Ann's  expression drew tight in  a  darkening  glower. "Because she  is
evil."
     "No." Kahlan's grip  tightened on Alessandra's throat. "It's because of
you. Had you not sent Verna into the New World in the  first place, ordering
her to take Richard back across the barrier into the Old World-"
     "But the prophecies say the Order  will  rise  up to take the world and
extinguish magic if we  fail to stop them! The prophecies say Richard is the
only one to lead us! That Richard is the only one with a chance!"
     "And  you brought  that dead  prophecy to  life.  All by  yourself. All
because  of  your faith  in  bloodless words  rather than your  own reasoned
choices.  You're  here  today  not  to back  the choices of your  proclaimed
leader, not to  reason with him. but to enforce  prophecy  upon  him-to give
that ring a tug. Had you not sent Verna to recover  Richard, what would have
happened, Prelate?"
     "Why, why, the Order-"
     "The Order? The  Order  would still be trapped back in  the  Old World,
behind  the   barrier.  Wouldn't  they!   For  three  thousand  years   that
wizard-created  barrier has  stood  invincible against  the pressure of  the
Order-or those like them-and their wish to swarm up here into the New World,
bent on conquest.
     "Because you had  Richard captured, against his will,  and ordered  him
brought back to the Old  World, all in slavish homage to dead words in dusty
old books, he was forced to destroy the barrier, and thus the Order now  can
flood into the  New World, into  the Midlands, my Midlands, slaughtering  my
people, taking my husband, all because of you and your meddling!
     "Without you, none  of  this  would be happening! No war,  no mounds of
butchered  people  in  cities  of  the  New World, no thousands of dead men,
women, and children slaughtered at the hands of Imperial Order thugs-none of
it!
     "Because of you and your precious prophecies, the veil was breached and
a plague was  unleashed on the world. It  would  never have happened without
your actions to 'save' us all from prophecy. I don't even dare to recall all
the children I saw suffering  and dying from the black death because of you.
Children who  looked up into  my eyes and asked  if they would be all right,
and I had to say yes when I knew they would not survive the night.
     "No  one  will ever  know the tally  of the  dead. No  one  is  left to
remember all the small places wiped out of existence by that plague. Without
your meddling, those children would be alive, their mothers would be smiling
to  themselves as they watched  them  play, their fathers would be  teaching
them  the ways of the world-a world denied them by  you for the sake of your
faith in prophecy!
     "You  say  this  is  a  battle for  the very existence of magic in this
world-yet  your work to  fulfill  prophecy may have  already  doomed  magic.
Without your intervention,  the chimes  would  never have come to be  loosed
upon the world. Yes,  Richard managed to banish them,  but what irreversible
harm  was done? We may  have our power back, bent during the time the chimes
withdrew magic from this world, crea

     tures  of magic, things  dependent  on magic for  their very existence,
surely died out.  Magic requires balance to exist. The balance of  magic  in
this  world was  disturbed.  The irrevocable destruction of  magic  may have
already begun. All because of your slavish service to prophecy.
     "If  not for you,  Prelate,  Jagang, the Imperial Order's army, and all
your Sisters would be back there, behind the barrier, and we would  be here,
safe and  at  peace. You  cast blame  everywhere but where  it  belongs.  If
freedom, if magic,  if the world itself is destroyed, it will all be by your
hand, Prelate."
     The low moan of the wind was the only sound and made the sudden silence
all that much more agonizing. Ann stared with tear-filled eyes up at Kahlan.
Snow sparkled in the rays of a cold dawn.
     "It  isn't like  that, Kahlan. It only  seems that  way  to you in your
pain."
     "It is that way," Kahlan said with finality.
     Ann's mouth worked, but this time no words came out.
     Kahlan thrust out her hand, palm up.
     "The journey book. If you think I would not  destroy this woman's life,
then  you  don't know  the first thing about me. She's one of  your Sisters,
helping to destroy the world in the name  of  good, or else she is still one
of  the Keeper's Sisters, helping to destroy the world in the name of death.
Either way, if you don't give me the  journey book, and right  now, her life
is forfeit."
     "What do you think this will accomplish?" Ann whispered in despair.
     "It will be a start at halting your meddling in the lives of the people
of the  Midlands,  and the  rest (,f  the New World-in my life, in Richard's
life. It's the only  beginning I  can  think to  make, short of  killing you
both; you would  not like to know how close I  am to that alternative.  Now,
give me the journey book."
     Ann  stared  down at  Kahlan's hand open before her. She blinked at her
tears.  Finally, she pulled  off a woolen mitten and  worked the little book
out from behind  her belt. She paused a moment, reverently gazing at it, but
in the end laid it on Kahlan's palm.
     "Dear  Creator,"  Ann whispered, "forgive  this  poor  hurting child of
yours for what she is about to do."
     Kahlan tossed the book in the fire.
     With  ashen faces, Ann and Sister Alessandra stood staring  at the book
in the hissing flames.
     Kahlan snatched up Richard's sword. "Cara, let's get going."
     "The horses are ready. I was saddling them when these two showed up."
     Kahlan dumped  the  hot water  to the side while  Cara started  quickly
collecting  their belongings.  They both  stuffed  items in the  saddlebags.
Other gear they slung  over  their shoulders and carried to the horses to be
strapped back on the saddles.
     Without looking  back  at Ann or  Alessandra, Kahlan  swung up into her
cold saddle. With a grim Cara at her side, she turned her mount and cantered
off into the swirling snow.


        Chapter 28

     As soon  as she saw  Kahlan and Cara  vanish like vengeful spirits into
the whiteness, Ann fell to her knees and thrust her  hands into the fire  to
snatch the burning  journey book  from its funeral  pyre  in  the  white-hot
coals.
     "Prelate!" Alessandra cried. "You'll burn yourself!"
     Flinching  back from the ferocity of  the pain, Ann ignored the gagging
stench of burning flesh and thrust her hands again into the wavering heat of
the fire. She saw, rather than felt, that she had the priceless journey book
in her fingers.
     The entire rescue of the burning  book took only a second, but, through
the prism of pain, it seemed an eternity.
     Biting down on her lower lip  against the suffering, Ann rolled  to the
side. Alessandra came running back with her hands full of snow. She threw it
on Ann's bloody blackened fingers and the journey book clenched in them.
     She let out a low wail of agony when the wet snow contacted  the burns.
Alessandra  fell to  Ann's side, taking her  hands by the wrists, gasping in
tears of fright.
     "Prelate! Oh, Prelate, you shouldn't have!"
     Ann  was in a  state of  shock from the pain. Alessandra's shrill voice
seemed a distant drone.
     "Oh, Ann! Why didn't you use magic, or even a stick!"
     Ann was  surprised by the  question. In her  panic  over  the priceless
journey book burning there in  the fire, her mind  was filled only with  the
single thought to get it  out before it  was too late. Her  reckless action,
she knew, was precipitated by her bitter anguish over Kahlan's accusations.
     "Hold still," Alessandra admonished through her own tears. "Hold  still
and let me see  what I  can do about healing you. It will be all right. Just
hold still."
     Ann sat on  the snowy ground, dazed by the hurt, and by the words still
hammering  her  from inside her  head, as she let Alessandra work at healing
her hands.
     The Sister could not heal her heart.
     "She was wrong," Alessandra said, as  if  reading  Ann's thoughts. "She
was wrong, Prelate."
     "Was  she?" Ann asked in a  numb voice after the searing  pain  in  her
fingers  finally  began  to  ease,  replaced  by the achingly  uncomfortable
tingling  of  magic  coursing  into her flesh, doing  its  work.  "Was  she,
Alessandra?"
     "Yes.  She  doesn't  know so  much  as  she  thinks.  She's a child-she
couldn't be a paltry three decades yet. People can't learn to wipe their own
noses in that much time." Alessandra was prattling, Ann knew, prattling with
her worry over the  journey book, and with her worry over the anguish caused
by Kahlan's words. "She's just a  foolish child  who doesn't know the  first
thing about anything. There's much more to it. Much more. It isn't so simple
as she thinks. Not so simple at all."

     Ann wasn't so sure anymore. Everything seemed dead to her. Five hundred
years of work-had it all been a mad task, driven on by selfish desires and a
fool's faith? Wouldn't she, in Kahlan's place, have seen it the same way?
     Endless rows of corpses lay before  her in the  trial going  on in  her
mind. What was there to say  in her defense? She  had a thousand answers for
the Mother  Confessor's charges, but at that  moment, they all seemed empty.
How could Ann possibly excuse herself to the dead?
     "You're the Prelate of the Sisters of the Light," Alessandra rambled on
during a pause in her  work. "She should have been  more  considerate of who
she  was talking to. More respectful. She  doesn't know everything involved.
There's a great deal more to it. A great deal. After all, the Sisters of the
Light don't casually choose their Prelate."
     Nor did Confessors casually choose their Mother Confessor.
     An hour  passed,  and then another, before  Alessandra finally finished
the difficult and tedious work of healing Ann's burns.  Burns were difficult
injuries to heal. It was  a tiring experience, being helpless and cold while
magic sizzled through her, while Kahlan's words sliced her very soul.
     Ann flexed the aching fingers when Alessandra had finished. A shadow of
the burning pain  lingered, as she knew it  would for a  good long time. But
they were healed, and she had her hands back.
     When  the matter was weighed, though, she  feared she had lost a  great
deal more of herself than she had recovered.
     Exhausted and  cold,  Ann, to Alessandra's  worry, lay  down beside the
hissing remnants of  the fire that had so hurt  her. At that moment, she had
no desire to ever  rise again. Her years,  nearly a thousand of them, seemed
to have all caught up with her at once.
     She missed Nathan terribly right then. The prophet doubtless would have
had something wise,  or foolish, to  say. Either would have  comforted  her.
Nathan always had something to say. She missed his boastful voice, his kind,
childlike, knowing eyes. She missed the touch of his hand.
     Weeping silently, Ann cried herself to sleep. Her dreams kept the sleep
from being either restful, or deep. She awoke in late morning to the feel of
Alessandra's comforting hand on her shoulder. The Sister had added more wood
to the fire, so it offered warmth.
     "Are you feeling better, Prelate?"
     Ann  nodded her  lie. Her first thought was  for the  journey book. She
gazed at  it lying in  the protection  of Alessandra's  lap. Ann sat  up and
carefully lifted the blackened book from the sling of Alessandra's dress.
     "Prelate, I'm so worried for you."
     With a sour wave of her hand, Ann dismissed the concern.
     "While you slept, I've looked at the book."
     Ann grunted. "Looks bad."
     Alessandra nodded. "That's  what  I  thought.  I don't think  it can be
salvaged."
     Ann used an easy, gentle flow of her  Han to hold the pages-little more
than ash-together as she carefully turned them.
     "It has endured three thousand years. Were it ordinary paper,  it would
be beyond help-ended-but this is a thing of magic, Alessandra, forged in the
fires of magic, by  wizards of power  not seen  in all those  three thousand
years . . . until Richard."
     "What can we do? Do you know a way to restore it?"

     Ann shook her head as  she inspected the curled,  charred journey book.
"I don't know if it can be restored.  I'm just saying  that  it's a thing of
magic. Where there is magic, there is hope."
     Ann pulled a handkerchief from a pocket deep under  the layers  of  her
clothes. Laying  the blackened  book in the center of the handkerchief,  she
carefully folded the handkerchief up  to hold  it together. She wove a spell
around it all to protect and preserve it for the time being.
     "I  will have  to try to find a way to restore it-if I  can.  If it can
even be restored."
     Alessandra dry-washed  her  hands.  "Until then, our eyes with the army
are lost."
     Ann  nodded. "We  won't know if  the Imperial Order decides  to finally
leave  their place in the south and move up into the Midlands. l can give no
guidance to Verna."
     "Prelate, what do you think will happen if the Order finally decides to
attackand Richard isn't there with them? What will they do? Without the Lord
Rahl to lead them . . ."
     Ann did  her best to move the terrible weight  of Kahlan's words to the
side as she considered the immediate situation.
     "Verna is the Prelate now-at least as far as the Sisters with the  army
are concerned.  She  will guide them wisely. And Zedd is with  them, helping
the Sisters prepare for  battle, should it come. They  could have  no better
counsel than  to  have  a wizard of  Zedd's  experience  with them. As First
Wizard, he has been through great wars before.
     "We will have to place our faith in the Creator that He will watch over
them.  I can't advise them unless I  can restore the journey book. Unless  I
can do that, I won't even know their situation."
     "You could go there, Prelate."
     Ann  brushed snow from  the  side of  her shoulder, where she had  been
lying on the ground, as she considered that possibility.
     "The Sisters of the Light  think I'm  dead. They've put  their faith in
Verna,  now,  as  their Prelate. It would  be  a  terrible  thing  to do  to
Verna-and to the  rest of the Sisters-to come back to life in  the middle of
such trying circumstances. Certainly many would be relieved to have me back,
but it also sows the seeds of confusion and doubt. Battle is a very bad time
for such seeds to sprout."
     "But they would all be encouraged by your-"
     Ann shook her head. "Verna is their  leader. Such a thing could forever
undermine their trust  in  her  authority. They must not lose their faith in
her leadership. I must put the welfare of the Sisters of the Light above all
else. 1 must keep their best interests at heart, now."
     "But, Ann, you are the Prelate."
     Ann stared off. "What good has that done anyone?"
     Alessandra's eyes turned  down. The wind moaned sorrowfully through the
trees. Gusts  kicked up blue-gray trailers of  snow  and  whipped them along
through the  campsite. The sunlight had vanished behind somber  clouds.  Ann
wiped her nose on the edge of her icy cloak.
     Alessandra laid a compassionate hand on Ann's arm. "You brought me back
from the  Keeper, back into  the Light of  the Creator. I  was  in  Jagang's
hands,  and treated you terribly when they  captured you, yet you never gave
up on me. Who else would have cared? Without  you, my soul would be lost for
all time. I doubt you could fathom my gratitude for what you did, Prelate."
     Despite  Alessandra's apparent  return to  the Creator's Light, Ann had
been fooled

     by the woman before. Years before, Alessandra had turned to the Keeper,
becoming a Sister of the Dark, and  Ann had never known. How could one  have
faith in a person after such a betrayal?
     Ann looked up  into Alessandra's eyes. "I hope so, Sister.  I pray such
is really true."
     "It is, Prelate."
     Ann lifted  a  hand toward the shrouded  sun. "And perhaps when I go to
the  Creator's Light in  the next  world,  that one good act  will erase the
thousands of lives lost because of me?"
     Alessandra looked away, rubbing her arms through the layers of clothes.
She turned and put two sticks of wood on the fire.
     "We should have a hot meal. That will make you feel better, Prelate. It
will make us both feel better."
     Ann sat on the ground watching Alessandra prepare her hearty camp soup.
Ann doubted that even the pleasant aroma of soup would arouse her appetite.
     "Why  do you think  Nicci  took  Richard?" Alessandra asked  as she put
dried mushrooms from a pouch into the soup.
     Ann looked up at Alessandra's puzzled face. "I can't imagine, except to
think that she may be lying, and she is taking him to Jagang."
     Alessandra broke  up dried meat and dropped  it into the boiling pot of
soup.  "Why?  If she had  him, and he was forced to do as she asked-why lie?
What would be the purpose?"
     "She's  a  Sister  devoted to the Keeper." Ann lifted her hands and let
them flop back  into her lap. "That's excuse enough to lie, isn't it?  Lying
is wrong. It's wicked. That's reason enough."
     Alessandra  shook  her head in admonition. "Prelate, I was  a Sister of
the Dark. Remember? I know better. That isn't  the way it  is at all. Do you
always  tell the truth just  because you are devoted to the Creator's Light?
No;  one lies for the Keeper  just  as you would lie for  the Creator-to His
ends, if lying  is necessary.  Why would  Nicci lie  about  that? She was in
control of the situation and had no need to lie."
     "I  can't imagine." Ann had  difficulty  caring  enough to consider the
question. Her  mind was in a morass of hopeless  thoughts.  It was her fault
Richard was in the hands of the enemy, not Nicci's.
     "I think she did it for herself."
     Ann looked up. "What do you mean?"
     "I think Nicci is still looking for something."
     "Looking for something? What ever do you mean?"
     With a finger, Alessandra brushed a measure of spices into the pot from
a waxed paper she'd unfolded. "Ever since the first  day I took her from her
home and  brought her to the Palace of the Prophets, Nicci  continually grew
more .  .  . detached,  somehow.  She always  did whatever she could to help
people, but she was always  a child who made me feel as if I was  inadequate
at fulfilling her needs."
     "Such as?"
     Alessandra shook her head. "I don't know. She always seemed to me to be
looking for  something.  I  thought she  needed to find  the  Light  of  the
Creator. I pushed her mercilessly, hoping it would open her eyes  to His way
and fill her inner need. I allowed her no room to think about anything else.
I  even  kept her away from  her family. Her father was  a selfish lover  of
money and her mother . . . well, her mother was well intentioned, but always
made me feel uncomfortable. I thought the Creator

     would fill that private void within  Nicci." Alessandra hesitated. "And
then I thought it was the Keeper she needed."
     "So, you think she took Richard to fill some . . . inner need? How does
that make sense?"
     "I don't know." Alessandra  breathed  out  heavily in frustration.  She
stirred the  soup as she drizzled  in a pinch of salt.  "Prelate, I  think I
failed Nicci."
     "In what way?"
     "I don't  know. Perhaps 1 failed to involve her adequately in the needs
of othersgave  her too  much  time  to think  of herself. She  always seemed
devoted to the welfare of her fellow man, but maybe I should have rubbed her
nose  in  other people's troubles  more, to teach  her  the Creator's way of
virtue through caring more  for her fellow man  rather  than her own selfish
wants."
     "Sister,  I  hardly  think  that  could be it. Once she asked me for an
extravagant black  dress to wear to her mother's funeral,  and  of  course I
refused such  a profligacy  because it was unfitting for a novice needing to
learn to put others  first, but other than that one time, l never knew Nicci
to  once ask for anything  for herself. You did  an admirable job with  her,
Alessandra."
     Ann recalled that, after that, Nicci started wearing black dresses.
     "I  remember that." Alessandra didn't look up. "When her father died, I
went  with her to his funeral. 1 always felt  sorry for taking her away from
her  family, but I  explained to her that she was  so talented that  she had
great potential for helping others and must not waste it."
     "It's always hard to bring young ones to  the palace. It's difficult to
part a child from loving parents. Some adapt better than others."
     "She told me she understood. Nicci was  always good that way. She never
objected to  anything,  any duty. Perhaps  I assumed  too  much  because she
always threw herself into helping others, never once complaining.
     "At  her father's funeral,  I wanted to help  her over her grief.  Even
though she had that  same  cool  exterior she always had, I knew her, I knew
she  was  hurting inside.  I tried  to  comfort her  by  telling  her not to
remember her father like  that, but to try to remember him as he was when he
was alive."
     "Those are kind words  to one  in such grief, Sister.  You offered wise
advise."
     Alessandra  glanced up. "She  was not comforted, Prelate. She looked at
me with those blue eyes of hers-you remember her blue eyes."
     Ann nodded. "I remember."
     "Well, she looked  at me with those piercing blue eyes, like she wanted
to hate me,  but  even  that emotion  was beyond her,  and she said  in that
lifeless voice of hers that she couldn't remember him as he  was when he was
alive, because she had never  known him  when he  was alive. Isn't that  the
strangest thing you've ever heard?"
     Ann  sighed.  "It sounds like  Nicci.  She always  was  one to  say the
strangest things  at the strangest  times.  I should have  offered  her more
guidance  in her life. I should  have taken  more interest in her  . . . but
there were so many matters needing my attention."
     "No,  Prelate,  that was  my  job.  I tailed  in it. Somehow, I  failed
Nicci."
     Ann  pulled her cloak righter  against a  bitter gust of wind. She took
the bowl of soup when Alessandra handed it to her.
     "Worse, Prelate, I brought her to the shadow of the Keeper."
     Ann looked over the rim of the  bowl  as she took a  sip. She carefully
set the steaming bowl in her lap.

     "What's done is done, Alessandra."
     While  Alessandra  sipped at  her soup, Ann's mind wandered to Kahlan's
words. They were words spoken in anger, and as such, were to be forgiven. Or
were they to be considered in an honest light?
     Ann feared to say Kahlan's words were wrong; she feared they were true.
For centuries Ann had worked with Nathan and the prophecies, trying to avoid
the disasters she saw, and the ones he pointed  out to  her. What if  Nathan
had been pointing out things that were only dead words, as Kahlan said? What
if he only pointed them out so as to bring about his own escape?
     After all, what Ann had set in motion with Richard had also resulted in
the prophet's escape. What if she had been duped into being the one to bring
about all those terrible results?
     Could that be true? Grief threatened to overwhelm her.
     She was beginning to greatly fear that she had been so absorbed in what
she thought she knew that she had acted on false assumptions.
     Kahlan could be right. The Prelate of the Sisters of the Light might be
personally responsible for  more suffering than  any monster born  into  the
world had ever brought about.
     "Alessandra," Ann said in  a soft voice after she  finished her bowl of
soup, "we must go and try to find  Nathan. It's dangerous for the prophet to
be out there, in the world that is defenseless against him."
     "Where would we look?"
     Ann shook her head in  dismay at the enormity of  the task. "A man like
Nathan does not go unnoticed in the world. I must believe that if we set our
minds to it, we could find him."
     Alessandra  watched Ann's face. "Well, as you say,  it is dangerous for
the prophet to be loose in the world."
     "It is indeed. We must find him."
     "It took Verna twenty years to find Richard."
     "So it did.  But part of that was by my design. I hid facts from Verna.
Then again, Nathan is no doubt hiding facts from  us. Nonetheless, we have a
responsibility.  Verna is with the Sisters, and with the  army; they will do
what they can in that capacity. We must go after Nathan. That part of  it is
up to us."
     Alessandra  set  her bowl aside. "Prelate, I understand why you believe
the prophet must be found, but, just as you feel you must find him, I feel I
must find Nicci.  I'm  responsible for  bringing  her  to  the Keeper of the
underworld.  I may be the only  one who can bring her  back to the  Light. I
have a unique understanding of that journey of  the heart. I fear  what will
happen to Richard if I don't try to stop Nicci.
     "Worse," Alessandra added,  "I  fear  what will happen to the  world if
Richard dies. Kahlan is wrong. I believe in what you've worked for all these
years. Kahlan is  making a complex thing  sound simple because  her heart is
broken, but without what you did, she would never even have met Richard."
     Ann  considered  Alessandra's words.  The seduction  of  acquittal  was
undeniable.
     "But, Alessandra, we don't  have the  slightest idea  where  they went.
Nicci  is as smart as they come. If, as she says, she is  acting  on her own
behalf,  she will be  clever about  not  being found.  How would you even go
about such a search?
     "Nathan is a prophet loose in the world. You remember  the trouble he's
caused in the past.  He could, by himself, bring about such calamity  as the
world has never

     seen.  Nathan boasts when he's around people; he will surely leave such
traces  where he goes. With Nathan, I  believe  we at least have a chance of
success. But hunting for Nicci . . ."
     Alessandra met Ann's gaze  with grim  resolution.  "Prelate, if Richard
dies, what chance have the rest of us?"
     Ann  looked away.  What if Alessandra  was right?  What  if Kahlan  was
right? She had to catch Nathan; it was the only way to find out.
     "Alessandra . . ."
     "You don't completely trust me, do you, Prelate?"
     Ann  met  the  other  woman's  eyes, this  time  with  authority.  "No,
Alessandra, I admit that I don't. How can I?  You  deceived me. You  lied to
me. You turned  your back on the Creator and gave yourself to the Keeper  of
the underworld."
     "But I've come back to the Light, Prelate."
     "Have  you? Would not one  acting for the Keeper lie  for  him, as  you
yourself only moments ago suggested?"
     Alessandra's eyes filled with  tears.  "That's  why I must try  to find
Nicci, Prelate. I must prove that your faith in me was not misplaced. I need
to do this to prove myself to you."
     "Or, you need to help Nicci, and the Keeper?"
     "I know I'm not  worthy  of trust.  I know that. You said we must  find
Nathan-but we must also help Richard."
     "Two tasks of the utmost importance," Ann said, "and no journey book to
call for help."
     Alessandra wiped at  her  eyes.  "Please,  Prelate,  let me  help.  I'm
responsible for Nicci going to the Keeper. Let me try to make amends. Let me
try  to bring her back. I know  what the return journey is like. I  can help
her. Please, let me try to save her eternal soul?"
     Ann's  gaze sank  to the ground. Who was she  to question  the value of
another? What had  her life been for? Had she herself been the Keeper's best
ally?
     Ann cleared her throat. "Sister Alessandra, you are to listen to me and
you are to listen well. I am the Prelate  of the Sisters of the Light and it
is your duty  to do as I  command." Ann shook  a  finger at the woman. "I'll
have no arguments, do you  hear? I must  go find the prophet  before he does
something beyond foolish.
     "Richard  is  of utmost  importance to  our cause-you  know  that.  I'm
getting old and would only slow the search for him  and his  captor.  I want
you  to go after him. No arguments, now. You  are to find Richard Rahl,  and
put the fear of the Creator back into our wayward Sister Nicci."
     Alessandra threw  her  arms around  Ann, sobbing her thanks. Ann patted
the Sister's back,  feeling  miserable about losing a  companion, and afraid
that she might have lost her faith in everything for which she stood.
     Alessandra pushed away. "Prelate, will you be able to travel alone? Are
you sure you're up to this?"
     "Bah. I may be old, but I'm not useless. Who do you think came into the
center of Jagang's army and rescued you, child?"
     Alessandra  smiled  through  her  tears.  "You  did,  Prelate,  all  by
yourself. No one but you could have  done such a thing. I hope I can do half
as well for Nicci, when I find her."
     "You will, Sister. You will. May the Creator cradle you  in His palm as
you go on your journey."

     Ann knew that they were both going off on difficult journeys that could
take years.
     "Hard times  lie ahead," Alessandra said.  "But  the  Creator  has  two
hands, does He not? One for me, and one for you, Prelate."
     Ann couldn't help but smile at such a mental picture.


        Chapter 29

     Come in," Zedd grouched to  the  persistent throat-clearing outside his
tent.
     He poured water from the ewer into the dented metal pot that served  as
his washbasin sitting atop a log  round. When he splashed some of the  water
up  onto his face, he gasped  aloud. He was astonished that water that  cold
would still pour.
     "Good morning, Zedd."
     Still gasping, Zedd swiped the frigid water  from his eyes. He squinted
at Warren. "Good morning, my boy."
     Warren  blushed.  Zedd  reminded  himself he  probably  shouldn't  call
someone twice his own age "boy." It was Warren's own fault; if the boy would
just stop looking so young!  Zedd sighed as he bent  to forage for  a  towel
among  the  litter  of  maps,  dirty  plates,  rusty dividers,  empty  mugs,
blankets, chicken bones, rope, an egg  he'd lost in  the middle of  a lesson
weeks back, and other paraphernalia that seemed to collect over  time in the
corner of his small field tent.
     Warren was twisting his purple robes into a  small wad  at his  hip. "I
just came from Verna's tent."
     Zedd halted his search and looked back over his shoulder.
     "Any word?"
     Warren shook his head of curly blond hair. "Sorry, Zedd."
     "Well," Zedd scoffed,  "that doesn't mean anything. That old  woman has
more lives than a  cat I once had that was hit by lightning and fell  down a
well, both in the same day. Did I ever tell you about that cat, my boy?"
     "Well, yes,  you did,  actually." Warren  smiled. "But  if  you like, I
wouldn't mind hearing it again."
     Zedd dismissed the story with a feeble wave as  he turned more serious.
"I'm sure Ann is fine. Verna knows Ann better  than I do, but I do know that
that old woman is downright hard to harm."
     "Verna said something like that." Warren smiled to himself. "Ann always
could scowl a thunderstorm back over the horizon."
     Zedd grunted his agreement as he went back to digging through his pile.
"Tougher  than  bad meat,  she is." He tossed  two  outdated  maps over  his
shoulder.
     Warren leaned down  a little. "What  is it you're  looking for,  if you
don't mind my asking?"
     "My towel. I know I had-'
     "Right there," Warren said.
     Zedd looked up. "What?"
     "Your towel."  Warren pointed  again. "Right there on  the  back of the
chair."
     "Oh." Zedd snatched up  the wandering towel and dried  his dry face. He
scowled

     at Warren. "You have the eyes of a burglar." He tossed the towel in the
pile with everything else, where it belonged.
     Warren's grin returned. "I'11 take that as a compliment."
     Zedd cocked his head. "Do you hear that?"
     Warren's grin melted away as he joined Zedd in listening to the  sounds
outside. Horses clogged along the hard ground, men talked as they passed the
tent,  other:  called  orders, fires  crackled, wagons  squeaked,  and  gear
clanged and rattled.
     "Hear what?"
     Zedd's face  twisted  in vague  unease. "I don't  know.  Like,  maybe a
whistle."
     Warren  lifted a  thumb over his  shoulder.  "The  men  whistle now and
again, to get  the  attention  of  their  horses  and such.  Sometimes  it's
necessary."
     They  all did  their best  to keep the whistling  and other noise down.
Whistles, especially, carried  in  such open terrain.  It  was hard  to miss
something  the size  of the D'Harans' encampment,  of  course, so they moved
camp  from time to time to keep the  enemy from getting too confident  about
their location. Sound could give away more than they would like.
     Zedd shook his head. "Must have been that. Someone's long whistle."
     "But still, Zedd," Warren went on, "it's long  past time when Ann would
have sent Verna a message."
     "There were times when I was with Ann that she couldn't send messages."
Zedd waved  an arm expansively. "Bags, there was a time when I  wouldn't let
her use that confounded journey book. The thing gave me the shivers. I don't
know why  she couldn't just send letters,  like normal people." His face, he
knew,  was  betraying  his  concern. "Confounded journey books.  Lazy way of
doing things. I got to be First Wizard and I never needed a journey book."
     "She could have lost it. That's what Verna suggested, anyway."
     Zedd  held  up a finger. "That's right. She very well could have.  It's
small-it  could have fallen from her belt and she didn't nonce until she and
Alessandra  made camp.  She'd  never  find the  book in  a circumstance like
that."  He shook the finger.  "Makes my  point, too. You shouldn't depend on
little trick things of magic, like that. It just makes you lazy."
     "That's  what Verna thought,  too. About it  falling from  her  belt, I
mean." Warren chuckled. "Or a cat could even have eaten it."
     From beneath a furrowed brow, Zedd peered at Warren. "A cat? What cat?"
     "Any cat."  Warren  cleared  his throat. "I just meant .  . . oh, never
mind. I never was any good at jokes."
     Zedd's knotted brow lifted. "Oh, I see. A cat could have eaten it. Yes,
yes, I see."  He didn't, but Zedd forced a chuckle for the boy's sake. "Very
good, Warren."
     "Anyway, she probably  lost it. It's  probably something  as  simple as
that."
     "If  that's  the case,"  Zedd reasoned, "she will likely end up  coming
here to  let  us know  that she's all  right, or at least  she will  send  a
letter,  or messenger, or something. Ever more likely, though, she  probably
had nothing to tell  us and simply saw  no need  to  bother with  sending  a
message in her journey book."
     Warren  made a skeptical face. "But we  haven't had  a message from her
for nearly a month."
     Zedd waved a hand  dismissively. "Well, she was way north, up almost to
where Richard  and Kahlan are, last we heard.  If she  did lose the book and
started right out to come here from there, she won't show up for yet another
week or two. If she

     went  on to  see Richard first, then it will  be longer, I imagine. Ann
doesn't travel all that fast, you know."
     "I know," Warren said. "She  is getting  up there in  years. But that's
just another reason why I'm so worried."
     What really worried Zedd was the way the journey book went silent  just
as  Ann was  about  to  reach  Richard  and Kahlan.  Zedd  had  been eagerly
anticipating hearing that  Richard and Kahlan were safe, that Kahlan was all
healed. Maybe even that Richard was ready to return. Ann knew how eager they
were for word and would certainly have had something  to report. Zedd didn't
like the coincidence  that the journey book went silent right at  that time.
He didn't like it one bit.
     The whole thing  made  him want to scratch as if he'd been  bitten by a
white mosquito.
     "Now look here, Warren, a month isn't so long not to hear from her.  In
the past, it's sometimes been weeks and weeks between her messages. It's too
early to start getting ourselves all worked up  with worry. Besides, we have
our own concerns which require our attention."
     Zedd  didn't  know  what they  could  do even  if Ann were  in  trouble
somewhere. They had no idea how to find her.
     Warren flashed an apologetic smile. "You're right, Zedd."
     Zedd moved a map  and found a half loaf  of  bread left  from the night
before.  He  took  a big bite, giving  himself an excuse to  chew instead of
talk. When he talked, he feared he only let out  the true level of his worry
not just about Ann, but also about Richard and Kahlan.
     Warren was an  able wizard, and smarter than just about anyone Zedd had
ever met. Zedd often had trouble finding something to talk about that Warren
hadn't  already  heard  of,  or was  intimately  familiar  with.  There  was
something  refreshing  about  sharing  knowledge  with  someone  who  nodded
knowingly at esoteric points of magic that no one else would fathom, someone
who could fill  in  little gaps in the odd spell, or delighted at having his
own  little gaps filled  in by what  Zedd  knew. Warren retained  more about
prophecy than Zedd thought anyone had a right to know in the first place.
     Warren was a fascinating mix of obstinate  old man and callow youth. He
was  at  once  set in his  ways, and  at  the same time  openly, infinitely,
innocently, curious.
     The  one thing  that  made  Warren  fall silent, though, was when  they
discussed Richard's "vision." Warren's face would go blank and  he would sit
without  comment  while  others  argued over what  Richard had  said in  his
letters and if there was any validity to it. Whenever Zedd had Warren  alone
and  asked him what  he thought, Warren would say only "I follow Richard; he
is my friend, and he is  the Lord Rahl." Warren would not debate  or discuss
Richard's instructions  to the army-or, more specifically, Richard's refusal
to  give instructions. Richard had given his orders, as  far as  Warren  was
concerned, and they were to be swallowed, not chewed.
     Zedd noticed than Warren was twisting his robes again.
     Zedd waved  his bread. "You  look like a  wizard with his pants full of
itching spells. Do you have something you need to let out, Warren?"
     Warren grinned sheepishly. "Am I that obvious?"
     Zedd patted the boy on the back. "No, Warren, I'm just that good."
     Warren laughed at Zedd's  joke. Zedd gestured with his bread toward the
folding

     canvas chair. Warren looked  behind himself at the chair, but shook his
head. Zedd figured it must be important, if Warren  felt he  needed to stand
to say it.
     "Zedd,  with winter upon us,  do you believe the  Imperial  Order  will
attack, or wait until spring?"
     "Well, now, that's always a worry. The not knowing leaves  your stomach
all in knots. But you've all  worked hard. You've all trained and practiced.
You'll do just fine, Warren. The Sisters, too."
     Warren didn't seem to be interested in hearing what Zedd was saying. He
was scratching his temple, waiting his turn to speak.
     "Yes, well, thank you, Zedd. We have been working hard.
     "Umm,  General Leiden  thinks winter is our best friend right now.  He,
his  Keltish officers, and some of the D'Harans believe that Jagang would be
foolhardy to  start a campaign with winter just setting in. Kelton isn't all
that far north of here, so General Leiden is familiar with the difficulty of
winter warfare in the terrain  we would  fall  back  to.  He's convinced the
Order is waiting for spring."
     "General Leiden  in a good  man, and  may  be second-in-command,  after
General Reibisch," Zedd said in an  even voice  as he  watched Warren's blue
eyes, "but, I don't agree with him."
     Warren looked crestfallen. "Oh."
     The general  had  brought his Keltish division down south  a  couple of
months before to reinforce the D'Haran army, at General  Reibisch's request.
Regarding Kahlan as their queen, since Richard had named her so, the Keltish
forces still had  an independent streak, even if  they were now  part of the
"D'Haran Empire," as everyone had taken to calling it.
     Zedd  didn't  do anything  to discourage  such talk;  it was better for
everyone in  the  New  World  to be one  mighty force than  a collection  of
tribes. As far  as  Zedd  was concerned, Richard  had clearly had the  right
instincts in that. A war of this scale would have been ungovernable were the
New World  not  one. Having everyone think  of  themselves  as  part of  the
D'Haran Empire first and foremost could only help make it so.
     Zed