hields,
the wizard's own  quickly thrown up defensive shields couldn't stop his  own
fire's return."
     "But he could  just cut it oft!"  Warren was becoming panicked,  as  if
seeing his own wizard's fire coming back at him. "The wizard who created  it
could call it and cut it off."
     "Could  he?"  Zedd  smiled. "He thought so, too,  but  he  hadn't  been
prepared  for the  peculiar nature of the enemy's shield. Don't you  see? It
not only rolled the fire back, but in so doing rolled around the  fire as it
went, protecting it from any alteration by magic."
     "Of course . . ." Warren whispered to himself.
     "The  shield was also sprinkled with a provenance-seeking  spell, so it
rolled  the fire back toward the wizard who  conjured it. He died by his own
fire-after it had seared through hundreds of his own men on its way to him."
     Silence settled into the tent. Even the general,  still holding out the
albino mosquito, sat transfixed.
     "You see," Zedd finally went on, tossing his  fork down onto his plate,
"using the gift in war is not simply an act of exercising your power, but an
act of using your wits."
     Zedd  pointed.  "For  example,  consider  that  albino mosquito General
Reibisch is holding. Under cover of darkness, just like  right now, tens  of
thousands  of them, conjured by the enemy, could be  sneaking into this camp
to infect your men with fever, and no one would even realize they were under
attack.  Then, in  the morning,  the enemy  strikes  a camp of weak and sick
soldiers and slaughters the lot of you."
     Sister Philippa, over  on the  other side  of Adie, swished her hand in
alarm  at a tiny buzzing mosquito. "But,  the gifted  we have  could counter
such a thing." It was more a plea than an argument.
     "Really? It's difficult to detect such  an  infinitesimal bit of magic.
None of you detected these minuscule invaders, did you?"
     "Well, no, but . . ."
     Zedd  fixed a fierce  glare on  Sister  Philippa. "It's night.  In  the
night, they simply  seem to  be ordinary mosquitoes, pesky, but no different
from any other. Why, the general here didn't notice them. Neither did any of
you gifted  people.  You can't detect the fever  they carry, either, because
it,  too, is such a  tiny speck of magic you aren't  watching for  it-you're
looking for something huge and powerful and fearsome.

     "Most of the gifted Sisters will be bitten in their sleep, without ever
knowing  it  happened, until  they awake  in the  pitch  blackness  with the
shivering  chills  of a  frightful fever, only  to discover the  first truly
debilitating symptom of this particular fever: blindness. You  see, it isn't
the blackness of night  they awake to-dawn has already broken-but blindness.
Then  they  find that  their legs  won't obey  their wishes. Their  ears are
ringing with what sounds like an endless, tingling scream."
     The general's gaze darted about, testing his eyesight  as Zedd went on.
He. twisted a big finger in an ear as if to clean it out.
     "By now, anyone bitten is too weak to stand. They lose control of their
bodily functions and lie helpless in  their own filth. They are within hours
of death . . . but those last hours will seem like a year."
     "How  do we counter it?"  On the edge  of his seat, Warren  licked  his
lips. "What's the cure?"
     "Cure? There is no cure! Now a fog is  beginning to  creep  toward  the
camp. This  time,  the  few  gifted left  can sense  that  the wide  mass of
seething murk  is foul with  dark, suffocating  magic.  They  warn everyone.
Those too sick to stand wail in terror.  They can't see, but  they  can hear
the distant  battle  cries of  the  advancing enemy. In  a panic  not to  be
touched by the  deadly fog, anyone able to rise from their bedrolls does so.
Too delirious to  stand, a few manage to crawl. The rest run for their lives
before the advancing fog.
     "It's the last mistake they ever make," Zedd whispered. He swept a hand
out  before  their  white  faces. "They run  headlong into  the horror of  a
waiting death trap. "
     Everyone  was wide-eyed and slack-jawed by now,  sitting on the edge of
their benches.
     "So, General," Zedd said in a bright, cheery tone as he sat back, "what
about those mass graves? Or are you planning on any  of you  left alive just
abandoning  the sick for dead and  leaving the bodies to rot? Probably not a
bad idea. There will be enough to worry about without the burdensome task of
trying  to care for the  dying and burying all the dead-especially since the
very act of touching their white flesh will  contaminate  the living  with a
completely unexpected sickness, and then-"
     Verna shot to her feet. "But what can we do!" She could plainly see the
potential for chaos  all  around  her. "How can we counter such vile magic?"
She threw open her arms. "What do we need to do?"
     Zedd shrugged. "I thought you and your Sisters had it all  figured out.
I  thought you knew  what  you were doing."  He  waggled  his hand over  his
shoulder, gesturing off to  the south, toward the enemy. "I thought you said
you had the situation well in hand."
     Verna silently sank back down to the bench beside Warren.
     "Uh, Zedd  . . ." General  Reibisch swallowed in distress. He  held out
the  mosquito.  "Zedd,  I think I'm  starting  to feel  dizzy.  Isn't  there
anything you can do?"
     "About what?"
     "The fever. I think my vision is getting dimmer. Can you do nothing?"
     "No, nothing."
     "Nothing."
     "Nothing, because there's nothing wrong with you. I just conjured a few
albino mosquitoes to make a point.  The point is that what I saw when I came
into this camp scared the wits out of  me. If the gifted among the enemy are
at all diabolical,

     and with Jagang  we  have ample reason to believe they  are,  then this
army is ill prepared for the true nature of the threat."
     Sister Philippa  haltingly  lifted  a hand  like a  schoolgirl  with  a
question. "But, with all the gifted  among us, surely, we would . . . know .
. . or something."
     "That's what I'm trying to tell you: the  way things are now, you won't
know. It's the things you never heard of, haven't seen before, don't expect,
and can't even imagine, that are going to  be coming for you. The enemy will
use conventional magic, to  be  sure, and  that will be trouble  enough, but
it's the albino mosquitoes you must fear."
     "As you said, though, you only conjured them to make a  point,"  Warren
said.  "Maybe  the enemy  isn't  as smart as you,  and won't  think  of such
things."
     "The Order did  not take over all  of the Old World by being stupid but
by  being ruthless." Zedd's brow drew lower.  He  lifted a finger skyward to
mark  his  words.  "Besides, they have already thought of just such  things.
This past spring, one of the Sisters in the hands of the enemy used magic to
unleash a deadly plague that  could not be detected by anyone with the gift.
Tens of  thousands of people,  from newborn  infants  to  the old,  suffered
gruesome deaths."
     Those Sisters, in the hands of the enemy, were a grave and ever-present
danger. Ann had gone  off alone on a mission  to either rescue those Sisters
or  eliminate them. From  what  Zedd had  seen  when  he  had  been down  in
Anderith, Ann had failed in her mission. He didn't  know  what had become of
her, but he knew that Jagang still held Sisters captive.
     "But we stopped the plague," Warren said.
     "Richard stopped it, as only he could." Zedd held the gaze of the young
wizard. "Did you know that  in order to save  us from that grim fate, he had
to venture to the Temple of  the Winds, hidden away beyond the veil of  life
in the underworld itself?  Neither you nor I can imagine  the  toll  such an
experience must have taken on him. I saw a shadow of the specter in his eyes
when he spoke of it.
     "I can't even hazard a  guess as to how trifling a chance at success he
had when he started on  so hopeless  a journey. Had he not prevailed against
all odds,  we would all be dead by now  from an unseen  death brought on  by
magic we could not detect and could not counter. I'd not want to again count
on such an auspicious deliverance."
     No one  could disagree  with him; they nodded slightly, or looked away.
The tent had become a gloomy place.
     Verna rubbed  her fingers across her brow.  "Pride  is of no use to the
dead. I admit it: those gifted among  us have little knowledge of what we're
doing when it comes to using  our gift in warfare. We know some things about
fighting, perhaps even a great many things, but I admit we could be woefully
lacking in the depth of knowledge needed.
     "Think us fools if you will, but don't ever  think us at odds with you,
Zedd; we are all here on the same side." Her brown eyes betrayed nothing but
simple sincerity. "We  not only could use your  help,  we  would  gratefully
welcome it."
     "Of course he will help us," Adie scoffed while giving Zedd  a scolding
frown.
     "Well, you have a  good  start. Admitting that you don't know something
is the first step to learning." Zedd scratched his chin. "Every day, I amaze
myself with all I don't know."
     "That would be wonderful," Warren said. "If you would help us, I mean."
He

     sounded hesitant, but forged ahead anyway. "I would really like to have
the benefit of a real wizard's experience."
     Despondent with the weight  of his other troubles, Zedd shook his head.
"I would like  to-and to be sure I will give you all some advice in the task
at  hand.  However, I've  been on  a long and frustrating  journey, and  I'm
afraid  I'm  not yet finished with  it.  I  can't stay. I  must  soon be off
again."

        CHAPTER 17

     Warren swiped back his curly blond hair. "What sort of journey have you
been on, Zedd?"
     Zedd pointed  a bony  finger. "You don't need  to keep  that  flattened
mosquito, General."
     General Reibisch realized it was still between his finger and thumb. He
tossed it away. Everyone  awaited Zedd's words. He smoothed the heavy maroon
robes over his twiglike thighs as his gaze absently studied the dirt floor.
     He let out a crestfallen sigh. "I was recovering from my own auspicious
deliverance  from   grappling   with   remarkable  magic  I'd  never  before
encountered, and,  as  I regained my senses,  spent months  searching. I was
down  in Anderith,  and saw some  of what  happened after the Order swept in
there.  It  was a dark  time  for  the people. Not  only  from the rampaging
soldiers, but also  from one of your  Sisters, Verna. Death's Mistress  they
called her."
     "Do you know which one it is?" Verna asked in a bitter voice at hearing
of a Sister causing harm.
     "No. I only  saw  her once, from a  goodly  distance. Had I been  fully
recovered, I might have tried to  remedy the situation, but  I wasn't myself
yet and  dared not  confront  her. She also had a few thousand soldiers with
her. The sight of all the soldiers, led  by a woman  they  had heard of  and
feared, had  people  in a panic. The Sister was young,  with blond hair. She
wore a black dress."
     "Dear Creator," Verna whispered. "Not one of mine-one  of the Keeper's.
There are few women born  with the strength  of power  such as  she has. She
also has power acquired by nefarious means; Nicci is a Sister of the Dark."
     "I've gotten reports," General Reibisch  said. By his  grim tone,  Zedd
knew the reports must have had it right. "I've heard, too, that it's quieted
considerably."
     Zedd nodded. "The  Order  was  at first brutal,  but  now  'Jagang  the
Just'-as  they have  taken to calling him-has spared them  further  harm. In
most places, other than the capital of Fairfield where the most killing took
place, people have  turned to supporting him as a  liberator come to deliver
them  into a better life. They're reporting neighbors,  or travelers-whoever
they suspect is not an adherent to the noble ideals of the Order.
     "I  was all through Anderith, and  spent a good deal of time behind the
enemy lines searching-without  success. I then  journeyed up into  the wilds
and north to a number of  towns,  and even a  few  cities, but I can find no
sign  of them. I guess my abilities were a long time in recovering; I only a
short time  ago  discovered  where you  all  were.  I have  to  commend you,
General, you've kept the presence of your forces well hidden-took me forever
to find your army. The boy, though, seems to have vanished without a trace."
Zedd's fists tightened in his lap. "I must find him."

     "You mean Richard?" Adie asked. "You be searching for your grandson?"
     "Yes.  For  Richard and  Kahlan, both."  Zedd  lifted  his  hands  in a
helpless gesture. "However, without any success,  I  must admit. I've talked
to no one who has seen even a sign of them. I've used every skill I possess,
but to no avail. If I didn't know better, I'd say they no longer existed."
     Looks passed among  everyone else. Zedd  peered from one surprised face
to another.  For the first time in months, Zedd's hopes rose. "What? What is
it? You know something?"
     Verna gestured under the bench. "Show him, General."
     At her urging, the  general lifted out a map roll. He pulled it wide in
his callused hands and laid it on the ground at his feet. The map was turned
around so Zedd  could read it. General Reibisch tapped the mountains to  the
west of Hartland.
     "Right here, Zedd."
     "Right there . . . what?"
     "Richard and Kahlan," Verna said.
     Zedd gaped  at her  face  and then down  at the map. General Reibisch's
finger hovered over a wild range  of  peaks. Zedd knew those mountains. They
were an inhospitable place.
     "There? Dear spirits, why would Richard and  Kahlan be  all the way  up
there in such a forbidding place? What are they doing there?"
     "Kahlan be hurt," Adie said in a consoling tone. ',
     "Hurt?"
     "She was at the brink of passing into the spirit world. From what we be
told,  maybe she saw the world on the other side of  the veil." Adie pointed
to the map, "Richard took her there to recover."
     "But . . . why would he do that?" With a  hand, Zedd flattened his wavy
white hair  to the top of his head. His thoughts spun in a confusing  jumble
while he tried to take it all in at once. "She could be healed-"
     "No. She be spelled. If magic be used to try to heal her, a vile hidden
spell would be unleashed and she would die."
     Understanding washed over him. "Dear spirits . . . I'm thankful the boy
knew it in time." Before the horror of  memories of  the  screams could come
roaring to  the fore of his thoughts, Zedd slammed a mental door on them. He
swallowed with the pain of those that slipped through. "But still, why would
he go there? He's needed here."
     "He certainly is," Verna snapped. By her tone, it was a sore subject.
     "He can't come here," Warren said. When  Zedd only  stared  at  him, he
explained further.  "We don't understand it  all, but  we believe Richard is
following a prophecy of some sort."
     "Prophecy!" Zedd dismissed it  with  a  wave. "Richard doesn't  take to
riddles, He hates them  and won't pay heed  to them. There are times when  I
wish he would but he won't."
     "Well, this one he's paying heed to." Warren pressed his lips tight for
a moment. "It's his own."
     "His own . . . what?"
     Warren cleared his throat. "Prophecy."
     Zedd jumped to his feet. "What! Richard? Nonsense."
     "He's a war wizard," Verna said with quiet authority.

     Zedd passed a scowl among all the  suddenly circumspect expressions. He
made a sour face and, with a flourish of  his robes, returned  to  his  seat
beside Adie.
     "What is this prophecy?"
     Warren  twisted  a little  knot  of his violet robes. "He  didn't  say,
exactly."
     "Here."  General  Reibisch pulled some folded papers from a pocket. "He
wrote me letters. We've all read them."
     Zedd  stood  and snatched the letters from the  general's  big fist. He
went to the table and smoothed out the pages. As everyone else  sat silently
watching, Zedd  leaned over the table and read Richard's words lying  before
him.
     With great authority, Richard paradoxically turned away from authority.
He said  that  after much reflection, he  had come  to an understanding that
arrived with the power of a vision, and he knew then, beyond doubt, that his
help would only bring about certain catastrophe.
     In letters that followed, Richard said  he and Kahlan were safe and she
was slowly recovering.  Cara was with them. In  response  to letters General
Reibisch and others had written, Richard remained steadfast in his stand. He
warned them that the cause of  freedom would be forever lost if he failed to
remain  on his  true path. He said that whatever  decisions General Reibisch
and  the rest of  them made, he  would not contradict or criticize. He  told
them  that his heart was with  them,  but  they were on  their own  for  the
foreseeable future. He said possibly forever.
     His letters basically gave no real information, other  than alluding to
his understanding  or vision, and making it clear that  they could expect no
guidance  from him. Nonetheless, Zedd  could read  some  of what  the  words
didn't say.
     Zedd stared at the letters long after he had finished reading them. The
flame of the lamp wavered  slowly from side to side, occasionally fluttering
and sending up a coiled thread  of oily smoke. He could  hear muffled voices
outside the  tent as  soldiers on patrol  quietly  passed along information.
Inside, everyone remained silent. They had all read the letters.
     Verna's expression was tight with anxiety. She could hold her tongue no
longer.  "Will  you go  to  see him,  Zedd?  Convince him to  return  to the
struggle?"
     Zedd lightly  trailed his fingers  over the  words on paper.  "I can't.
This is one time I can be of no help to him."
     "But he's our leader in this struggle." The  soft lamplight illuminated
the feminine grace of her slender fingers as she pressed them to her brow in
vain solace. Her hand fell back to her lap. "Without him . . ."
     Zedd  didn't answer  her.  He could not  imagine what Ann's reaction to
such a development would be. For centuries she had combed through prophecies
in anticipation of the  war  wizard who  would be born to lead  them in this
battle for the very existence of magic. Richard was that war wizard, born to
the battle he had suddenly abandoned.
     "What  do  you  think be  the problem?" Adie asked in her quiet,  raspy
voice.
     Zedd looked back to the letters one last time. He pulled his  gaze from
the words and straightened.  All eyes  around the dimly lit tent were on him
as  if  hoping he could  somehow  rescue  them  from  a fate  they  couldn't
comprehend, but instinctively dreaded.
     "This is a time of trial to  the depth of Richard's soul." Zedd slipped
his hands up opposite sleeves  until the silver brocade at the cuffs met. "A
passage, of  sortsthrust upon  him because of his comprehension of something
only he sees."

     Warren cleared his throat. "What sort of trial, Zedd? Can you tell us?"
     Zedd gestured vaguely as memories of terrible times flashed through his
mind. "A struggle . . . a reconciliation . . ."
     "What sort of reconciliation?" Warren pressed.
     Zedd gazed into the young  man's  blue eyes, wishing he wouldn't ask so
many questions. "What is the purpose of your gift?"
     "Its purpose? Well, I ability."
     "It  is  to help others," Verna stated flatly. She  clutched  her light
blue cloak more  tightly  around her shoulders as if it were armor to defend
her from whatever Zedd might throw at her in answer.
     "Ah. Then what are you doing here?"
     The question caught her by surprise. "Here?"
     "Yes." Zedd waved  his  arm, indicating a vague, distant place. "If the
gift is to help others, then why are you not out there doing it?  There  are
sick needing  to be healed,  ignorant needing  to be  taught, and the hungry
needing to be fed. Why are you  just sitting there, healthy, smart, and well
fed?"
     Verna rearranged her cloak as she squared her shoulders into a  posture
of firm resolve.  "In battle,  if  you abandon  the gates to help  a  fallen
comrade,  you have given in to a weakness: your inability to  steel yourself
to an  immediate suffering in order to prevent suffering on a  much  greater
scale.  If I run off to help the few people I could in  that  manner, I must
leave  my  post here,  with this army,  as they try  to keep the  enemy from
storming the gateway into the New World."
     Zedd's  estimation   of  the  woman  rose  a   little.   She  had  come
tantalizingly close to expressing the essence of  a  vital truth. He offered
her a small smile of respect as he nodded. She looked more surprised by that
than she had by his question.
     "I can  certainly  see why the Sisters of the Light are widely regarded
as proper servants of need." Zedd  stroked  his  chin. "So then, it  is your
conviction  that we with the ability-the gift-are born into the world to  be
slaves to those with needs?"
     "Well, no . . . but if there is a great need-"
     "Then we  are more tightly bound in the chains of slavery to those with
every greater need,"  Zedd  finished  for her. "Thus, anyone with a need, by
right-to your mind-becomes our master? Indentured servant  to one  cause, or
to any greater cause that might come along, but chattel all the same. Yes?"
     This time, Verna  chose not to dance with him over  what she apparently
regarded as a patch of quicksand. It didn't prevent her from glaring at him,
though.
     Zedd held that there could be  only one philosophically valid answer to
the question; if Verna knew it, she didn't offer it.
     "Richard  has  apparently  come  to a  place where he  must  critically
examine  his alternatives and determine the proper course of his life," Zedd
explained. "Perhaps circumstances have caused him to question the proper use
of his abilities, and, in view of his values, his true purpose."
     Verna opened her hands in a helpless gesture. "1 don't see how he could
have any higher purpose than to be here, helping the army against the threat
to the New World-the threat to the lives of free people."
     Zedd  sank back down onto the bench. "You do not see, and I do not see,
but Richard sees something."
     "That doesn't mean he's right," Warren said.
     Zedd studied  the  young man's face  for  a  moment.  Warren had  fresh
features, but
     . guess to . . . well, it just is. The gift is simply an

     also a knowing  look in  his eyes that  betrayed something beyond  mere
youth. Zedd wondered how old Warren was.
     "No,  it  does  not mean Richard  is  right. He may be  making a heroic
mistake that destroys our chance to survive."
     "Kahlan thinks  maybe it  be a mistake,"  Adie  finally put in,  as  if
regretting having to  tell  him. "She wrote a note  to me-I  believe without
Richard's knowledge,  seeing as Cara wrote down  Kahlan's words  for her-and
gave it to the  messenger. Kahlan says that  she fears Richard be doing this
in part because of what happened to her. The  Mother Confessor also confided
that she be afraid Richard has lost his faith in people, and, because of his
rejection  by the people  of Anderith, Richard may  view himself as a fallen
leader."
     "Bah." Zedd waved his hand dismissively. "A leader cannot follow behind
people,  tail  between his legs,  sniffing  for  their  momentary  whims and
wishes, whining to  follow them this  way  and  that as they ramble  through
life. Those kind of people are not looking for a leader-they are looking for
a master, and one will find them.
     "A true leader forges a  clear  path through a moral wilderness so that
people might  see the way. Richard  was a  woods guide  because  such is his
nature. Perhaps he is lost in that dark wood. If he is, he must find his way
out,  and  it must be a correctly reasoned course, if he is  to be the  true
leader of a free people."
     Everyone silently considered  the implications. The general  was a  man
who followed the Lord Rahl,  and simply awaited his orders. The Sisters  had
their own ideas. Zedd and Adie knew the way ahead was not what it might seem
to some.
     "That's what Richard  did for me," Warren said in a soft voice, staring
off  into memories of  his own. "He showed me the way-made me want to follow
him  up out of the vaults. I had become comfortable down there, content with
my  books and my fate, but I was a prisoner of that darkness, living my life
through  the  struggles  and   accomplishments  of  others.  I  never  could
understand precisely how he inspired me  to want to follow him up  and out."
Warren looked up into Zedd's  eyes. "Maybe he needs  that same kind of help,
himself. Can you help him, Zedd?"
     "He  has entered a dark time for any man, and especially  for a wizard.
He must  come out the  other side of this on his own. If  I take  him by the
hand and lead him through, so to speak, I might take him a way he  would not
have selected on  his own,  and then he would forever  be crippled by what I
had chosen for him .
     . . . But worse yet, what if he's right? If I unwittingly forced him to
another course, it could doom us all  and result in a world enslaved by  the
Imperial Order." Zedd shook his head. "No. This much I know: Richard must be
left alone  to do as he must.  If  he  truly is  the one to  lead us in this
battle for the future of magic and of mankind, then this can only be part of
his journey as it must be traveled."
     Almost everyone nodded, if reluctantly, at Zedd's words.
     Warren  didn't nod.  He  picked  at  the  fabric of  his violet  robes.
"There's one thing we haven't considered." As everyone waited, his blue eyes
turned  up to  meet Zedd's gaze. In  those eyes, Zedd saw an uncommon wisdom
that told him that this was  a  young  man who could gaze into the depths of
things when most people saw only the sparkles on the surface.
     "It could be,"  Warren  said in  a  quiet  but unflinching voice, "that
Richard,  being  gifted,  and being  a  war  wizard,  has been  visited by a
legitimate prophecy.  War wizards are different  from the  rest of us. Their
ability  is  not  narrowly  specific,  but  broad.  Prophecy  is,  at  least
theoretically, within  his purview. Moreover, Richard has Subtractive  Magic
as well as Additive. No wizard born in the last three thousand

     years  has had both sides. While we can perhaps  imagine,  we could not
possibly  begin  to understand  his  potential, though  the prophecies  have
alluded to it.
     "It could very well  be that Richard has  had  a valid prophecy that he
clearly understands.  If so,  then he may be doing  precisely what  must  be
done. It could even be that he clearly understands the prophecy and it is so
gruesome he is doing us the only kindness he can-by not telling us."
     Verna covered his hand  with hers. "You don't  really believe  that, do
you,  Warren?" Zedd noticed  that  Verna  put a lot of stock  in what Warren
said.
     Ann had told Zedd that Warren was only beginning to exhibit his gift of
prophecy. Such wizards-prophets-were so rare that they came along only  once
or  twice  a  millennium.  The  potential importance of  such  a  wizard was
incalculable.  Zedd didn't know how far along that path  Warren really  was,
yet. Warren probably didn't, either.
     "Prophecy  can be  a  terrible burden." Warren smoothed his robes along
his thigh. "Perhaps Richard's prophecy told him that if he is to ever have a
chance to oversee victory,  he  must  not die  with the rest of  us  in  our
struggle against the army of the Imperial Order."
     General  Reibisch, silent  about such wizardly doings, had nevertheless
been  listening and  watching intently. Sister Philippa's thumb  twiddled  a
button on her dress. Even with Verna's comforting hand  on  his,  Warren, at
that moment, looked nothing but forlorn.
     "Warren"-Zedd waited until their eyes met-"we all at times envision the
most fearful turn of events, simply because it's the most  frightening thing
we can  imagine. Don't invest your thoughts  primarily in that  which is not
the  most likely reason  for Richard's  actions,  simply because  it  is the
reason you fear the most. I believe Richard is struggling to understand  his
place in all this. Remember, he grew up as a woods guide.  He has to come to
terms not only with his ability, but with the weight of rule."
     "Yes, but-"
     Zedd lifted a finger for emphasis. "The truth of a situation most often
turns out to be that one with the simplest explanation."
     The  gloom  on  Warren's  face  finally melted away under  the  dawning
radiance of  a  luminous  smile. "I'd forgotten  that ancient bit of wisdom.
Thank you, Zedd."
     General Reibisch, combing his curly  beard with his fingers, pulled the
hand free and made a fist. "Besides, D'Harans will not be so  easily bested.
We have  more forces to call upon,  and  we have allies here in the Midlands
who will come to aid in the fight. We have all heard the reports of the size
of the Order, but they are just men, not evil spirits. They have gifted, but
so  do  we. They have  yet to come faceto-face  with  the  might of  D'Haran
soldiers."
     Warren picked up a small rock, not quite the size of his fist, and held
it in  his palm as he spoke.  "I  mean no disrespect, General, and  I do not
mean to dissuade you from our just cause, but the subject  of the Order  has
been a pastime of mine. I've studied them  for  years. I'm also from the Old
World."
     "Fair enough. So what is it you have to tell us?"
     "Well, say that  the  tabletop  is  the Old  World-the  area from which
Jagang draws his troops. Now,  there are places, to be sure, where there are
few  people  spread over vast areas.  But there are many  places with  great
populations, too."
     "It's much the  same in  the New World," the  general said. "D'Hara has
populous places, and desolate areas."

     Warren shook his head. He passed his hand over the tabletop.  "Say this
is the Old World-the  whole of this table."  He held up the rock to show the
general and then placed  it on the edge  of  the  tabletop. "This is the New
World. This is its size-this rock--compared to the Old World."
     "But,  but, that doesn't include  D'Hara,"  General Reibisch sputtered.
"Surely . . . with D'Hara-"
     "D'Hara is included in the rock."
     "I'm afraid Warren is right," Verna said.
     Sister  Philippa, too, nodded grim acknowledgment. "Perhaps . . ."  she
said, looking down at her hands folded in her lap, "perhaps Warren is right,
and Richard has seen a vision of our defeat, and knows he must remain out of
it, or be lost with all the rest of us."
     "I  don't think that's it at all," Zedd offered in  a  gentle voice. "I
know Richard. If Richard thought we would lose, he would  say so in order to
give people a chance to weigh that in their decisions."
     The general cleared his throat. "Well, actually, one of the  letters is
missing from that stack. It was the first-where Lord Rahl told  me about his
vision. In it, Lord Rahl did say that we had no chance to win."
     Zedd felt  the blood drain down into  his  legs. He tried to  keep  his
manner unconcerned. "Oh? Where is the letter?"
     The general gave Verna a sidelong glance.
     "Well, actually," Verna said, "when I read it, I was angered and . . ."
     "And she balled it up and  threw  it in the fire,"  Warren finished for
her.
     Verna's  face  turned red,  but  she offered  no  defense.  Zedd  could
understand the sentiment,  but he would have  liked to have read it with his
own eyes. He forced a smile.
     "Were those his actual words-that we had no chance to win?" Zedd asked,
trying not  to sound alarmed.  He could  feel sweat running down the back of
his neck.
     "No . . ." General Reibisch said as he shifted his shoulders inside his
uniform while giving the question  careful thought.  "No,  Lord Rahl's words
were that  we must not commit our forces to  an attack  directly against the
army of the Imperial Order, or our side will be destroyed and any chance for
winning in the future will be forever lost."
     The feeling began to return to Zedd's fingers. He wiped a bead of sweat
from the side of his forehead. He was able  to draw an easier breath. "Well,
that only makes sense. If they are as large a force as Warren says, then any
direct attack would be foolhardy."
     It did make sense. Zedd wondered, though, why Richard would make such a
point of it  to a man of General  Reibisch's experience. Perhaps Richard was
only being cautious. There was nothing wrong with being cautious.
     Adie slipped her hand under Zedd's and cuddled her loose fist under his
palm. "If you believe you must let Richard be  in this, then  you will stay?
Help teach the gifted here what they must know?"
     Every face was etched with concern as they watched him, hanging on what
he might  decide.  The general idly stroked a finger down the white  scar on
the  side  of his  face. Sister Philippa knitted her fingers together. Verna
and Warren entwined theirs.
     Zedd smiled  and hugged Adie's shoulders. "Of course I'm  not  going to
abandon you."

     The three on  the bench opposite him each let out a little  sigh. Their
posture relaxed as if ropes around their necks had been slackened.
     Zedd passed  a hard look among  them all.  "War is nasty business. It's
about  killing people  before they  can  kill you. Magic in  war  is  simply
another weapon,  if  a frightening one.  You must realize that  it,  too, in
this, must be used for the end result of killing people."
     "What do  we  need  to do?" Verna  asked, clearly relieved  that he had
agreed to stay, but not to  the obvious extent of General  Reibisch, Warren,
or Sister Philippa.
     Zedd pulled some of his  robes from each side of his legs over into the
middle, between them,  as he gave the question some  thought. It was not the
sort of lesson he relished.
     "Tomorrow  morning,  we  will  begin.  There  is  much to  learn  about
countering magic in warfare. I will teach all  the gifted some  things about
the awful business of using what you always hoped to use for good, for harm,
instead. The  lessons are not  pleasing to endure, but then, neither  is the
alternative."
     The  thought  of  such lessons, and  worse, the use of such  knowledge,
could  not be pleasant for any  of  them to  contemplate.  Adie,  who knew a
little  bit about the horrific nature of such struggle, rubbed  his  back in
sympathy.  His heavy robes  stuck to his  skin.  He wished he had his simple
wizard's robes back.
     "We  will all do as we must to prevent our  own people from  falling to
the monstrous magic of the Imperial Order," Verna said. "You have my word as
Prelate."
     Zedd nodded. "Tomorrow, then, we begin."
     "I fear to think  of magic added to warfare," General  Reibisch said as
he stood.
     Zedd shrugged.  "To tell  the truth, the  ultimate object  of magic  in
warfare is to counter the enemy's magic.  If we do our job properly, we will
bring balance to this. That would mean that all magic would be nullified and
the soldiers would then be able  to fight without magic swaying  the battle.
You will  be able  to  be  the steel against steel, while  we are  the magic
against magic."
     "You mean, your magic won't be of direct help to us?"
     Zedd shrugged. "We will try to  use magic to visit  harm on them in any
way we can, but when we try  to use magic as a weapon, the enemy will try to
counter ours.  Any attempt  to  use their power against  us, we  will try to
counter. The result  of magic in warfare, if properly  and expertly done, is
that it seems as if magic did not exist at all.
     "If we fail to rise to the challenge,  then the power they throw at  us
will be  truly horrific to witness. If we can best them,  then  you will see
such  destruction  of  their  forces  as  you  can't  imagine.  But,  in  my
experience, magic  has a  way  of balancing,  so  that you  rarely see  such
events."
     "A deadlock, then, is our goal?" Sister Philippa asked.
     Zedd turned his palms  up, moving his hands up  and down in opposition,
as if they were  scales holding great weight. "The gifted on both sides will
be working  harder  than  they have ever worked before. I can tell you  that
it's exhausting. The result, except with small  shifts  in the advantage, is
that it will seem as if we are d doing nothing to earn our dinner."
     Zedd let his hands drop.  "It  will be punctuated with brief moments of
sheer horror and true panic when it seems beyond doubt that the world itself
is about to end in one final fit of sheer madness."
     General  Reibisch grinned in  an odd, gentle, knowing way. "Let me tell
you, war, when you're holding a sword, looks about the same way." He held up
a hand in

     mock  defense.  "But I'd rather that, I guess,  than have  to swing  my
sword at every  magic  mosquito that came along. I'm a man of  steel against
steel. We have Lord Rahl to be the magic  against the magic. I'm relieved we
have Lord  Rahl's grandfather, the First Wizard, to aid  us, too. Thank you,
Zedd. Anything you need is yours. Just ask."
     Verna  and Warren  added silent nods  as the  general  stepped  to  the
entrance  of  the  tent. When  Zedd  spoke, General  Reibisch  turned  back,
gripping the flap in one hand.
     "You're still sending messengers to Richard?"
     The general confirmed  that they were.  "Captain Meiffert was up there,
too. He might be able tell you more about Lord Rahl."
     "Have all of the messengers returned safely?"
     "Most of them." He rubbed his bearded chin.  "We've lost two,  so  far.
One messenger was found by chance  at  the  bottom  of a  rockslide. Another
never returned, but his body  wasn't found-which wouldn't be unusual. It's a
long and  difficult journey.  There  are  any  number of hazards  on  such a
journey; we have to expect we might lose a few men."
     "I'd like you to stop sending men up there to Richard."
     "But Lord Rahl needs to be kept informed."
     "What if the enemy should  capture one of those messengers and find out
where Richard is? If you have no  scruples,  most any man can eventually  be
made to talk. The risk is not worth it."
     The  general rubbed his palm on the hilt of his sword as  he considered
Zedd's words. "The Order is far to the south of us-way down in Anderith.  We
control all  the  land between  here and the  mountains where  Lord Rahl  is
staying." He shook his  head in resignation at Zedd's unflinching gaze. "But
if you think it's a concern, I'll not send another.  Won't Lord Rahl wonder,
though, what's going on with us?"
     "What's going on with us is not really relevant to him right now; he is
doing  as he must do, and  he can't allow our situation to influence him. He
has  told you already that he won't be able to give you any  orders, that he
must stay out of it."
     Zedd  tugged his sleeves straight  and sighed as he  thought  about it.
"Perhaps when  the  summer is over, before  the full grip of winter descends
and they're snowed in way up there, I'll go and see how they fare."
     General  Reibisch gave  a  departing smile. "If you  could talk to Lord
Rahl, it would be a relief for  us all, Zedd; he would trust your word. Good
night, then."
     The man had just betrayed  his true feelings. No one in the tent really
trusted  what Richard was  doing,  except,  perhaps, Zedd,  and Zedd had his
doubts, too.  Kahlan  had said that she believed Richard viewed himself as a
fallen  leader;  these  people who claimed  not  to  understand how he could
believe such a thing, at the same time didn't trust his actions.
     Richard  was all alone with only the strength of his beliefs to support
him.
     After  the general had gone, Warren leaned  forward  eagerly. "Zedd,  I
could  go with you to  see Richard. We  could get him to tell us everything,
and we could then determine if it really is a prophecy, or as  he says, just
an understanding  he's come to.  If it's  not really a prophecy, we might be
able to make him see things differently.
     "More important, we could begin teaching him-or you could, anyway-about
his gift, about using magic. He needs to know how to use his ability."
     As Zedd paced, Verna let out a  little grunt to express her  misgivings
about Warren's  suggestion. "I tried  to teach  Richard to touch his  Han. A
number of Sisters attempted it, too. No one was able to make any progress."

     "But Zedd believes a  wizard is  the  one to  do it. Isn't that  right,
Zedd?"
     Zedd halted his pacing and regarded them both a moment as he considered
how to put  h