lodge. He was accompanied by  a small guard unit,
who  waited outside. Herjborgue was  a small  country. Their contribution to
the  war effort was in the area of their only product: wool. Kahlan had need
of the man.
     After  Representative  Theriault  knelt  before the  Mother  Confessor,
receiving the traditional greeting,  he  at  last stood and pushed his heavy
hood back on his shoulders. He broke into a broad grin.
     "Mother Confessor, so good to see you well."
     She returned a sincere smile. "And you, Representative Theriault. Here,
come over by the fire and warm yourself."
     By the stone fireplace, he pulled  off his  gloves  and held his  hands
before the  crackling flames. He glanced to  the gleaming hilt of  the sword
sticking  up behind  her  shoulder. His  eye was caught  by  Spirit standing
proudly  on the  mantel. He  stared in wonder, as  did everyone who saw  the
proud figure.
     "We heard about Lord Rahl being captured," he finally said.  "Has there
been any word?"

     Kahlan  shook her  head. "We know  they haven't harmed him,  but that's
about all. I know my husband; he's resourceful. I expect he will find a  way
to get back to help us."
     The man nodded, his brow furrowed as he listened earnestly.
     Cara, standing beside the table, reminded of her Lord  Rahl by Kahlan's
words,  idly rolled  her Agiel in her fingers. Kahlan could tell by the look
in Cara's blue eyes, and by the way she casually  let the weapon dangle once
more by the small gold chain around her wrist, that  the Agiel, being linked
to the living Lord Rahl, still possessed its  power.  As  long as it worked,
they knew Richard was alive. That was all they knew.
     The man opened his heavy traveling cloak. "How  goes the  war? Everyone
anxiously awaits word."
     "As  near as  we can figure,  we've  managed to  kill  over  a  hundred
thousand of their troops."
     The man gasped.-Such numbers were staggering to someone from a place as
small as his homeland of Herjborgue.
     "Then, they must be defeated. Have they run back to the Old World?"
     Rather than meet his gaze, Kahlan stared at the  logs checkering in the
wavering glow of the flames. "I'm afraid that losing that many men is hardly
crippling to the Imperial Order.  We're taking their numbers down,  but they
have an army  of  well over ten  times that  many.  They remain a  threat, a
week's march to the south of here."
     Kahlan looked up to see him  staring at her. She could tell by the look
in  his eyes  that he  was  having difficulty trying  to  imagine that  many
people. His wind-reddened face had paled considerably.
     "Dear spirits . .  ." he  whispered. "We've  heard rumors, but to learn
they are true . . ."  With  a despondent look, he shook his head. "How is it
ever going to be possible to defeat a foe of that size?"
     "Seems that I  remember, a number of years back, you  were in Aydindril
to see the Council and you  had  a bit of trouble after a grand dinner. That
big man from Kelton-I forget his name-was boasting and speaking  ill of your
small land.  He called you some name. Do you remember  that  night?-what  he
called you?"
     Representative Theriault's eyes sparkled as he smiled.
     "Puny.,,
     "Puny.  That  was  it. I guess  he felt that  because he was twice your
size, that made him your  better. I recall men clearing off a table, and the
two of you arm wrestling."
     "Ah, well, I was younger back  then, and I  had  a few  glasses of wine
with dinner, besides."
     "You won."
     He  laughed  softly.  "Not  by strength.  He was  cocky. I  was clever,
perhaps, and quick-that's all."
     "You won; that  was the result.  Those hundred  thousand  Order  troops
aren't any less dead because they outnumbered us."
     The smile left his lips. "Point taken. I guess the Imperial Order ought
to  quit now,  while they have men left.  I recall  how those five  thousand
Galean  recruits  you led went  after  that force  of  fifty  thousand,  and
eliminated them." He leaned an arm on the  rough-hewn mantel. "Anyway, I see
your point. When you are facing superior strength, you must use your wits."
     "I need your help," Kahlan told the man.
     His  big brown  eyes reflected the firelight as they turned toward her.
"Anything, Mother Confessor. If it be in my power to do, anything."

     Kahlan bent and shoved another log onto the fire. Sparks swirled around
before ascending the chimney.
     "We need wool cloaks--hooded cloaks-for the men."
     He considered only briefly. "Just  tell me the numbers, and I will  see
to it. I'm sure it can be arranged."
     "I'll need at least a  hundred thousand-our entire  force  down here at
present. We're  expecting more men any time, so if you could add  half again
that number, it would go a long way to helping destroy the Order."
     As  he went through  mental calculations, Kahlan used the  poker to set
the new log to the  back  of  the fire. "I know I'm not asking for something
easy."
     He scratched his  scalp through his thick gray hair. "You've no need of
hearing  how difficult it will be, that  won't help you win, so let me  just
say that you will have them."
     Representative  Theriault's word was a  pledge as sound as gold, and as
valuable. She stood and faced him.
     "And I want them made from bleached wool."
     He lifted an eyebrow in curiosity. "Bleached wool?"
     "We need to be  clever, as you can understand. The Imperial Order comes
from  far to the south. Richard was down there,  once, and told me about how
the  weather is very different than  it is up here,  in the New World. Their
winters are nothing like  we have. If I don't miss my  bet, the Order is not
familiar with  winter, nor is it used to surviving, much  less  fighting, in
such  weather. Winter conditions may  be difficult, but this puts it to  our
advantage."
     Kahlan  made a fist before him. "I  want  to harry them  mercilessly. I
want to use
     the winter weather to make them suffer.  I want  to draw them  out make
them have to fight-in conditions they don't understand as well as we do.
     "I want the hooded  cloaks to help disguise our men.  I want to be able
to use the conditions  to  get in  close  on raids, and then disappear right
before their eyes."
     "They don't have gifted?"
     "Yes, but they're not  going to have  a sorceress telling every  archer
where to aim his arrow."
     He stroked his chin. "Yes, I see your point." He  slapped the mantel as
if  to seal  his promise. "I'll have our people begin at once. Your men will
need warm mittens, too.
     Kahlan smiled appreciatively. "They will  be grateful. Have your people
start sending  the cloaks down to  us as soon as they have some made.  Don't
wait for them all. We can start our raids with any number and add to them as
you deliver more."
     Representative Theriault pulled his hood up and fastened his heavy wool
cloak. "Winter has just set in. The more  time you have to whittle them down
while you have the advantage of weather, the better. I had best be on my way
at once."
     Kahlan  clasped arms  with the man-not something  the Mother  Confessor
typically did, but something anyone else might do in sincere appreciation of
aid.
     --]----
     As she and Cara stood outside the door, watching the representative and
his guards trudging off through  the  snow, Kahlan hoped the supply of white
cloaks would start arriving soon, and that they would be as effective as she
hoped.
     "Do you really think we can press the war effectively in winter?"  Cara
asked.

     Kahlan turned back to the door. "We have to."
     Before she went back inside, Kahlan caught sight of a procession coming
up through the trees. When they were  a little closer, she  saw that it  was
General Meiffert,  on foot, leading. She was  able to pick out  Adie, Verna,
Warren, and  Zedd,  all walking  along beside  four riders. The  midday  sun
sparkled off the hilt of the lead rider's sword.
     Kahlan gasped when she saw who it was.
     Without bothering to go back inside to get her cloak or fur mantle, she
raced down through the snow to great him. Cara was right on Kahlan's heels.
     "Harold!" she  called out as she  got closer. "Oh, Harold! Are  we ever
glad to see you!"
     It was her half  brother, come from Galea. Kahlan then  saw some of the
other men riding behind him,  and gasped  again in surprise. Captain Bradley
Ryan,  commander of the Galean  recruits she had  fought with was there, and
his  lieutenant, Flin Hobson. She thought  she recognized Sergeant Frost, in
the rear. Her face hurt from grinning as she ran up to them through the deep
snow.
     Kahlan wanted to pull her  half brother off his horse and hug him. In a
Galean field-officer uniform, far more  muted  than their dress uniform,  he
looked grand on his well-bred mount. She only now fully realized how worried
she had been over his late arrival.
     Carrying himself like the prince he was, Harold  tipped his head to her
as he bowed in his saddle. He offered only a small, private smile.
     "Mother Confessor. I'm gratified to find you well."
     Captain  Ryan  was grinning, even if Prince  Harold  wasn't. Kahlan had
fond memories of Bradley and Flin, of their bravery, courage, and heart. The
fighting  had been horrifying, but the company of those  fine soldiers, fine
young  men all, was a cherished memory. They had done the impossible before,
and had come to help do it again.
     Standing beside his horse,  Kahlan reached up  for Harold's hand. "Come
inside. We've  a  good  fire  going."  She  motioned  to  the  captain,  the
lieutenant, and the sergeant. "You, too. Come inside and get warm."
     Kahlan  turned to the others, who didn't look nearly as happy as Kahlan
thought they should. "We'll all fit. Come inside."
     Prince Harold stepped down out of the stirrup. "Mother Confessor, I-"
     Kahlan couldn't resist. She threw her  arms around her half brother. He
was  a big bear of a man, much like their father, King Wyborn.  "Harold, I'm
so relieved to see you. How's Cyrilla?"
     Cyrilla, Harold's sister  and  Kahlan's half  sister, was a dozen years
older  than  Kahlan. Cyrilla had been ill for  ages, it seemed. When she had
been captured  by the Order she had been thrown into the pit with  a gang of
murderers and  rapists. Harold  had  rescued her, but the abuse she suffered
had left  her  in an  incoherent  state, oblivious of those  around her. She
regained her senses only infrequently. When  she came awake, she more  often
than not  screamed and  cried uncontrollably. One of the times  when she was
lucid, she had asked Kahlan to promise to be the queen of Galea and keep her
people safe.
     Harold,  wishing to remain commander of  the Galean  army, refused  the
crown. Kahlan reluctantly had acceded to his wish.
     Harold's  eyes shifted  to  the  others, briefly. "Mother Confessor, we
need to have a talk."


        CHAPTER 41

     At  Prince Harold's instructions, Captain Ryan and his  two men went to
see to their troops and horses while the rest of them crowded into the small
trapper's lodge. Zedd and Warren sat on  a bench made of  a board  laid atop
two  log rounds.  Verna and Adie  sat against the opposite  wall  on another
bench. Cara gazed out the small window. Standing near Cara, General Meiffert
watched as the  prince ran  a finger back and forth along the front edge  of
the table. Kahlan folded her hands on the table before her.
     "So," she began, fearing the worst, "how is Cyrilla?"
     Harold smoothed the front of his coat. "The queen has . . . recovered."
     "Queen . .  . ?" Kahlan  rose out of her chair. "Cyrilla has recovered?
Harold,  that's wonderful  news. And she has at last taken  her  crown back?
Even better!"
     Kahlan was delighted to be relieved of the  role of queen to Galea.  As
Mother Confessor, it was an awkward duty better served by Cyrilla. More than
that, though,  she  was relieved to learn that  her half sister had  finally
recovered. While  the two of  them were  never close,  they shared a  mutual
respect.
     More than her cheer at Cyrilla's recovery, though,  Kahlan felt a sense
of deliverance that  Harold had at last brought his troops down to join with
them.  She  hoped  he had been able  to raise  the hundred thousand they had
previously  discussed;  it  would be a good  beginning  for the  army Kahlan
needed to raise.
     Harold licked his weather-cracked lips. By the slump in his  shoulders,
she  was  sure that the task of collecting his army had been trying, and the
journey  arduous. She  had never seen  his face looking  so  worn. He  had a
vague, empty look that reminded her of her father.
     Kahlan smiled  exuberantly, determined to  show  her appreciation. "How
many  troops  did  you bring? We  could  certainly  use  the  whole  hundred
thousand. That  would  just about double what we have down here  so far. The
spirits know we need them."
     No one was saying anything.  As she looked from one person to the next,
no one would meet her gaze.
     Kahlan's sense of relief was sloughing away.
     "Harold, how many troops did you bring?"
     He  ran  his meaty fingers back  through  his long,  thick,  dark hair.
"About a thousand."
     She stared dumbly, sinking back into her chair. "A thousand?"
     He nodded, still not  meeting her  eyes. "Captain  Bradley and his men.
The ones you led and fought beside, before."
     Kahlan could feel her  face heating. "We need all your troops.  Harold,
what's going on?"

     He at last met her gaze.
     "Queen Cyrilla refused my plan  to take our troops south. Shortly after
you were there and visited her, she came out of her illness. She was herself
again-full of ambition and fire. You know  what she was like. She was always
tireless in her advocacy for Galea." His fingers idly tapped the table. "But
I'm afraid she has been changed  by  her infirmity.  She fears  the Imperial
Order."
     "So  do  I,"  Kahlan  said  with quiet  bottled  rage.  She  could feel
Richard's sword  pressed against the back of her shoulder. She  saw Harold's
eyes  take it in. "Everyone in  the Midlands fears the Order. That is why we
need those troops."
     He was nodding as she spoke. "I told her all that. I did. She said that
she is Queen of Galea, and as such, she must put our land first."
     "Galea has joined the D'Haran Empire!"
     He opened his hands in a helpless gesture. "When she was ill, she was .
. . unaware of that event taking place. She said she only gave you the crown
for the safekeeping  of her people, not to surrender their sovereignty." His
hands dropped to his sides. "She claims you never had any such authority and
refuses to abide by the agreement."
     Kahlan glanced at the others in the room, sitting mute, like a panel of
grim judges.
     "Harold, you and I have discussed all this in the past. The Midlands is
under threat." She  swept her arm out.  "The entire New World is threatened!
We must turn back that threat,  not take to defending one land at a time--or
have  each land try to fend for itself. If we do that, we will all fall, one
at a time. We must stand together."
     "I  agree with you, in principle, Mother Confessor. Queen Cyrilla  does
not."
     "Then Cyrilla is not recovered, Harold. She is still sick."
     "That may be, but it is not for me to say."
     Elbow on the table, Kahlan rested her  forehead against her fingertips.
Thoughts  were screaming  around inside her head, demanding that this not be
happening.
     "What  about Jebra?" Zedd  asked from the  side of the room. Kahlan was
relieved to hear his voice,  as  if reason were returning  to the lunacy  of
what she was  hearing,  as if  the weight  of another voice would set things
straight. "We left  the  seer there to help care for Cyrilla and  to  advise
you. Surely, Jebra must have advised Cyrilla against such actions."
     Harold hung his head  again.  "I'm  afraid  that Queen Cyrilla  ordered
Jebra thrown into a dungeon. Moreover, the queen  gave orders  that if Jebra
speaks one word of her blasphemy-as Queen  Cyrilla  calls it-she is to  have
her tongue cut out."
     Kahlan had  to tell herself  to  blink.  It  was  no  longer  Cyrilla's
behavior that so  stunned her. Her  words came sparse and brittle, the naked
bones of dead respect.
     "Harold, why would you follow the orders of a madwoman?"
     His jaw took  a  set, as if injured by her tone. "Mother Confessor, she
is not only my sister, but my queen. I am sworn to obey my queen in order to
protect the Galean people. All those men of  ours out  there  who have  been
fighting with your army  are also sworn to protect the people of Galea above
all else. I've already given them our queen's orders.  We must all return to
Galea at once. I'm sorry, but that is the way it must be."
     Kahlan pounded her fist on the table and shot to her feet.
     "Galea  stands at  the  head of the Callisidrin Valley! It's a  gateway
right up the center of the  Midlands! Don't you see what a tempting route it
might  be for the Imperial Order? Don't you see how they might want to split
the Midlands?"

     "Of course I do, Mother Confessor."
     She aimed a stiff arm, pointing at the camp beyond the lodge.
     "So you just  expect all those men out there to put their lives between
you  and the Order? You and Queen Cyrilla callously expect all those men out
there  to  die  protecting you?-while  you  sit  back in Galea?-hoping  they
prevent the Order from ever reaching you?"
     "Of course not, Mother Confessor."
     "What's the matter with you! Don't you see that if you fight with us to
halt the Order, you are protecting the people of your homeland?"
     Harold licked his lip. "Mother Confessor, all you say is probably true.
It is also irrelevant. I am commander of the Galean army. My entire life has
been devoted to serving the people of Galea and my sovereign-first my mother
and father, and  then my sister. From  the time  I was  a boy at my father's
knee, I was taught to protect Galea above all else."
     Kahlan did her best to control her voice. "Harold, Cyrilla is obviously
still sick.  If you are  honestly  interested in protecting your people, you
must see that what you're doing is not the way to accomplish it."
     "Mother Confessor, I have been  charged by my queen with protecting the
people of Galea. I know my duty."
     "Duty?" Kahlan wiped a hand across her face. "Harold, you can't blindly
follow that woman's whim. The  route to life and liberty exists only through
reason. She  may be  queen,  but reason can be your only  true sovereign. To
fail to use reason in this, to fail to think, is intellectual anarchy."
     He looked at her as if  she were  some poor child who didn't understand
the world of adult responsibility.
     "She is my queen. The queen is devoted to the people."
     Kahlan drummed her fingers on the table.  "What Cyrilla is,  is deluded
by ghosts that still haunt her. She is going to bring harm to  your  people.
You are going  to aid her in delivering your  people  into ruin because  you
wish something to be true, even though it is  not. You are seeing her as she
once was, not as she is now."
     He shrugged. "Mother Confessor, I can understand why you think what you
think, but it can change nothing. I must do as my queen commands."
     Elbows  on  the table, Kahlan  held her face in  her hands for a  time,
trembling with  anger at the insanity of what she  was hearing.  She finally
looked up, meeting her half brother's gaze.
     "Harold, Galea is part of the D'Haran Empire. Galea has a queen only at
the indulgence of the Empire. Queen though she may be,  even if she does not
recognize  the  rule of the D'Haran Empire, she  is still, as she always has
been,  subordinate  to the  Mother  Confessor of  the  Midlands.  As  Mother
Confessor, as well  as  the leader  of  the D'Haran  Empire in  Lord  Rahl's
absence, I formally  terminate  that  indulgence.  Cyrilla  is  now  without
authority  and  is  removed from  office. She  is no  longer  the  queen  of
anything, much less Galea.
     "You are ordered  to return  to Ebinissia, to  put Cyrilla under arrest
for  her own protection,  to release  Jebra, and to return to this army with
the seer and all Galean forces except a home guard for the crown city."
     "Mother Confessor, I'm sorry, but my queen has ordered-"
     Kahlan slammed the flat of her hand down on the table. "Enough!"
     He  fell silent as  Kahlan  rose.  With her fingertips pressed  to  the
table, she leaned closer to him.

     "As Mother Confessor, I  am commanding you  to carry out my  orders  at
once. That is final. I will hear no more."
     The room seemed gripped by the grave consequence of what was happening.
Each forbidding face watched, waiting to see how it was going to go.
     Harold spoke in a voice that reminded Kahlan of her father's.
     "I  realize that it may  make no sense  to you, Mother Confessor, but I
must choose my duty to my people above my duty to you. Cyrilla is my sister.
King Wyborn always  told me to run a good army.  An  officer must  obey  his
queen. My men  down here  are ordered by their  queen to return at  once  to
protect Galea. I am a man bound by my honor to protect my people, as ordered
by my queen."
     "You  pompous  fool. How dare you  speak  to  me of your honor? You are
sacrificing the lives of innocent people to  your delusions  of honor. Honor
is honesty to what is,  not blind duty to what  you wish  to be. You have no
honor, Harold."
     Kahlan sank into  'her chair. She looked past him, to the side, staring
into the hearth, into the flames.
     "I have given you my orders. Do you refuse to obey them?"
     "I must refuse, Mother Confessor. Let me say only that it is not out of
malice."
     "Harold," she  said  in  a flat tone without looking at  him,  "you are
committing treason."
     "I realize that you may see it that way, Mother Confessor."
     "Oh, I  do. I  do  indeed.  Treason  to your  people,  treason  to  the
Midlands,  treason to  our  D'Haran  union  against the Imperial Order,  and
treason  against  the  Mother Confessor. What do  you suppose I  ought to do
about it?"
     "I would expect that if you feel so strongly,  you would have me put to
death, Mother Confessor."
     She looked  up at him. "If you have enough sense to realize  that, then
what good will  it do for you to stick  to the orders of a madwoman? It will
only  bring  your death, and  then you will  not be  able to carry  out your
queen's orders.  Staying to your course  can only leave your  people without
your aid, which is what  you claim to put above all  else. Why not simply do
the right thing and help us to help your  people? Since you refuse, you have
shown yourself, in truth, to be without common sense, much less honor."
     His eyes turned to her, filled with smoldering  anger. The knuckles  of
his fists went white.
     "I will be heard, now, Mother Confessor.  If I stand by  my honor, even
if it costs me my life, it will be honoring my family, my sister,  my queen,
and my homeland. A homeland forged by my father, King Wyborn, and my mother,
Queen Bernadine. When  I was young, my  father, my sovereign king, was taken
from  my mother,  my family, and my  homeland of  Galea,  by the Confessors,
taken by a  Confessor's power for their selfish desire of a husband for your
mother, for her  selfish desire for a strong man to father her  a child-you.
Now, you, Mother Confessor-the daughter of  that theft  of that  beloved man
from us  when I was  but a boy-you would take  me from my sister? 'hake her,
too,  from our  land? Take me from my duty to  serve my  queen, my land, and
above all my  people?  The last duty my father  charged me  with before your
mother took him from us and destroyed him for no reason but that he was good
and she wanted him, was that I should  always honor my duty to my sister and
my  land. I will carry out my father's last charge to me, even if you  think
it madness."
     Kahlan stared at him in cold shock.

     "I'm sorry you feel that way, Harold."
     His face had aged and hardened. "I know that  you are  not  responsible
for  all that happened before  you came to  be, and I will always love  that
part of you that is my  father, but I am still the one who must live with it
all. Now I must be true to myself, to my own feelings."
     "Your feelings," she repeated.
     "Yes, Mother Confessor. Those are my feelings, and I must  put my faith
in them."
     Kahlan swallowed  past  the painful  constriction in  her  throat.  Her
fingers, lying limply on the table before her, tingled.
     "Faith and feelings. Harold, you are as mad as your sister."
     She drew herself up  straight and folded  her hands.  She shared a last
look  with her half brother,  a man  she had never known, except in name, as
she pronounced sentence on him.
     "Beginning  at  sunrise tomorrow, the  D'Haran Empire and  Galea are at
war. After sunrise tomorrow,  if you  are seen by me or  any of our men, you
will be put to death for the crime of treason.
     "I will not allow  those brave men out there  to die  for traitors. The
Imperial  Order  will,  in  all likelihood,  turn  north up the  Callisidrin
Valley. You will be alone. They will butcher every man in your army, just as
they butchered  the people of Ebinissia. Jagang will give your sister to his
men, as a whore.
     "It will be by your doing, Harold, for  refusing to use your ability to
think,  and  instead following your feelings  and faith  in  what  does  not
exist."
     Harold, hands clasped behind  his back, chin  held  up, said nothing as
Kahlan continued.
     "Tell  Cyrilla that  she had  better hope  for  the  fate  I have  just
described, because if the Order does not come through Galea, I will.  I have
promised  no  mercy to the Order. Galea's treason  condemns her  to the same
fate as the Order. If the Order  does  not get Cyrilla, then I swear I will,
and when I get her, I am  going to take her back to Aydindril  and I'm going
to personally throw her back down into that pit from which you rescued  her,
and I am going to leave her down  there with every criminal brute I can find
for as long as she lives."
     Harold's jaw dropped. "Mother Confessor . . . you wouldn't."
     Kahlan's eyes told  him  otherwise. "You be sure to tell Cyrilla what's
in  store for her. Jebra probably tried to tell  her,  and was  thrown  in a
dungeon for it. Cyrilla is refusing to see the open pit before her,  and you
are walking  into it with  her.  Worse, you are taking your innocent  people
with you."
     Kahlan drew her  royal Galean sword. She grasped either end  in a hand.
Gritting her teeth, she pulled the flat  of the blade against her  knee. The
steel bent,  then finally snapped with a loud  report. She tossed the broken
blade on the floor at his feet.
     "Now get out of my sight."
     He turned to leave, but before  he took a step, Zedd stood, holding out
a hand as if to ask him to remain where he was.
     "Mother Confessor," Zedd said, choosing his words carefully. "I believe
you are letting your emotions get in the way."
     Harold  gestured to Kahlan, relieved to hear Zedd's intercession. "Tell
her, Wizard Zorander. Tell her."
     Kahlan couldn't believe her ears. She remained  where she was,  staring
into

     Zedd's hazel eyes. "Then would you mind explaining my error of emotion,
First Wizard?"
     Zedd  glanced at  Harold and  then back to  Kahlan.  "Mother Confessor,
Queen Cyrilla is obviously deranged.  Prince Harold is not only doing  her a
disservice,  but enabling  her  to bring  only  the specter of death to  her
people. If he chose  the side of reason, he would  be protecting his people,
and honoring his sister's past admirable service when she was of sound mind.
     "Instead, he  has betrayed his duty to his people by embracing  what he
wishes to be true about her instead of facing what is true. In  this way, he
is embracing death, and in this case, embracing death for his people, too.
     "Prince Harold has been justly found guilty of  treason.  Your emotions
for him
     are  interfering with your judgment.  Obviously, he is now a danger  to
our cause, to
     the lives of our people, and to the lives of his  own people. He cannot
be allowed to
     leave." -
     Harold looked thunderstruck. "But Zedd. . ."
     Zedd's hazel  eyes, too, were a  terrible  pronouncement of  guilt.  He
waited,  as if challenging the  man  to further  prove his treason. Harold's
mouth moved, but he could offer no words.
     "Does anyone disagree with me?" Zedd asked.
     He looked at Adie.  She  shook her head. Verna likewise shook her head.
Warren stared at Harold for a moment, then shook his head.
     Harold's expression turned indignant. "I'm not going to stand for this.
The Mother Confessor has given me until dawn to withdraw. You must honor her
sentence."
     He  took two strides  toward the door, but  then  paused, clutching his
chest. Twisting  slowly as  he started  to sink,  his eyes rolling up in his
head. His legs folded and he crashed to the floor.
     Kahlan  sat  stunned. No one  moved or  said anything. General Meiffert
went  down on one knee beside the body, checking Prince Harold for breath or
pulse. The general looked up at Kahlan and shook his head.
     She  passed  her gaze from  Zedd, to  Adie, to  Verna, to  Warren. None
revealed anything in their expression.
     Kahlan stood and spoke softly. "I  don't ever want to know which one of
you did  this.  I'm  not saying you  were wrong . .  . I just  don't want to
know."
     The four gifted people nodded.
     At the door, Kahlan stood in  the bright sunlight a moment, feeling the
cold air on  her face, searching, until she saw Captain Ryan leaning against
a  stout  young maple  tree. He stood  at attention as she strode out to him
through the snow.
     "Bradley, did Prince Harold tell you why he was coming here?"
     Calling him by his given name, rather than his rank, changed the nature
of the question. His rigid posture slackened.
     "Yes,  Mother  Confessor.  He  said he had to tell you that he had been
ordered back by his queen to defend  Galea,  and that he was further ordered
to bring his men serving with you back to Galea with him."
     "Then what are you doing here?  Why did you and your men come along, if
he was to take everyone back?"
     He  lifted his  square jaw  and  looked  at  her with clear  blue eyes.
"Because we deserted, Mother Confessor."

     "You what?"
     "Prince Harold gave me  his orders, as I just reported them. I told him
that it was wrong, and could only harm our people. He said it was not for me
to  decide  such things. He said it  was not for me to think, but to  follow
orders.
     "I've  fought with you, Mother Confessor. I believe  I  know you better
than Prince Harold does-I know you  are  devoted to  protecting the lives of
the people of  the  Midlands. I told him  that  what Cyrilla  was  doing was
wrong. He was angry, and said it was my duty to follow my orders.
     "I told him that, in that case, I was deserting the Galean army and was
going to stand with you, instead. I thought  he was going to  have me put to
death for disobeying him, but he would have had to put all thousand of us to
death because all  the men  felt the same way.  A good many came forward  to
tell him so. The fire seemed to go out of him, then, and he let us ride down
here with him.
     "I hope you aren't angry with us, Mother Confessor."
     Kahlan  couldn't  force  herself  to  be  the Mother  Confessor at that
moment. She put her arms around him.
     "Thank you, Bradley."
     She gripped his shoulders  and smiled at him through her watery vision.
"You used your head. I couldn't be angry with that."
     "You told us once we were a badger trying to swallow an ox whole. Looks
to me you've taken to trying  to  do  the same  thing. If there  ever was  a
badger who could swallow an ox whole, it would be you, Mother Confessor, but
I guess we wouldn't want you to try it without us to help you do it."
     They  turned then and saw General Meiffert directing some  of his  men.
They were carrying Prince  Harold's  limp body out of the lodge, holding him
by the shoulders and feet. His hands dragged through the snow.
     "I figured this  wasn't going  to come  to  any  good  end,"  the young
captain said. "Ever since Cyrilla was hurt, Prince Harold just  never seemed
himself. I always  loved the man. It hurt me to have to desert  him.  But he
just wasn't making sense anymore."
     Kahlan put a comforting hand on  his shoulder as they  watched the body
being carried away.
     "I'm sorry, Bradley. Like you, I always thought highly of  him. I guess
seeing his  sister and  his  queen so long held  in the grip of that kind of
sickness just brought him to his wits'  end. Try to keep your  good memories
of him."
     "I will, Mother Confessor."
     Kahlan  changed  the  subject.  "I'll need one of  your men to  take  a
message to Cyrilla. I was going to have Harold take it, but now we'll need a
messenger."
     "I will see to it, Mother Confessor."
     She only then  realized  how cold  it  was outside, and that she didn't
have a cloak. As the captain went to get his men quartered and to pick out a
man to act as a messenger, Kahlan went back inside the lodge.
     Cara  was  putting more wood on  the  hearth. Verna and Adie  had gone.
Warren  was selecting a rolled map from the basket  of  maps and diagrams in
the corner.
     As  he was  leaving; Kahlan  caught Warren's  arm.  She looked into the
wizard's blue eyes, knowing they were much older than they appeared. Richard
had always said that Warren was one of the smartest  people he had ever met.
Besides that, Warren's true talent was said to lie in the area of prophecy.
     "Warren, are we all going to die in this mad war?"

     His  face  softened with a shy but impish grin.  "I thought you  didn't
believe in prophecy, Kahlan."
     She released his arm. "I guess I don't. Never mind."
     Cara,  leaving  to find some more firewood, followed Warren out. Kahlan
warmed herself before the  hearth as she  stared  at  Spirit standing on the
mantel. Zedd rested a comforting hand on her shoulder.
     "What you had to say to Harold about using your mind, about reason, was
very wise, Kahlan. You were right."
     Her fingers touched the buttery smooth walnut robes of Spirit.  "It was
what  Richard said, when  he was  telling  me what he  had finally  come  to
understand about what  he had to do.  He  said the only sovereign  he  could
allow to rule him was reason."
     "Richard said that? Those were his very words?"
     Kahlan nodded as she gazed at Spirit. "He  said the first law of reason
is that what  exists,  exists; what is, is, and that from this  irreducible,
bedrock principle,  all knowledge is built. He said  that was the foundation
from which life is embraced.
     "He said thinking is a choice, and that wishes and whims are not facts,
nor are they a means  to  discover them.  I guess  Harold proved the  point.
Richard said reason is our only way  of grasping reality-that it's our basic
tool of  survival. We are free  to evade  the  effort of  thinking-to reject
reason-but  we are not free to avoid the penalty  of  the abyss we refuse to
see."
     She  listened to the  fire crackling at her  feet as  she let her  gaze
wander over the lines of  the figure he  had carved  for her. When she heard
nothing from Zedd,  she  looked over her shoulder.  He was staring into  the
flames, a tear running down his cheek.
     "Zedd, what's wrong?"
     "The boy figured it out himself." The old wizard's voice was the uneasy
sum  of  loneliness and  quiet pride. "He understands  it-he  interpreted it
perfectly. He even came to it on his own, by applying it."
     "Came to what?"
     "The  most important rule  there is, the Wizard's  Sixth Rule: the only
sovereign you can allow to rule you is reason."
     Reflections of  the firelight danced in his hazel eyes. "The Sixth Rule
is  the  hub upon which all rules turn.  It is not  only the most  important
rule, but  the simplest.  Nonetheless, it is the one most often ignored  and
violated, and  by far the most despised. It must be wielded in spite  of the
ceaseless, howling protests of the wicked.
     "Misery, iniquity,  and utter destruction lurk  in the  shadows outside
its full light,  where half-truths snare the faithful  disciples, the deeply
feeling believers, the selfless followers.
     "Faith and  feelings are the warm marrow  of evil. Unlike reason, faith
and feelings provide no boundary to limit any delusion, any whim. They are a
virulent poison,  giving the numbing  illusion  of  moral sanction to  every
depravity ever hatched.
     "Faith and feelings are the darkness to reason's light.
     "Reason is the very  substance of truth itself. The  glory that is life
is  wholly embraced through reason,  through this rule. In rejecting  it, in
rejecting reason, one embraces death."

     By the  next  morning,  about half  of  the Galean force  had vanished,
returning to their homeland and queen as ordered by Prince Harold before his
death. The rest, like Captain Ryan and his young soldiers, remained loyal to
the D'Haran Empire.
     Lieutenant Leiden, the former general, and his entire  force of Keltish
troops  had also departed by morning. He left Kahlan a letter, in  it saying
that with Galea  choosing to break with the D'Haran Empire, he had to return
to help protect Kelton, as surely the  selfish actions  of the Galeans meant
the Order would be more likely to come up the Kern River Valley and threaten
Kelton. He wrote that he hoped the Mother  Confessor would realize how grave
was the  danger to Kelton, and understand  that it was  not his intention to
desert her or the D'Haran Empire, but simply to help protect his people.
     Kahlan knew of the men leaving; General Meiffert and Warren had come to
tell her. She had  expected  it, and had  been  watching. She  told  General
Meiffert to allow them to leave if they wished. War in their camp could come
to no  good end. The  morale of  the remaining men was boosted by a sense of
being on the right side, and of doing the right thing.
     That  afternoon,  as  she  was  drafting  an urgent  letter to  General
Baldwin, commander of  all Keltish forces, General Meiffert and Captain Ryan
came  to see  her. After  listening to their plan, she granted  Captain Ryan
permission to go with a like number of General Meiffert's handpicked D'Haran
special forces to conduct raids on the Imperial Order force. Warren and  six
Sisters were sent to accompany them.
     With the Imperial Order  having moved so far back to  the south, Kahlan
needed  information  on what they were  doing and what shape their force was
in. More than that, though, with the foul weather in their favor, she wanted
to keep pressure on the enemy. Captain Bradley Ryan and his band of nearly a
thousand were experienced mountain  fighters and  had grown up in  just such
harsh conditions. Kahlan had fought beside  the captain and his young Galean
soldiers,  and had  helped  train  them  in the  ways  of  fighting a vastly
superior force. If only the enemy force did not number over a million . . .
     General  Meiffert's special  forces, which, until  Kahlan  had promoted
him, he had ably commanded, were now led by  Captain Zimmer, a young, square
jawed, bullnecked  D'Haran  with  an infectious smile. They  were everything
Captain  Ryan's  young  men were, tripled:  experienced, businesslike  under
stress, tireless,  fearless, and coolly efficient at killing. What made most
soldiers blanch made them grin.
     They  preferred fighting just such as  this,  where  they  were free of
massive battlefield tactics and could instead use their special skills. They
treasured being  let  off the leash to  do what they did  best. Rather  than
check them, Kahlan gave them a free hand.
     Each of those D'Harans collected enemy ears.
     They felt a great fidelity to Kahlan, in part because she didn't try to
rein them in and integrate them into the larger  army, and, perhaps more so,
because when they  returned  from missions,  she always asked to  see  their
strings of ears. They relished being appreciated.
     Kahlan intended to later send them to collect Galean ears.


        CHAPTER 42

     Kahlan  glanced over her shoulder  at  the  Prelate bent  over the  map
basket  in the  corner. It had been almost a  full  phase of the  moon since
Warren  had left on the mission  with captains  Ryan and Zimmer. Although it
was difficult to judge accurately just how  long  such missions  would last,
they should have  been back by now.  Kahlan kne