uldn't have much ground
to  cover  before  they  were  out  of the camp,  again, and  into  the open
countryside. As they  raced away, Kahlan took the opportunity to kill anyone
who presented themselves. It was too dark to tell if they were men or woman,
and it didn't matter anyway.  She wanted them all dead. Each  time her sword
made contact, slashing muscle or breaking bone, was a delicious release.
     Running at full  speed,  past  the last of the campfires,  they plunged
suddenly into the  black  void  of  night.  Kahlan leaned  forward  over her
horse's muscular  neck,  as they ran west, hoping there were no holes in the
ground.  If they hit one, it would  be all over not just for her horse, but,
most likely, for her as well.
     She knew this land well enough, the gentle hills, the bluffs ahead. She
knew where she was, even in the dark, and she knew where she was  going. She
was  counting  on  the  enemy not knowing.  In  the  disorienting  sweep  of
darkness,  they  would fixate  on  following  the glowing  handprints on her
horse's rump,  thinking one of their gifted had gotten  close enough to mark
her horse for them. They would be gleeful with the blinding  anticipation of
having her naked to their swords.
     Kahlan used the flat of  her own  sword  to smack her  horse's  flanks,
urging  him on, whipping him  into  a wild  state. They were  away  from the
excitement  of  battle,  now,  and  out   in  the  lonely  openness  of  the
countryside. Horses dreaded predators

     nipping at their flanks, especially in the dark. She encouraged  him to
think teeth were snapping at his hindquarters.
     Her men were right behind her, but, as instructed, rode to each side so
there was a gap, allowing the enemy to see the glowing  marks on  her horse.
When Kahlan feared  she was  as close as they dared get, she signaled with a
whistle. Over  her shoulders, she watched  her men, her protection,  peeling
away, off into the night. She would not see them again until she returned to
the D'Haran camp.
     With her advantage of  the distant fires of the Order's camp in back of
them, Kahlan  was  able to see  the silhouette  of  the enemy  cavalry close
behind,  coming at a  full charge, their hungry gazes no doubt  fixed on the
glowing handprints on her horse's flanks, the  only thing they could see out
in the wide-open countryside on a moonless night.
     "How far?" Cara called over from close beside her.
     "Should be-"
     Kahlan's words cut off when she suddenly spotted briefly what was right
there before her.
     "Now, Cara!"
     Kahlan pulled her leg up just in time as  Cara  rammed her  horse over.
The two huge animals jostled dangerously. Kahlan threw her arm around Cara's
shoulders.  Cara's arm  seized Kahlan's  waist  and yanked her over, off her
horse. Kahlan gave her horse one last smack with the flat of her  sword. The
horse  snorted  in  panic  as  it  charged  onward  at full speed  into  the
blackness.
     Kahlan threw her leg over the rump of Cara's horse, sheathed her sword,
and then held tight to Cara's waist as the Mord-Sith pulled her horse's head
hard to the left, forcing it, at a full gallop, to turn away just in time.
     For an instant, through a break  in  the clouds,  Kahlan spied the dull
slur of starlight reflecting off the  churning, icy waters of the Drun River
below.
     She felt a pang of sorrow for her startled, bewildered, terrified horse
as it  sailed out over  the bluff.  It was giving its life to take many more
with it. The beast would probably never know what had happened.
     Neither would the Imperial  Order  cavalry as they followed the glowing
handprints on  into  the dark. This was her Midlands; Kahlan knew  what  was
there;  they  were invaders, and  did not. Even if they did see it coming in
the  last twinkling  of their lives, at  a full charge into pitch  blackness
they would never have a chance to avert their doom.
     She  hoped, though,  that those men did realize what was happening just
before they  gasped  in the frigid dark waters, or before their  lungs burst
with the need of air as the merciless river dragged them down into its  inky
embrace. She hoped every one of those men suffered a horrifying death in the
dark depths of those treacherous currents.
     Kahlan turned her thoughts away from the heat of battle. The  forces of
the  D'Haran  Empire could sleep,  now, with  a victory over their enemy and
with the  sweet taste of vengeance. Kahlan found that it did little, though,
to quell the fires of her raging anger.
     After a brief time, Cara's horse slowed  to  a canter, and then a walk.
They heard no hoofbeats behind  them, only winter's  vast silence. After the
crush of people, the noise, and the turbulence of the Imperial Order's camp,
the isolation of the empty grasslands seemed somehow oppressive. Kahlan felt
as if she were a speck of nothing in the middle of nowhere.

     Cold and exhausted, Kahlan pulled her fur mantle  around her shoulders.
Her  legs  trembled  from the  effort  finally  finished.  She  felt  as  if
everything had been washed  out  of her.  Her head slumped  forward  to rest
against Cara's back. Kahlan was aware of the weight of Richard's sword lying
against her own back.
     "Well," Cara  said over her shoulder  after  they had ridden for a time
through the hushed expanse of countryside,  "we do this every  night  for  a
year or two, and that should just about wipe them all out."
     For the first time in what  seemed an  eternity, Kahlan almost laughed.
Almost.


        CHAPTER 33

     By  the time Kahlan and Cara rode in  among the wounded, the exhausted,
and the sleeping D'Haran troops, it was  only a few hours from dawn.  Kahlan
had thought they might have to find  a safe place  out in the grasslands  to
sleep and  wait for daylight in order to find their way back,  but they  had
been fortunate;  a  break in the cloud cover had  allowed the  stars to show
them the way. In the shimmering sweep of  stars alone, they had been able to
see the black drape of  mountains at  the horizon. With that  visual  guide,
they were able to make their way far out into the empty country so that they
could  safely  get around the Imperial  Order,  and then head back  north to
their own troops.
     A reception party awaited them. Men rushed up to form cheering  rows as
they  passed into camp. Kahlan  felt a distant sense of  pride that  she had
given these men what they needed most right then: a measure  of retribution.
From the  back of  Cara's horse, Kahlan lifted a hand to wave at the men she
passed. She smiled for them alone.
     Near the area where  the horses were picketed, General Meiffert, having
heard the  cheering, was waiting impatiently. He  trotted over to meet them.
Beside  the gate of the temporary corral, one of the soldiers took the reins
to the horse as Kahlan and then Cara jumped down. Kahlan winced  at the ache
in her  muscles  from the recent  days  of  hard riding,  and  the  night of
fighting. Her right arm  socket throbbed from the blows she had landed.  She
mused to herself that her sword arm never hurt like that in her mock battles
with Richard. For the benefit of anyone watching, she forced herself to walk
as if she had just had a three-day rest.
     General Meiffert, looking  no  worse  for the battle  he  had seen that
night, clapped a fist to his heart. "Mother Confessor, you can't imagine how
relieved I am to see you."
     "And I you, General."
     He leaned  forward. "Please,  Mother Confessor, you aren't going  to do
anything that foolhardy again, are you?"
     "It wasn't foolhardy," Cara  said.  "I was with  her, watching out  for
her."
     He frowned over at Cara, but didn't argue with her. Kahlan wondered how
one could fight a war without doing anything foolhardy. The entire thing was
foolhardy.
     "How many men did we lose?" Kahlan asked instead.
     General Meiffert's face split with a grin. "None, Mother Confessor. Can
you believe it? With the Creator's help, they all came back."
     "I don't recall the Creator wielding a sword with us," Cara said.
     Kahlan was dumbfounded. "That's the best news I could have, General."
     "Mother Confessor,  I can't tell you what a boost that was to the  men.
But, please, you won't do anything like that again, will you?"

     "I'm not here  to smile and wave and look pretty for the men,  General.
I'm here to help them send those murderous bastards into the eternal arms of
the Keeper."
     He  sighed  in resignation. "We have  a  tent for  you. I'm sure you're
tired."
     Kahlan nodded  and let  the general lead her  and  Cara through the now
quiet  camp. Men not sleeping stood and silently saluted with fists to their
hearts. Kahlan tried to smile for them. She could see in their eyes how much
they appreciated what she had done  to turn the tide of the grim battle back
a  little in  their  favor.  They probably thought she had done it for them.
That was only partly true.
     Arriving  at  a  well-guarded  group of  a  half-dozen  tents,  General
Meiffert gestured to the one in the center.
     "This was General Reibisch's tent, Mother  Confessor. I had your things
put inside. I thought  you should have  the best tent. If it  bothers you to
sleep  in his tent, though, I'll have your belongings  moved to anywhere you
wish."
     "It will be fine, General." Kahlan took stock of the man's  young face,
seeing the shadow of sorrow. She reminded herself that he was about the same
age as she. "We all miss him."
     His expression showed only  some of the pain she thought he  must feel.
"I can't replace a man like that, Mother Confessor. He was  not just a great
general, but a great man, too.  He taught  me a lot and honored me  with his
trust. He was the best man I ever served under. I don't want you to have any
illusions about my replacing him. I know I can't."
     "No one asked you to. Your best effort is all  we expect and will serve
us well, I'm sure."
     He smiled  at  her generosity. "You'll  have that, Mother Confessor.  I
promise you,  you'll have that." He turned to Cara and  changed the subject.
"I had your things put in  this tent, here,  Mistress Cara." It  was the one
right beside Kahlan's tent.
     Cara  scanned  the scene, taking  note  of the  patrolling guards. When
Kahlan told her that she was  going to go  right to bed, and that she should
get  some sleep, too,  Cara agreed and bade the  two  of them  a good  night
before disappearing into her tent.
     "I appreciated your help, tonight, General.  You should get some sleep,
too."
     He bowed his head, turned to leave, but then turned back.
     "You know, I always hoped to someday become a general. Ever since I was
a  boy, I've dreamed of it.  I imagined . . ."  He looked away from Kahlan's
eyes. "I guess I imagined it would make me proud  and happy."  He hooked his
thumbs in his  pockets and gazed out over the  dark camp, perhaps seeing all
those dreams from his past, or maybe seeing all his new duties.
     "It didn't make me feel happy at all," he finally said.
     "I know," she  answered in sincere sympathy. "This wasn't the  way  any
good man  would want to  gain rank, but sometimes  challenges arise,  and we
must face  them." She let  out a  silent sigh, and tried to envision  how he
must feel. "Someday, General, the pride and satisfaction will come. It comes
from doing the job well and knowing that you are making a difference."
     He nodded. "I know it felt pretty good, tonight, Mother Confessor, when
I saw  you on the back  of  Cara's  horse,  returning safely to camp. I look
forward to the day when I  see Lord Rahl ride into  camp, too."  He  started
away. "Sleep well.  Dawn  is in a couple of hours. Then we'll  find out what
the new day will bring. I'll have reports ready for you."
     --]----
     Inside  her  tent,  Zedd was  sitting  alone,  waiting. Kahlan  groaned
inwardly.
     She  was  dead  tired  and  didn't  want  to  face  the   old  wizard's
questioning. Sometimes, especially if you were tired, his nettling questions
could become irksome. She knew he meant well, but she was in no mood for it.
She didn't think she  could even be civil to him if he started down his road
of a thousand  questions. It was so late,  and she was so  tired, she simply
wished he would let her be.
     She stood just inside, saying nothing, watching him  as  he rose to his
feet. His wavy white  hair was more  disorderly than usual.  His heavy robes
were filthy and  spattered  with blood. Around his knees the robes were dark
with dried blood.
     He gave her a long look, and then enclosed  her in his skinny arms. She
just wanted to sleep. He  silently held  her head to his shoulder.  Maybe he
thought she might be about to start crying, but there seemed  no tears left.
She felt numb. She  supposed it was the constant rage, but she just couldn't
cry anymore. She seemed only able to feel anger.
     Zedd finally  held her out at arm's length,  squeezing her shoulders in
his surprisingly strong fingers. "I just wanted to wait until you were back,
and safe, before  I went to bed. I wanted  to  let  my eyes take you in." He
smiled in a sad way. "I'm so very relieved you're safe. Sleep well, Kahlan."
     Her bedroll, still  tied up with its leather thongs,  lay atop a pallet
with  a strawfilled mattress. Saddlebags were  draped over her pack, sitting
in the corner. Opposite  the bed there was a small folding  table and chair.
Beside them, a basket with rolls of maps. Another little folding  table held
a ewer and  basin. A  clean  towel was draped over the table legs' stretcher
bar.
     The tent was spacious, by army standards, but it was still cramped. The
canvas looked  heavy enough to keep out most any weather.  Lamps, hanging at
each  end of the tent  from a  rod forming the peak of the roof, cast a warm
glow  inside  the snug  tent.  Kahlan  tried  to imagine  the burly  General
Reibisch  pacing  in such  a small  space, tugging  his  rust-colored beard,
worrying over the problems of an army bigger than many cities.
     Zedd  looked exhausted.  Creases etched an  inner  anguish on his  bony
face. She reminded  herself that he had only just learned that his grandson,
the  only family  he had  left  in the world, was in the cruel  hands of the
enemy.
     Besides that,  Zedd had been fighting for two days and healing soldiers
at night. She had seen him, when she arrived, staggering to his feet  beside
the corpse of what turned out  to be General Reibisch. She knew that if Zedd
couldn't save the man, he was beyond saving.
     With her fingers, Kahlan combed  back her hair and then gestured to the
chair.
     "You could sit for a minute, Zedd. Couldn't you?"
     He looked at the chair, then  at her bedroll. "For a minute, I suppose,
while you get your bed ready. You need some rest."
     Kahlan couldn't  argue with that. She realized her head was  throbbing.
The passions of battle masked little  things, like  a pounding headache. The
straw-filled mattress looked as good as a feather bed to her right then. She
tossed  her  wolf-fur mantle and her  cloak on  the bed. They would keep her
warm.
     Without comment, Zedd watched as she unstrapped  the Sword of Truth and
pulled it off her back. He had given the weapon  to Richard. Kahlan had been
there,

     and  begged Zedd  not to do it, but he  said  he  had  no choice,  that
Richard was the one. Zedd had been right. Richard was indeed the one.
     She felt her  face flush when, just before she laid the sword down, she
kissed the top of the hilt,  where Richard's hand had so often rested. Zedd,
if  he even  noticed,  said nothing, and she laid the  gleaming scabbard and
sword to rest beside her mattress.
     In the awkward quiet, Kahlan took off the royal Galean  sword. She  saw
then that  there was  blood  running down the scabbard.  She unstrapped  and
removed the layer of light leather armor and laid  it beside her pack.  When
she leaned the royal sword and scabbard against the plates of leather armor,
she saw then that they were splattered with blood.
     She noticed, too, that the leather leg armor had bloody handprints here
and there  on it, and there  were long  gouges  in  the  leather from  mens'
fingernails. She remembered men grabbing for her, trying to unhorse her, but
she  didn't recall  their  hands actually clawing  at  her. The  images that
started flooding back threatened to make her  nauseated, so she directed her
mind to other things.
     "Cara  and I  crossed  over the Rang'Shada mountains,  north of  Agaden
Reach,  and  came  down  through  Galea,"  she  said into the  uncomfortable
silence.
     "I gathered," he said.
     She gestured vaguely to suggest the  surrounding camp.  "I  thought I'd
better bring some troops with me."
     "We can use them."
     Kahlan glanced  up at his hazel  eyes. "I brought all  I could  without
waiting. I didn't want to wait."
     Zedd nodded. "That was wise."
     "Prince  Harold wanted to come, but  I asked him to gather  together  a
larger force and  then bring  them down. If  we're to defend  the  Midlands,
we'll need more troops. He thought that was a good idea."
     "Sounds so."
     "Prince Harold will be here to help just as soon as  he can gather  his
army from their defensive positions."
     Zedd only nodded.
     She cleared her throat. "I wish we could have gotten here sooner."
     Zedd shrugged. "You came as fast as possible. You're here, now."
     Kahlan  turned away to the bedroll. She sank down to her knees and bent
to the  work of undoing the leather thongs holding the bedding all rolled up
together.  For  some reason,  the  knots  looked blurry-she guessed  it  was
because she was so tired.
     She  glanced  over her shoulder briefly in the dim  lamplight and  then
went  back  to picking at the knot.  "I suppose you'd like  to know how that
Sister of the Dark managed to capture Richard."
     He was silent for a moment. His  voice finally came, soft  and  gentle.
"There's time enough for that later, Kahlan. There's no need tonight."
     As  she  picked at  the stubborn  knot, her hair fell forward over  her
shoulder.  She had  to push it back in order to see what  she was doing. The
stupid leather thong  was tightly knotted. She wanted to yell at the  person
who had tied it, but she  had  done it  up herself and  had no  one  else to
blame.
     "She used a  maternity spell on me. It links us. She said she could-she
could kill me if Richard didn't do as she said and go with her."

     At the news, Zedd only let out a desolate sigh.
     "Richard can't kill her, or I die, too."
     She waited for his voice behind her. It finally came.
     "I've only read about  such spells, but from what I  know, it sounds as
if she told you the truth of it."
     "I have a cut  on my mouth. I didn't do it. It happened to me the other
daythrough  that link.  What happens  to  her happens to  me. I hope Richard
struck her. It was worth it."
     "I don't think Richard would do that."
     She knew he wouldn't. It was only a wish.
     One of the little lamps was flickering, making shadows waver. The other
was hissing softly. Kahlan wiped her nose on her sleeve.
     "Richard gave up  his freedom to keep me alive.  I wish I could die, to
free him, but he made me promise I wouldn't do that."
     Kahlan felt a comforting  hand  on her shoulder. Zedd  said nothing. It
was the greatest kindness he could have given her at that moment-not burying
her heart under an avalanche of questions.
     Enjoying  the calming effect of his hand, Kahlan finally managed to get
the knot undone. Zedd sat back in his chair as she unfurled her bedding. The
carving of Spirit was rolled up inside, for safekeeping. Its height was just
right  to fit crosswise in  her bedroll. Kahlan lifted it out and held it to
her heart a moment. She turned, then, and set Spirit on the little table.
     Zedd slowly rose to his feet. He was a collection of bony angles  under
his maroon robes. With one arm crooked to point  while  he  gaped  at Spirit
standing proudly atop the small  table, his  lanky body looked as stiff as a
spindly tree in winter.
     "Where  else did you stop on your way  here?" He cast a suspicious look
in her direction. "Have you been looting treasures from palaces?"
     She realized then that the look wasn't so much  meant to be suspicious,
as  teasing.  Kahlan  ran a  finger down Spirit's flowing robes, letting her
gaze follow  the strength in the lines of the woman's strong pose. Something
felt so right about the way her head was  thrown back, with her fists at her
sides, and her back arched, standing against the  invisible power  trying to
subdue her.
     "No." Kahlan swallowed. "Richard carved it for me."
     Zedd's brow  drew  lower. He stared at  the carving  for a time  before
reaching out a sticklike finger to  touch it,  as if it  were some priceless
antiquity.
     "Dear spirits. . ."
     Kahlan pretended a smile. "Almost. It's called Spirit, he said. Richard
carved it for me when I was feeling like I would never get better. It helped
me . . ."
     In the awful silence, Zedd finally turned from the woman with her fists
at her sides and her head thrown back to peer into Kahlan's eyes. He frowned
in the oddest way.
     "It's you," he said half to himself. "Dear spirits . . . the boy carved
a statue of your spirit. I recognize it. It's as plain as day."
     Zedd was  not only  Richard's grandfather-he was now hers, too. He  was
not merely the  First  Wizard.  He  was  also the man who had  helped  raise
Richard. Zedd had no family left save Richard.
     Other than a half sister and brother who were strangers but  for blood,
neither did she. She was as alone in the world as was Zedd.

     Now, through Richard, Zedd  was  her family, but even if he wasn't, she
realized he could mean no less to her.
     "We'll get him back, dear one,"  he whispered in tender compassion. His
sticklike hand reverently cupped her face. "We'll get him back."
     Everything seemed to be swimming. Kahlan fell into his protective  arms
and dissolved into tears.


        Chapter 34

     Warren carefully pulled the snow-laden pine bough aside for her. Kahlan
peered through the gap.
     "There," he said in a low voice. "You see?"
     Kahlan nodded as she squinted off into the narrow valley far below. The
scene was frosted whitewhite trees, white rocks, white meadows. Enemy troops
moving up the distant valley floor  looked like a dark line of ants marching
across powdered sugar.
     "I don't  think you  need to  whisper, Warren,"  Cara said from  behind
Kahlan's other shoulder. "They can't hear you. Not from this far."
     Warren's  blue eyes turned  to the Mord-Sith.  Cara's red leather would
have stood  out like a  beacon, were she not sheathed in wolf fur  that made
her melt into the background of  snow-dusted brush. Kahlan's own fur  mantle
was soft  and warm against the sides  of her  face. Sometimes, since Richard
had made it for her, the feel  against her skin was evocative of his  gentle
caress protecting her and keeping her warm.
     "Oh, but their gifted can hear us, Cara, even from this distance, if we
are too vociferous."
     Cara's nose wrinkled. "What's that mean?"
     "Loud," Kahlan whispered  in a way as if  to suggest Cara  should use a
little more caution and be more quiet.
     Cara's face distorted with her displeasure at the thought of magic. She
shifted her  weight to  her  other foot,  went  back to watching the line of
troops slowly flowing up the valley, and kept silent.
     After she'd seen enough, Kahlan gestured, and the three of them started
back through the ankledeep  snow. At their elevation  in the mountains, they
were right at the base of oppressive gray clouds, making it feel as  if they
were  looking down from another world.  She didn't like the  world  she  had
seen.
     They trudged  up  the slope  dense with pine  and naked  aspen, to  the
thickly wooded  top  of the ridge, where the backbone  of rock broke through
the snow here  and there  like half-buried bones. Their horses waited a good
distance back down off  the rocky  slope.  Farther  back down the  mountain,
where Warren and Kahlan were sure they would  not be detected  by any gifted
who might be protecting the Order troops, waited an escort of D'Haran guards
General Meiffert had  handpicked to protect Kahlan and the two with her, who
were also protecting her.
     "So you see?"  Warren asked in  little more  than  a  whisper. "They're
still at  it-moving more and  more men up this  way, trying to get around us
without us being aware of it."

     Kahlan held up the fur to shelter her face as a  light breeze dragged a
curtain of snow past them. At least it wasn't snowing again, yet.
     "I don't think so, Warren."
     His questioning, handsome face turned her way. "Then what?"
     "I think they want it to look like they're sending troops past us so we
will send men way out here after them."
     "A diversion?"
     "I  think  so. It's just  close  enough to  us to  be  likely we  would
discover them, yet far enough away and through difficult enough terrain that
it would require us to split our  forces in order to  do  anything about it.
Besides, every one of our scouts came back."
     "Isn't that good?"
     "Sure it is. But  what if they have gifted with them,  as you  believe?
How is it that  not one of our scouts failed to make it back to report these
massive troop movements?"
     Warren thought that over a moment as the  three of them  carefully made
it  over a  high spot, sliding on their bottoms  down the  far  side of  the
slippery sloping rock.
     "I think they're fishing," Cara said as her boots thumped down on solid
ground behind them.  "Their gifted don't try to net the small fry, hoping to
draw bigger fish close."
     Kahlan brushed the snow from her backside. "Like us."
     Warren looked  skeptical.  "You think this  is all just  some  sort  of
elaborate trap to snare officers or gifted?"
     "Well, no," Kahlan said. "That  would only be a bonus for them. I think
their main intent  is to spur us into splitting our forces to deal with what
they want us to believe is this threat."
     Warren scratched his head  of curly blond hair. His blue  eyes twitched
back in  the direction the three of  them had come down off the ridge, as if
trying to look again at what he could not see.
     "But if they're sending great numbers of  troops north-even if it is to
draw away some of our forces-shouldn't that concern us?"
     "Of course it should," Kahlan said. "If it were true."
     Warren glanced over  at  her  as they  struggled  through  deeper  snow
drifted under crags they passed beneath on their way up a steep little rise.
Her legs were weary with the effort. Warren held out his hand to help her up
a high step.  He did the same for Cara. Cara gestured that  she  didn't need
the hand,  but she  didn't level  a scowl at  him, either. Kahlan was always
pleased to see evidence that Cara  was learning that offers  of  modest  aid
were simply a courtesy and not necessarily accusations of weakness.
     "Then I'm confused," Warren said as he panted.
     Kahlan came to a halt to let them all catch their breath. She lifted an
arm back toward the enemy troops off beyond the ridge.
     "Yes,  if it  were true that great numbers  of  troops were  going  out
around us and heading north, that would concern us. But I don't believe they
are."
     Warren swiped a blond lock off his forehead. "You don't think all those
men are heading north? Where, then?"
     "Nowhere," Kahlan said.
     "That many men? You've got to be joking."

     She  smiled at the look on his face. "I believe  it's  a trick. I think
it's only a small number of men."
     "But the  scouts have  been reporting mass  numbers of men moving north
for three days now!"
     "Hush," Cara warned, getting even with an air of mock scolding.
     Warren covered his mouth with both hands when he realized he'd shouted.
     They had their  breath back, so Kahlan started out  again, taking  them
over the  top  of the  little  rise  onto  flatter ground,  following  their
footsteps back the way they had come.
     "Remember what the scouts  said yesterday?" she  asked him. "They tried
to  go over  to the mountains on the other side to have a look at the lay of
the land beyond and the enemy troops moving north through it, but the passes
were too heavily guarded?"
     "I remember."
     "I think  I've just figured out  why." She gestured by looping her hand
around as she  went on.  "I think  what we're seeing  is a relatively  small
group of the same men just going  around  in a big circle. We're only seeing
them at the point where they  pass up this valley. We see troops marching by
continuously for days and we assume they're moving a lot of men, but I think
it's just a circle of the same ones going round and round."
     Warren  stopped  to  stare  at  her.  His  face  turned  grave  at  the
implications. "So if we're tricked into thinking  they're  moving an army up
this way, then we will split our army in response and send part of them  out
after this phantom force."
     "We're already outnumbered," Cara said as she nodded to  herself,  "but
we have the  advantage of defending terrain that suits our purpose. However,
if they could reduce our numbers substantially simply by getting us to  send
a large  percentage  off on some  mission,  first, their  entire army  might
finally be able to overrun a smaller number of remaining defenders."
     "Makes sense." Warren stroked his chin  in thought, looking back at the
ridge. "What if you're wrong?"
     Kahlan turned to look back toward the ridge, too. "Well, if  I'm wrong,
then. . ."
     Kahlan  frowned at a fat old maple tree  not ten feet away. She thought
she saw the  bark move. The dusting of snow on the scaly gray, furrowed bark
began  disappearing,  melting  away  in an ever  widening area.  Like  dross
floating on the surface of a boiling cauldron, the bark moved.
     Kahlan  gasped as Warren  seized her and Cara by the collar  and  flung
them both down on their backs. The wind knocked from her lungs, Kahlan tried
to sit  up, but Warren dived to  the ground between them,  pinning them both
down.
     Before Kahlan had  a chance to  get her breath  or  ask what was wrong,
blinding light flashed in the still woods. A deafening boom rent the air and
jolted  the  ground  beneath  her.  Splintered  wood,  from   toothpick-size
fragments  to fence-post-size sections,  howled past inches  above her face.
Huge  sections  of wood  thanked as they rebounded off  rocks.  Others spun,
caroming off  tree trunks. Pieces  tumbling along the ground kicking up snow
peppered with frozen chunks of  dirt. The air  went white as  the shock from
the blast blew a wall of snow up into the air.
     If any of them had been standing, they would have been torn to shreds.
     As  soon as the  last pieces of  timber,  trailing  smoke,  thudded  to
ground, Warren rolled toward her. "Gifted," he whispered.

     Kahlan frowned at him. "What?"
     "Gifted," he  whispered  again. "They focused their  power to  boil the
frozen tree inside and make it explode. That's how we lost so many men  when
we  gathered back in that valley during the first battle,  back  just before
you came to us. They surprised us."
     Kahlan  nodded. She peeked up,  but saw no one. She glanced over to see
if Cara was all right.
     "Where's Cara," she asked in an urgent whisper.
     Warren cautiously peered off, searching the  empty scene. Kahlan lifted
herself a  little on an elbow and saw only the disturbed snow where Cara had
been.
     "Dear Creator," Warren said. "You don't suppose  they've  snatched her,
do you?"
     Kahlan saw tracks where there had been  none before, leading off to the
side. "I think-"
     A scream that would have  made a brave man blanch  reverberated through
the trees. It trailed off in an agonizing echo.
     :,Cara?" Warren asked.
     "I don't think so."
     Kahlan carefully sat up  and saw  that a hole had been torn open in the
crowded growth of the forest crown, letting harsh light penetrate the shaded
woodland sanctuary below. The ground all around was littered with splintered
wood, broken branches, huge limbs fallen to  ground, and boughs  ripped from
other trees. Gouges down through  the  white  layer  of snow into  the  dark
forest  floor  radiated from a ragged bowl-shaped depression where the  tree
had been. Fragments  of wood  and root lay on the ground everywhere and were
even caught up in the surrounding trees.
     Warren  put a hand to  her shoulder, urging  Kahlan to  stay down as he
rolled into a crouch. She flipped over onto her stomach and cautiously  rose
up onto her hands and knees.
     Kahlan jumped up and pointed. "There."
     Through the  trees, she saw Cara returning. The Mord-Sith was herding a
small man in obvious pain along before her. Each time  he stumbled and fell,
she kicked him in  the ribs,  rolling him through  the  snow  before her. He
cried out, his words coming as a whining cry that Kahlan  couldn't  make out
because of the distance. The words weren't hard to imagine, though.
     Cara had captured one of the gifted. It was for tasks such as this that
Mord-Sith  had been created. For someone with the gift, trying to  use magic
against a Mord Sith was  a mistake that cost them their control  over  their
own ability.
     Kahlan  stood, brushing  snow  from herself.  Warren, his  violet robes
crusted with snow, rose beside her, transfixed by the sight. This was one of
the  wizards  responsible  for  killing so many  men when  the D'Harans  had
gathered  in the valley  after the Order  began moving  north. This was  the
vicious  animal who did  Jagang's bidding. He  didn't seem  like  a  vicious
animal, now, as he wept and begged before the implacable captor  driving him
on before her.
     He was a bundle of rags, flinging out around  him as he rolled  through
the  snow with a final mighty kick that deposited him at Kahlan and Warren's
feet. He lay facedown, whimpering like a child.
     Cara  bent, seized him  by his tangled mat of dark hair, and yanked him
to his feet.
     It was a child.

     "Lyle?" Warren stared incredulously. "Lyle? It was you?"
     Tears ran  from  wintery eyes.  He  wiped  his  nose  on the back of  a
tattered sleeve as he glared  at Warren.  Young Lyle looked to be  a boy  of
perhaps  ten or twelve years, but since Warren knew him, Kahlan realized  he
was probably from the Palace of the Prophets, too. Lyle was a young wizard.
     Warren reached out  to  cup  the  boy's bloody  chin.  Kahlan  snatched
Warren's wrist. The boy lunged to bite Warren's hand. Cara was quicker.  She
snatched him back by the hair as she rammed her Agiel into his back.
     Shrieking  in pain, he crumpled to the ground.  She kicked the  injured
lad in the ribs.
     Warren held his hands out, imploring. "Cars, don't-"
     Her icy blue eyes turned up to challenge him. "He tried  to kill us. He
tried to kill the Mother Confessor."
     She ground her teeth and, while looking  Warren in the  eye, kicked the
whimpering boy again.
     Warren licked his lips. "I know . . . but..."
     "But what?"
     "He's so young. It isn't right."
     "And so it would be better if we just let him kill us? Would that  make
it right for you?"
     Kahlan knew Cara was right. As difficult as it was to witness, Cara was
right.  If  they died, how  many men, women, and children would the Imperial
Order go on to slaughter? Child though he was, he was a tool of the Order.
     Nonetheless,  Kahlan gestured Cara  that  that was enough. When  Kahlan
signaled, Cara again seized his tangled mat of dirty hair  in  her  fist and
hauled him to his feet. With  Cara's thighs at his back, he stood shivering,
blood running down his face, pulling short, ragged breaths.
     As Kahlan stared  down into terrified, tear-filled brown eyes,  she put
on her Confessor's face, the face her mother had taught her when she was but
a little girl, the face that masked her inner tumult.
     "I  know you're, there, Jagang," she said  in a quiet  voice  devoid of
emotion.
     The boy's bloody mouth turned up in a smile that was not his own.
     "You made a mistake, Jagang. We'll have an army soon on its way to stop
them."
     The boy smiled a vacant bloody smile, but said nothing.
     "Lyle,"  Warren said, his voice brittle with anguish, "you  can be free
of the dream walker. You must only swear loyalty to Richard  and you will be
flee. Believe me, Lyle. Try. I know  what it's like. Try,  Lyle, and I swear
I'll help you."
     Kahlan thought that, with Warren there, a man he knew, he  might  throw
himself toward the unexpected light coming from  the open  dungeon door. The
boy behind the smile  that  was not his own watched Warren with longing that
slowly curdled  to loathing. This was  a child who had seen the struggle for
freedom bring  horror  and death  and knew  that  servile  obedience brought
rewards and life. He was not old enough to understand what more there was to
it.
     With a  gentle touch of her fingers, Kahlan urged Warren  to back away.
He reluctantly complied.
     "This isn't the first  of  Jagang's wizards we've captured," she  said,
offhandedly, to Warren. Her words, though, were not meant for Warren.
     Kahlan  looked up into Cara's stern  blue eyes and then  glanced off to
the side, hoping the Mord-Sith understood the instruction.

     "Marlin Pickard," Kahlan said, as if recalling the name for Warren, but
her  words were still meant  for Cara.  "He  was  grown,  and even with this
pompous pretend  emperor  directing him, Marlin still wasn't able to give us
much trouble."
     Marlin  had  in fact given them  a great deal of trouble. He had nearly
killed  Cara and Kahlan  both. Kahlan  hoped Cara remembered how tenuous was
her control over someone possessed by the dream walker.
     The mood in the quiet woods was still and tense as the boy glared up at
Kahlan.
     "We discovered your scheme in time, Jagang. You made a mistake thinking
you could get by our  scouts. I hope you're with those men, so that when  we
wipe them out we can cut your throat."
     The bloody grin widened. "A woman like you is wasted on the side of the
weak," the boy  said in the  menacing voice  of  a man. "You'd  have a  much
better time serving strength, and the Order."
     "I'm afraid my husband likes me right where I am."
     "And where is your husband, darlin? I was hoping to say hello."
     "He's around," Kahlan said in the same dispassionate voice.
     She saw Warren, when she had spoken the words, move in a way that was a
little too much like surprise.
     "Is he, now?" The boy's eyes turned from Warren, back  to  Kahlan. "Why
is it I don't believe you?"
     She wanted to kick  the boy's teeth in as she  watched his  cruel grin.
Kahlan's mind raced, trying to figure out  what Jagang could  possibly know,
and what he was trying to discover.
     "You'll see him soon enough, when  we get this poor child back to camp.
I'm sure Richard Rahl will want  to laugh  in your cowardly face when I tell
him how we discovered the great  emperor's plan to sneak troops north. He'll
want to personally tell you what a fool you are."
     The boy  tried to take a  step toward her, but Cara's  fist in his hair
restrained him. He was a cougar on a leash, still  testing  its  chains. The
bloody smile remained, but it  was not as self-satisfied  as it had been. In
the brown eyes, Kahlan thought she saw hesitation.
     "Ah, but I don't believe you," he said, as if losing interest. "We both
know he's not there at all. Don't we, darlin?"
     Kahlan  resolved to take a  risk.  "You'll  see him for  yourself, soon
enough." She made to look as if she were going to turn away, but turned back
to him instead.
     Kahlan let a sarcastic smile taint her lips. "Oh-you must mean Nicci?"
     The smile  vanished  from the boy's face. The  brow  drew down, but  he
managed to keep any anger out of his voice.
     "Nicci? I don't know what you're talking about, darlin."
     "Sister  of  the  Dark? Shapely?  Blond hair?  Blue eyes?  Black dress?
Surely, you  would remember a woman that hauntingly beautiful.  Or,  besides
your other shortcomings, are you also a eunuch?"
     The  eyes  watched, and in  them  Kahlan could see careful calculations
weighing her every word. But it was  Nicci's  words about Jagang that Kahlan
was remembering.
     "I know who Nicci is. I know every private inch of her. One day, I will
come to know you as intimately as I know Nicci."
     Such an obscene threat was somehow more chilling, coming as it did from
the

     mouth of a b