hit her like a dungeon door slamming shut.

     C H A P T E R 4
     A sound woke her as suddenly as a slap. Kahlan lay  on her  back, still
as  death, her eyes wide, listening.  It  wasn't so much that the  sound had
been loud, but that it  had been something disturbingly familiar.  Something
dangerous.
     Her whole body throbbed  with pain, but she was more awake than she had
been  in what  seemed  like weeks.  She didn't know  how long she  had  been
asleep,  or  perhaps unconscious.  She was awake enough  to remember that it
would be a grave mistake to  try to sit up, because just about the only part
of her  not  injured  was her  right arm. One  of the big chestnut  geldings
snorted nervously and stamped a hoof, jostling the carnage enough to  remind
Kahlan of her broken ribs.
     The sticky air smelled  of approaching rain, though  fits of wind still
bore dust to her nostrils. Dark masses of leaves overhead swung fretfully to
and fro, their creaking branches  giving voice to their torment. Deep purple
and violet clouds scudded  past in silence. Beyond the trees and clouds, the
field of blue-black sky held a lone star, high over her forehead. She wasn't
sure if it was dawn or dusk, but it felt like the death of day.
     As  the gusts beat strands of  her  filthy hair across her face, Kahlan
listened as hard as she could for the sound that didn't belong, still hoping
to  fit it into a picture  of something  innocent. Since she'd heard it only
from the deepness of sleep,  its conscious  identity remained  frustratingly
out of her reach.
     She listened, too, for sounds of Richard and Cara, but  heard  nothing.
Surely,  they  would be close. They would  not leave her alone-not  for  any
reason this  side of  death. She recoiled  from the image. She ached to call
out for Richard and prove the uninvited thought a foolish fear, but instinct
screamed at her to stay silent. She needed no reminder not to move.
     A metallic  clang came from the distance,  then a cry.  Maybe it was an
animal, she  told  herself. Ravens sometimes  let out the  most awful cries.
Their shrill  wails  could  sound  so human it was eerie.  But as far as she
knew, ravens didn't make metallic sounds.
     The carriage  suddenly lurched to  the  right. Her breath caught as the
unanticipated movement caused a stitch  of pain  in  the  back of her  ribs.
Someone  had put weight  on the  step.  By the  careless disregard  for  the
carriage's injured passenger, she knew it wasn't Richard or Cara. But  if it
wasn't Richard,  then who? Gooseflesh  tickled the nape of  her neck.  If it
wasn't Richard, where was he?
     Stubby fingers  grasped the top  of  the corded  chafing strip  on  the
carriage's side rail. The  blunt  fingertips were rounded back  over grubby,
gnawed-down little halfbutton fingernails. Kahlan held her breath, hoping he
didn't realize she was in the carriage.
     A face popped up. Cunning dark  eyes  squinted  at  her. The man's four
middle upper teeth  were  missing,  leaving his eyeteeth  looking like fangs
when he grinned.
     "Well, well. If it ain't the wife of the late Richard Cypher."
     Kahlan lay frozen. This was  just like her dreams. For an  instant, she
couldn't decide if it was only that, just a dream, or real.
     His shirt bore a dark  patina  of dirt,  as if it was never removed for
anything. Sparse, wiry hairs on his fleshy cheeks and  chin  were like early
weeds in the plowed field of his pockmarked face. His upper lip was wet from
his runny nose. He had no lower teeth in front. The tip of his tongue rested
partway out between the yawning gap of his smirk.
     He brought up a knife for her to  see.  He turned it this way and that,
almost as if he  were showing off  a prized possession to  a shy girl he was
courting. His  eyes kept  flicking  back  and forth  between the  knife  and
Kahlan. The slipshod  job of sharpening  appeared to have been done on rough
granite, rather than on a proper whetstone. Dark blotches and  rust  stained
the poorly kept cheap steel. But the scratched and  chipped edge was no less
deadly  for any of it.  His wicked, toothless grin widened  with pleasure as
her gaze  followed  the blade, watching it carve careful  slices of  the air
between them.
     She made herself look into his dark, sunken eyes, which peered out from
puffy slits. "Where's Richard?" she demanded in a level voice.
     "Dancing with the spirits in the underworld." He cocked his head to one
side. "Where's the blond bitch? The one my friends said they saw before. The
one with  the smart mouth.  The one what needs to have  her tongue shortened
before I gut her."
     Kahlan  glared at him  so  he  would  know  she  had  no  intention  of
answering. As the crude knife advanced toward her, his stench hit her.
     "You would have to be Tommy Lancaster."
     The knife paused. "How'd you know that?"
     Anger welled up from deep inside her. "Richard told me about you."
     The eyes glittered with  menace. His grin widened. "Yeah?  What did  he
tell you?"
     "That  you were  an ugly toothless pig who wets his  pants whenever  he
grins. Smells like he was right."
     The smirking grin turned to  a  scowl.  He  raised up  on the  step and
leaned in with the knife. That was what Kahlan wanted him to do-to get close
enough so she could touch him.
     With the discipline borne of a lifetime  of  experience,  she  mentally
shed her anger and  donned the calm of a Confessor committed to a  course of
action. Once a  Confessor was resolved to releasing her power, the nature of
time itself seemed to change.
     She had but to touch him.
     A Confessor's  power  was  partly  dependent  on her strength.  In  her
injured condition, she didn't know  if she would  be  able to call forth the
required force, and  if she could, whether she would survive the  unleashing
of it, but  she knew she had no choice. One of  them was about to die. Maybe
both.
     He leaned his elbow on  the side rail. His fist with the knife went for
her exposed throat.  Rather  than  watching the  knife,  Kahlan  watched the
little scars, like dusty white cobwebs caught on his knuckles. When the fist
was close enough, she made her move to snatch his wrist.
     Unexpectedly,  she  discovered  she  was  snugly enfolded  in  the blue
blanket. She 35
     hadn't realized Richard had  placed her on  the  litter  he'd made. The
blanket was wrapped around her and tightly tucked under the stretcher  poles
in order to  hold her as still  as possible and  prevent her from being hurt
when the carriage was  moving. Her arm was trapped inside what  was about to
become her death shroud.
     Hot panic flared up as she struggled to  free her right arm. She was in
a  desperate  race  with the blade  coming for her  throat.  Pain knifed her
injured ribs as she battled  with the blanket. She had no time to cry out or
to curse in frustration at being so unwittingly snared. Her fingers gathered
a  fold of  material. She yanked at it, trying to pull some slack from under
the litter she lay atop so she could free her arm.
     Kahlan had merely to touch him, but she couldn't.  His blade  was going
to be the only  contact  between them.  Her  only  hope  was that maybe  his
knuckles would brush her flesh, or maybe he just might be close enough as he
started to slice her throat that she could press her chin  against his hand.
Then, she could release  her power, if she was still alive-if he didn't  cut
too deep, first.
     As she twisted and pulled at the blanket, it  seemed to her an eternity
as she watched the blade poised over her  exposed  neck, an eternity to wait
before she had any hope of unleashing her power-an eternity to live. But she
knew there was only an instant more before she would feel the  ripping slash
of that rough blade.
     It didn't happen at all as she expected.
     Tommy Lancaster  wrenched  backward with  an  earsplitting shriek.  The
world around  Kahlan  crashed back  in a  riot of sound and motion  with the
abrupt readjustment to  the discontinuation of  her  intent. Kahlan saw Cara
behind  him, her teeth  clenched  in a  grim commitment  of her own.  In her
pristine red leather, she was a precious ruby behind a clod of dirt.
     Bent into the  Agiel pressed against his back, Tommy Lancaster had less
hope of pulling away from Cara than  if she had  impaled him on a meat hook.
His torment  would not have been  more brutal to witness,  his shrieks  more
painful to hear.
     Cara's Agiel dragged up and around the side of his ribs as he collapsed
to his knees. Each rib the Agiel passed over broke with a  sharp crack, like
the sound of a tree  limb  snapping.  Vivid  red, the  match of her leather,
oozed over his knuckles and down  his fingers.  The  knife  clattered to the
rocky ground. A dark stain of blood grew  on the  side of his shirt until it
dripped off the untucked tails.
     Cara stood  over him,  an  austere  executioner, watching  him  beg for
mercy. Instead of granting  it, she pressed her Agiel against his throat and
followed him to the  ground. His eyes were wide and  white all around  as he
choked.
     It  was a  slow, agonizing journey toward death. Tommy Lancaster's arms
and legs  writhed as he began  to drown  in his own  blood. Cara  could have
ended  it quickly, but it didn't  appear she had  any intention of doing so.
This  man had meant to kill Kahlan.  Cara meant to extract a heavy price for
the crime.
     "Cara!" Kahlan  was surprised that she could get so much power into the
shout Cara glanced back over her shoulder.  Tommy  Lancaster's hands went to
his throat and he gasped for air when she rose  up to stand over him. "Cara,
stop it. Where's Richard? Richard may need your help."
     Cara leaned down over Tommy Lancaster, pressed her Agiel  to his chest,
and gave it  a twist. His left leg kicked out once,  his arms flopped to the
side, and he went still.
     Before either Cara or Kahlan could  say anything, Richard, his face set
in cold ferocity, sprinted up toward the carriage. He had his sword to hand.
The blade was dark and wet.
     The instant Kahlan saw  his  sword, she comprehended  what had awakened
her. The sound had been the Sword of  Truth announcing its  arrival  in  the
evening air. In  her  sleep, her subconscious  recognized the unique ring of
steel made by the  Sword of Truth  when  it was drawn, and she instinctively
grasped the danger that that sound represented.
     On his way to Kahlan's side, Richard only glanced  at the lifeless body
at Cara's feet.
     "Are you all right?"
     Kahlan  nodded.  "Fine."  Belatedly,  yet  feeling  triumphant  at  the
accomplishment, she pulled her arm free of the blanket.
     Richard turned to Cara. "Anyone else come up the road?"
     "No. Just this one." She gestured with  her Agiel toward the  knife  on
the ground. "He intended to cut the Mother Confessor's throat."
     If Tommy Lancaster hadn't already been dead, Richard's glare would have
finished him. "I hope you didn't make it easy on him."
     "No, Lord Rahl. He regretted his last vile act-I made certain of it."
     With his  sword, Richard indicated the surrounding area. "Stay here and
keep your eyes open.  I'm sure we got them all, but I'm going  to check just
to be certain no one  else was holding back  and trying  to surprise us from
another direction."
     "No one will get near the Mother Confessor, Lord Rahl."
     Dust rose in the gloomy  light  when he  gave  a reassuring pat to  the
shoulder of one of  the  two horses standing in their harnesses.  "Soon as I
get back, I want to get  going. We  should have enough moon-for a few hours,
anyway. I know a  safe place to make camp about four hours up the road. That
will get us a good distance away from all this."
     He pointed with his sword. "