stured. "Cara, what's that there?"
     Cara glanced down and then threw the blanket closed.
     "It's, I mean, well, it's . . . just a bruise."
     A love bruise-from a man's mouth.
     "Is Benjamin over there in your tent with you?"
     Cara got to her bare feet. "Mother Confessor, you are still half asleep
and having dreams. Go back to sleep."
     Kahlan  smiled as she  watched Cara leave.  The smile faded  as she lay
back in her bed. In the quiet loneliness, her doubts crept back.
     She cupped her breasts. Her nipples throbbed and ached. As she moved on
the bed a little, she winced as she only then began to realize how much  she
hurt, and where.
     She couldn't believe that, even in her sleep, a part of it had been . .
. She felt her face reddening again. She felt an overwhelming sense of shame
at what she had done.
     No.  She had done nothing. She was only sensing  something through  her
link to Nicci.  It  wasn't real. She hadn't really experienced it-Nicci had.
But Kahlan suffered the same injuries.
     As she had at various times, Kahlan still felt that connection to Nicci
through the  link, and  an  aching sort of caring about  the woman. What had
happened  left  Kahlan   feeling  saddened.  She  felt  that  Nicci  had  so
desperately wanted . . . something.
     Kahlan slipped her  hand down between her legs. She flinched in pain as
she touched herself. She brought  her fingers  up  to the  candlelight. They
glistened with blood. There was a lot of blood.
     Despite  the  burning  pain  of  being   torn   inside,  the   confused
embarrassment, and  the shadow  of shame,  she most of all  felt  a sense of
relief.
     She knew without doubt: Cara was right, it had not been Richard.


        CHAPTER 52

     Ann peered  among the stand of  birch trees crowded in the deep shadows
of cliffs for which the place was  named. The dense wood was  thick with the
trees,  their  peeling  white  bark  covered  with  dark blotches making  it
disorienting and difficult to make sense of anything. To become disoriented,
here, and wander into  the wrong place, uninvited, was the last mistake  you
would ever make.
     It had been in her youth  that she'd last come here, to the  Healers of
Redcliff. She'd  promised herself she would never  return She'd promised the
healers as much, too. In the nearly thousand years since, she hoped they had
forgotten.
     Few people knew of the place, and even  fewer ever came hero--with good
reason.
     The term "healers"  was  an odd and  highly misleading  designation for
such a dangerous lot,  yet it wasn't entirely without merit. The Healers  of
Redcliff weren't concerned  with  human ailments, but with the well-being of
things  that mattered to them. And very odd things indeed mattered  to them.
To tell the truth of it, after all this time, she would be surprised to find
them still in existence.
     As much as  she hoped  their talents could help,  and as desperately as
she needed  help,  she hoped to find that the  healers no longer stalked the
Redcliff Wood.
     "Visitooor.  . ."  hissed a teasing voice from the dim shadows  in  the
crags of the cliff off behind the trees.
     Ann  stood still. Cold  sweat dotted her brow.  Among the  confusion of
lines  and spots made by  the trees, she could not make out what  it was she
saw move. She didn't really need to see them. She had heard the voice. There
were no others like theirs. She swallowed, and tried to sound composed.
     "Yes, I am a visitor. I'm glad to find you well."
     "Only us few left," the voice  said, echoing among the rock walls. "The
chiiiimes took most."
     That was what Ann had feared . . . what she had hoped.
     "I'm sorry," she lied.
     "Tried," the voice said, moving through the trees. "Could not heal  the
chiiiimes away."
     She wondered if they could  still heal at all,  and how long they would
last.
     "Comes sheeee for a healings?"  teased a voice  from the depths of  the
jagged clefts to the other side.
     "Come to let you look," she said, letting them know she had terms, too.
It would not be all their way.
     "Costssss, you know."
     Ann nodded. "Yes, I know."
     She  had  tried everything  else. Nothing had worked. She had  no other
choice, at

     least none she could think of. She was no longer sure if it mattered to
her what happened, if it mattered if she ever came out of the Redcliff Wood.
     She was no longer sure if she had ever done any real good in her entire
life.
     "Well?" she asked into the shadowy silence.
     Something flashed  back behind the  trees, back in the shade under  low
rock ledges,  as if inviting her  further along  the  path,  deeper into the
twisting cleft in  the mountains. Rubbing  her  knuckles, which  still ached
from the burns long healed, she followed the  path, and the rustle of brush.
Shortly, she came to a small  gap its the  trees. Back through that gap, she
could see the craggy opening of a cave.
     Eyes watched from that dark maw.
     "Comes sheeee in," the voice hissed.
     In resignation,  Ann let out a sigh  as she stepped  off the trail, and
into a place she had never forgotten, despite how much she had tried.
     --]----
     Kahlan's hair whipped around, lashing at her face. She gathered it in a
fist over the front of her armored shoulder as she made her way  through the
hectic camp. Thunderstorms collided violently with the mountains at the east
side of the valley, throwing off lightning, thunder, and intermittent sheets
of  rain.  Sporadic  gusts  bent the trees, and their leaves shimmered as if
trembling in fright before the onslaught.
     Usually,  the camp was relatively quiet so as not to give  any unwanted
information to the enemy. Now, the noise of camp breaking up was jarring  by
contrast.  The noise alone  was enough  to make her pulse race. If only that
were all.
     As Kahlan hurried through what  to the  untrained  eye would look  like
mass confusion, Cara, in her red leather, shoved men out of the way to break
a clear path for the Mother Confessor. Kahlan knew better than to try to get
the Mord-Sith not  to do it.  At least it  caused no harm. Most  of the men,
when they  saw Kahlan in her leather armor with a  D'Haran sword  at her hip
and the hilt of the Sword  of Truth sticking up over her shoulder, moved out
of her way without Cam's help.
     Horses  nearby reared  as they were being harnessed  to  a  wagon.  Men
shouted and  cursed  as they struggled  to get the team under  control.  The
horses bellowed in protest. Other  men ran through camp, leaping  over fires
and gear  as they rushed to  deliver messages.  Men sprang out of the way as
wagons  sped along, splashing mud and water. A  long column  of lancers five
men  wide  was  already  marching off  into  the  threatening  gloom.  Their
supporting archers were scrambling to fall in with them.
     The path to  the  lodge was set with stones so  people  heading for  it
would not have to walk in the mud, though one still had to run  the gauntlet
of mosquitoes. Rain swept in just as Kahlan and Cara made the door. Zedd was
there, with Adie,  General Meiffert and  several of his officers, Verna, and
Warren. They were all loosely gathered around the table pulled to the center
of the room. Half a dozen maps lay atop one another on the table.
     The mood in the room was tense.
     "How long ago?" Kahlan asked without any greetings.
     "Just now," General Meiffert said. "They're taking their  time striking
camp. They're not  organizing for an attack.  They're simply forming  up  to
move out."
     Kahlan  rubbed  her  fingertips  against  her brow. "Any  word  on  the
direction?"

     The general shifted his posture, betraying his frustration. "The scouts
say that by all indications they're going north,  but nothing more  specific
than that, yet."
     "They aren't coming after us?"
     "They could always change course,  or send an army over here, but right
now, it appears they aren't interested in coming in here after us."
     "Jagang doesn't need to come after us," Warren said. Kahlan thought  he
looked  a little pale. Small  wonder.  She imagined they were  all a  little
pale. "Jagang has to know we  are  going  to come at him:  He's not going to
bother coming in here after us."
     Kahlan couldn't  dispute his logic. "If he goes north,  he  has to know
we're not going to sit here and wave good-bye."
     The emperor  had  changed  his tactics-again.  Kahlan had never seen  a
commander  like him. Most military men had their preferred methods.  If they
had  once won a battle in a certain  way, they  would suffer a dozen  losses
with  the same tactics, thinking it  had  to work because it once had.  Some
were  limited  by  their  intellect. Those  were easy enough to  read;  they
usually waged an artless campaign, content to throw men into a meat grinder,
hoping to clog it with sheer numbers.  Some leaders  were  clever, inventing
tactics as they went. Those  often thought too  much of themselves and ended
up on the point of a simple pike. Others slavishly went about using textbook
tactics, thinking of war as a kind of game, and that each side should oblige
the other by following rules.
     Jagang  was different.  He  learned to read his enemy. He  held  to  no
favored method. After Kahlan had hit  him with quick  limited attacks driven
into the center of his  camp, he learned the  tactic and, instead of relying
on his  overpowering  numbers,  sent  the  same kind of attack  back  at the
D'Haran army to good effect.  Some  men  could be driven  to making  foolish
mistakes  by  shaming them. Jagang didn't make the same  mistake  twice.  He
reined in his pride  and changed his tactics again, not obliging Kahlan with
foolhardy counterattacks.
     The D'Harans  had still  managed to carve him up. They  had  taken  out
Imperial  Order  troops in unprecedented  numbers. Their  own  losses, while
painful, were remarkably low considering what they had accomplished.
     Winter, though, had killed far  more  of the enemy than anything Kahlan
and her men could conceive. The Imperial Order, being from far to the south,
was unfamiliar with and ill prepared for winter in the New World. Well  over
half a million  men had frozen to death.  Several hundred thousand  more had
succumbed to fevers and sickness from the harsh life in the field.
     The  winter  alone  had cost Jagang nearly  three-quarters of a million
men. It was almost beyond comprehension.
     Kahlan  now  commanded  roughly three  hundred  thousand troops in  the
southern reaches of the  Midlands. Under ordinary circumstances,  that would
be a force capable of crushing any enemy.
     The  men streaming up from  the Old World had replaced the enemy losses
several times over. Jagang's army was now well over two  and  a half million
men. It grew by the day.
     Jagang  had been content to sit tight for the winter. Fighting in  such
conditions was, for the most part,  impossible. He had wisely waited out the
weather. When spring had come, he still sat. Apparently, he was smart enough
to know  that warfare in  spring mud was  a deadly undertaking. In the muddy
season, you could lose your supply wagons  if they got  strung out.  Streams
became impassable floods. Losing

     wagons was a slow death by starvation.  Cavalry were next to useless in
the mud. Losses to falls in a  cavalry charge cost valuable  mounts, to  say
nothing of the men. Soldiers could make an  attack,  of course,  but without
supporting services, it was likely to be a bloodbath for no real gain.
     Jagang had sat out the spring  mud. His  minions  had used the  time to
spread the word about  "Jagang the Just." Kahlan was infuriated when she got
reports, weeks  after the fact, about "envoys  of peace" who had shown up in
various cities throughout  the  Midlands, giving speeches about bringing the
world  together  for the  good  of  all  mankind.  They  promised  piece and
prosperity, if they were welcomed into cities.
     Now, with summer finally upon  them, Jagang  was beginning his campaign
anew.  He planned  his troops to now visit those cities  his envoys had been
to.
     The  door  burst open.  It was  not the wind, but Rikka.  The Mord-Sith
looked like she hadn't slept in days.
     Cara  went to her side, to be ready to offer  assistance if  requested,
but didn't  directly  lend a  hand  for  support. A Mord-Sith  did not  look
favorably upon help in front of others.
     Rikka stepped up to  the  table, opposite  Kahlan, and tossed two Agiel
down atop the map.
     Kahlan closed her eyes for a moment, then looked up into Rikka's fierce
blue eyes. "What happened?"
     "I don't know, Mother  Confessor. I found their heads impaled on pikes.
Their Agiel were tied to the pikes."
     Kahlan held her anger in check. "Are you satisfied, now, Rikka?"
     "Galina and Solvig died as Mord-Sith would want to die."
     "Galina  and  Solvig died for nothing, Rikka. After the first four,  we
knew it wouldn't work.  With the dream walker in their minds, the gifted are
not vulnerable to Mord-Sith in the way that would otherwise be the case."
     "It could have been something else. If  we can catch their gifted where
the MordSith can get at them, then we might be  able to  take them out. It's
worth the risk. Their gifted can cut down thousands of soldiers with a sweep
of their hand."
     "I  understand the  wish, Rikka.  Wishing,  however, does  not make  it
possible. We have six dead Mord-Sith to show  us the reality  of what is. We
will not throw away the lives of any more because we refuse to recognize the
truth of it."
     "I still think-"
     "Those  of us here have important  things to decide;  I don't have time
for this." Kahlan put her fists on the table and leaned toward the woman. "I
am the Mother Confessor, and the wife to Lord Rahl. You will do as  I say or
you will leave. Do you understand?"
     Rikka's blue eyes shifted to Cara. Cara stood as expressive as a stone.
Rikka looked back at Kahlan and let out a long sigh.
     "I wish to remain with our forces and do my duty."
     "Fine. Now,  go get yourself something to  eat while you still  have  a
chance. We need you to be strong."
     For a  Mord-Sith, Rikka's little nod was about as close to a  salute as
it came. After she was gone, Kahlan swatted at the plague  of mosquitoes and
returned her attention to the map.
     "So,"  she  said, removing  the two  Agiel  from the map, "who  has any
suggestions?"
     "I'd say we have to keep at their edges," Zedd offered.  "Obviously, we
can't be

     throwing ourselves in front of  them. We can do nothing but to continue
to fight them as we have been doing."
     "I agree," Verna said.
     General Meiffert  rubbed his chin as  he stared  down at the map spread
out before them on the table. "What we have to worry about is his size."
     "Well, of course we have to worry about the size of the Order,;' Kahlan
said. "They  have  enough men  to split up and still  be too huge to handle.
That's what I'm talking about-what  we're  going to do when he  splits. If I
were him, that's what I'd do. He knows how it would complicate our lives."
     There was an urgent knock. Warren, over by the window, not bothering to
look at the map with the rest of them, opened the door.
     Captain Zimmer  stepped in, giving a  quick salute of his  fist  to his
heart. Panting as he entered, he  brought  with him  a swirling rush of warm
air that smelled like a horse. Ignoring the rest of them, Warren returned to
his brooding at the window.
     "He's splitting his force,"  Captain Zimmer announced, as if their fear
had given birth to the reality.
     Most in the room sighed unhappily with the news.
     "Any direction, yet?" Kahlan asked.
     Captain  Zimmer  nodded. "From the looks  of it, he's  sending  maybe a
third, possibly a little more, up the  Callisidrin Valley toward Galea.  The
main force is heading to  the northeast, probably to enter and go  north  up
the Kern Valley."
     They all knew the eventual goal.
     Zedd made a fist. "There's no joy in being right, but that's just  what
Kahlan and I talked about. That was our guess."
     General Meiffert  was  still  rubbing his  chin as  he studied the map.
"It's an obvious move, but with the size  of his force  the obvious is not a
liability."
     No one wanted to broach the issue, so Kahlan settled the matter. "Galea
is on its own. We're not sending any troops to help them."
     Captain Zimmer finally waggled a finger at the map. "We need to put our
forces in front of their main force to slow them down.  If we stay  on their
heels instead, we will only be cleaning up the mess they make."
     "I'd have to agree." The general shifted his weight to  his other foot.
"We have  no choice but to  try to slow  them.  We'll have  to  keep  giving
ground, but  at least we can slow them. Otherwise, they are going to move up
through the  center of the  Midlands with the speed and  power  of a  spring
flood."
     Zedd was  watching  the  young  wizard  off by  himself at  the window.
"Warren, what do you think?"
     Warren looked up at  the sound of his name, as if he hadn't been paying
attention. Something  about  him  didn't  look  well. He took  a breath  and
straightened,  his  face  brightening,  making  Kahlan  think  she  had been
mistaken. Hands clasped behind his back, Warren strode to the table.
     He peered at the map from  over Verna's shoulder. "Forget  Galea-it's a
lost  cause. We cannot help them. They will suffer the sentence imposed upon
them by the  Mother Confessor-not because she spoke the  words, but  because
her words were simple truth. Any troops we sent to help would be forfeit."
     Zedd cast a sidelong glance at his fellow wizard. "What else?"
     Warren finally moved closer to the table, wedging himself between Verna
and  the general. With authority,  he firmly planted his finger on  the map,
far  to the  northalmost  three-quarters of the way to  Aydindril from where
they were camped.

     "You have to go there."
     General Meiffert frowned. "Up there? Why?"
     "Because," Warren said,  "you can't  stop Jagang's army-his main force.
You can only hope to slow  them as they move north, up into the Kern Valley.
This is where you must  make a stand, if you hope to delay them next winter.
Once they move through you, they will be upon Aydindril."
     "Move through us?" General Meiffert asked in an surly manner.
     Warren looked up at him. "Well, do you suppose you are going to be able
to stop them?  It wouldn't surprise me if by then they have three and a half
to four million men."
     The  general let out an ill-tempered breath. "Then why  do you think we
should be at that spot-right in their way?"
     "You can't stop them, but  if you harry them sufficiently as they  move
north, you can  keep them from reaching Aydindril this year. At  this  spot,
they will be running out of time before the weather closes in. With a bit of
stiff resistance,  you can  grind them  to  a  halt for  the  winter, buying
Aydindril one more season of freedom."
     Warren looked up into Kahlan's eyes. "The following summer, a year from
now, Aydindril will fall. Prepare them for it in whatever  way you are able,
but make no mistake: the city will fall to the Order."
     Kahlan's blood ran cold. To hear him say the words aloud staggered her.
She wanted to slap him.
     To contemplate the Imperial Order taking their attack into the heart of
the Midlands was horrifying. To accept,  as foreordained, the Imperial Order
seizing the heart of the New World was unthinkable. Kahlan's mental image of
Jagang and  his bloodthirsty  thugs  strolling  the halls of the Confessors'
Palace sickened her.
     Warren  leaned  around the general to look at Zedd.  "The Wizard's Keep
must be protected-you know that better  than  1. It  would be the end of all
hope if their gifted were to gain the Keep and the dangerous things of magic
stored there. I think the time has come to keep  that above all else  in our
thinking. Holding the Keep is vital."
     Zedd smoothed back his unruly white  hair. "I  could hold the  Keep  by
myself, if I had to."
     Warren  looked away from Zedd's hazel eyes. "You may have  to," he said
in a quiet voice. "When we get to this place"-he tapped the  map again-"then
you can do  no more  with the  army, Zedd, and you must  go to safeguard the
Wizard's Keep and the things of magic kept there."
     Kahlan could feel the  blood heating  her  face.  "You're talking about
this as if it's all settled-as  if it has been decided  by fate and there is
nothing we  can  do  about  it.  We can't  win if we  hold such  a defeatist
attitude."
     Warren  smiled,  his shy manner  suddenly surfacing. "I'm sorry, Mother
Confessor. I  didn't mean to give you that impression. I am only offering my
analysis  of the facts of the  situation. We aren't going to be able to stop
them-there's no use deluding ourselves about that.  They grow larger by  the
day. We must also take into account  that there  are going to be lands, such
as  Anderith  and Galea, which fear the Order and will join them rather than
suffer the brutal fate of those who refuse to surrender.
     "I lived  in the Old  World  as  it fell,  bit  by bit, to the Imperial
Order.  I've  studied  Jagang's  methods.  I  know the  man's  patience.  He
methodically conquered  the  entire  Old  World  when  such  a  feat  seemed
inconceivable. He spent years building roads

     just to be able to accomplish his plans. He never wavers from his goal.
There are times when  you can anger or humiliate him into a rash action, but
he quickly comes to his senses.
     "He quickly comes to  his  senses  because  he  has  a  cause  that  is
paramount to him.
     "You must understand something important  about  Jagang. It's  the most
important thing I can tell you about the man: he believes with all his heart
that  what  he is doing  is  right.  He revels in the glory of  conquest and
victory, to be  sure,  but his deepest pleasure is being  the  one  who  has
brought  what  he  sees as  righteousness to those he views as  heathens. He
believes that mankind can only advance, ethically,  if they  are all brought
under the moral authority of the Order."
     "That's just nonsense," Kahlan said.
     "You may think so, but he truly believes he is serving the cause of the
greater good for mankind. He believes piously in this. It is a  sacred moral
truth to him and his ilk."
     "He believes  that  murder,  rape, and  enslavement  are just?" General
Meiffert asked. "He would have to be out of his mind."
     "He was raised at  the  feet of  priests of  the Fellowship  of Order."
Warren lifted a finger to make sure they  all noted his point. "He  believes
that all those things and more are justified. He believes that only the next
world matters, because then we will be  in the eternal Light of the Creator.
The  Order  believes  that  you  earn  that  reward in  the  next  world  by
sacrificing for your fellow man in this world. All those who  refuse  to see
this-that would be us-must either be brought  to follow the Order's ways, or
die."
     "So,"  General Meiffert said, "it's his  sacred duty  to crush us. It's
not plunder he seeks, primarily, but his bizarre version of the salvation of
mankind."
     "Exactly."
     "All right," Kahlan said with a sigh. "So, what do you  think this holy
man of justice will do?"
     "He  basically has two choices, I believe. If he is to  conquer the New
World  and bring  all of mankind under  the authority of the Order,  he must
take  two  important  places,  or he has  not really  succeeded:  Aydindril,
because it is the seat of power in the Midlands, and  the People's Palace in
D'Hara,  because  it  reigns over the  D'Haran  people. If  those two  fall,
everything else  will crumble. He could have gone for either. Emperor Jagang
has now made his choice of which falls first.
     "The  Imperial  Order  is going for Aydindril  in  order  to split  the
Midlands.  Why else  would they go north? What better way to defeat an enemy
than to cleave them in two? After they have  Aydindril, they will turn their
swords to an isolated D'Hara. What better way to demoralize an enemy than to
first go for their heart?
     "I am not saying that it is preordained, but merely telling you the way
the  Order goes about its  grisly  work. This is the same thing  Richard has
already figured out. Given  that we can't realistically expect to stop them,
I think it only wise to face the reality of what is, don't you?"
     Kahlan's gaze sank  to the map. "I believe that in the darkest hours we
must believe in ourselves. I do not  intend to  surrender the D'Haran Empire
to the Imperial Order. We need to wage the best war we can until we can turn
it around."
     "The Mother  Confessor is right,"  Zedd  insisted with quiet authority.
"The last  great  war I fought, in my  youth, seemed just as hopeless  for a
time. We prevailed, and drove the invaders back to the place from where they
had come."

     None of the D'Haran officers said anything. It was D'Hara that was that
invader. "But things are different, now.  That was a war pressed  by an evil
leader." Zedd met the gaze  of General  Meiffert, Captain  Zimmer,  and  the
other D'Haran officers. "Every side in a war has good people, just  as  they
all have the bad. Richard, as the new Lord Rahl, has given those good people
a chance to flourish.
     "We must  prevail in  this. As difficult as  it may  now be to believe,
there are good people in the Old World, too,  who would not wish to be under
the boot heel of  the Order,  or  to  press a war  for the  Order's reasons.
Nonetheless, we must stop them."
     "So," Kahlan  said,  gesturing at the map  before  Warren,  "how do you
think Jagang will press the war?"
     Warren tapped the map again, to the south of Aydindril. "Knowing Jagang
and the  way he conquers his opponents, I think  he will  stick to his grand
plan. He  has a goal and will doggedly continue to move toward it.  There is
nothing we have shown him that he has not seen from  other opponents for his
whole life.  With that experience, I'm sure he finds this war unexceptional.
I  don't mean to discount our  efforts-all war has its surprises, and  we've
given him some nasty ones. I would say,  though, that it is going largely as
he expected.
     "It will take them the summer  to advance to this place I've shown you,
given his usual pace and the fact that you will be harrying them. Jagang, in
general, has always moved slowly, but with unstoppable force. He will simply
pour in enough men to crush the  opposition.  He feels that if he takes time
to get to his enemy, it only gives them more time to tremble in fear of him.
When he  finally arrives,  his  enemies are often ready to crumble from  the
agony of the wait.
     "If you put your force there, where  I showed  you, you will be able to
protect Aydindril  next winter, as Jagang will be content to  bide his time.
He has learned what a hardship the winters are in the New World. He will not
needlessly press a winter campaign. But in the summer, when they move again,
like they do now, then Aydindril will fall-whether or  not you stand against
the  weight of their main force. When they  move on Aydindril,  we must hold
the Wizard's Keep. That is all we can do."
     The  room was  silent.  The fire  was  cold, now. Warren and  Verna had
already packed their things and were ready to go, as was most of the rest of
the army.  Warren and  Verna were losing  their home. Kahlan glanced to  the
side,  letting her  gaze  linger on  the curtains she  had long ago made for
them. Their wedding seemed but a dim memory.
     Her  own  wedding  seemed  but  a distant  dream. Every time  she woke,
Richard seemed almost a ghost to her. Mind-numbing, relentless, never-ending
war seemed the only reality. There were occasional fleeting moments when she
thought that she might have only dreamed him, that he couldn't possibly have
really existed, that their long-ago happy summer home in the mountains never
happened. Those moments of doubt terrified her more than Jagang's army.
     "Warren," Kahlan asked in a soft voice, "what  then? What do you  think
will happen the following summer, after they have taken Aydindril?"
     Warren shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe Jagang will be content  to digest
Aydindril for a  while, to establish  firm  control  over  the Midlands.  He
believes it his duty to his Creator to bring all of mankind under the Order.
Sooner or later, he will move on D'Hara."
     Kahlan finally directed her attention to Captain Zimmer.
     "Captain, get your men ready. While we're getting all  our supplies and
such on

     the  way, you might as well  go and remind Jagang that we have kept our
blades sharp."
     The captain grinned and clapped his fist to his heart.
     Kahlan swept her gaze across everyone in the room.
     "I intend to  make  the Order shed blood for every  inch  they take. If
that is all I can do, then I will do it until I breathe my last breath."


        CHAPTER 53

     The dead-still  air  was sweltering  and  reeked  of  stagnant  sewage.
Richard wiped sweat from his brow. At least  as long as his sturdy wagon was
rolling through the streets he could enjoy a little breeze.
     Distracted out of his concern over knowing Kahlan and Cara  had to have
long since  left the safety of their  mountain home,  he noticed  an unusual
amount of activity for the middle of the night. Shadowy figures hurried down
the dark streets to  dart into dim buildings.  Slashes of light briefly fell
to the street until doors could be pulled shut. The moon was out, and in the
darker alleys he thought he saw people watching him, waiting until he passed
before  they went on  their  way. Over  the rumble  of his wagon's wheels he
couldn't hear anything they might be saying.
     As he turned  onto  the  road that would  take  him out to the charcoal
maker,  he  had to pull  his team up short as  men  with  long pole  weapons
stepped  out and  blocked his way. A guard seized the horses' bits. Other of
the city guard swept out of the side street to point lances up at him.
     "What are you doing out here?" one of the voices asked from the side of
the wagon.
     Richard calmly yanked up on the lever to set the brake.
     "I have a  special pass to move goods at night.  It's for the emperor's
palace."
     The  words  "emperor's palace" were  usually enough to have  him on his
way.
     The guard waggled his fingers. "If  you have a special pass, then let's
see it."
     This night,  the  guards wanted more. Richard pulled a  folded piece of
paper from a  protective leather sleeve inside his shirt and held it down to
the guard. Metal squeaked as the guard slid open a tiny door on his shielded
lantern, letting a narrow slit of light fall across the paper. Several heads
bent  in to read  the words and inspect the  official seals.  They were  all
genuine. They should be-they had cost Richard a small fortune.
     "Here you go." The guard handed the  paper back to Richard.  "Have  you
seen anything unusual as you have gone through the city?"
     "Unusual? What do you mean?"
     The guard  grunted. "If  you had seen anything,  you wouldn't  have  to
ask." He waved his hand. "On your way."
     Richard made no effort to  leave. "Should I be worried?" He made a show
of looking around.  "Are there highwaymen  about? Am I in danger? Is it safe
for a citizen to be out? I'll take the wagon back if it's dangerous."
     The man  chuckled derisively. "You've got nothing to be afraid of. It's
just  some foolish people making trouble because  they've nothing better  to
do."
     "That's all it is? Are you sure?"
     "You have work to do for the palace. Get to it."

     "Yes, sir." Richard clicked his tongue and flicked the reins. The heavy
wagon lurched ahead.
     He didn't know what was going on, but suspected the guards were out  to
catch some more insurgents for questioning. They probably wanted to get back
to their post, so anyone they got their hands on was likely to end  up being
an  insurgent.  A man  from  Ishaq's place had  been arrested  several  days
before. He had been drunk on homemade liquor and left  a meeting  early.  He
never made it  home. A few days later, Ishaq had received word  that the man
had confessed to crimes against the Order. The  man's wife and daughter were
arrested. The wife was released after receiving a specified number of lashes
for  confessing to  speaking ill of  the Order  and  having hateful thoughts
about  her  neighbors.  The daughter had not  yet been released. No one even
knew where she was being held.
     Eventually  he reached  the edge of the city where it gave way to  open
fields. Richard took a deep breath of  the agreeable aroma of freshly turned
earth. Lights from  occasional farms  glimmered  like lonely  stars. In  the
moonlight  Richard  could  finally see  the  rough skyline of forest. As  he
rolled  into the charcoal  maker's place, the charcoal maker, a  nervous man
named Faval, scurried up to the side of the wagon.
     "Richard Cypher! There you are. I was worried about you coming."
     "Why?"
     The man  let  out a high-pitched titter.  Faval frequently  giggled  at
things that weren't funny. Richard understood that it was  just his way.  He
was a jumpy fellow and his laugh was not meant as disrespect, but was rather
something he couldn't help. A lot of people, though, avoided  Faval  because
of his strange laugh, fearing he might be crazy-a punishment, they believed,
imposed  on sinners by the Creator.  Others got angry  at  him  because they
thought he was laughing  at them.  That only made Faval more  nervous, which
made him laugh all the more. Faval was missing his front teeth  and his nose
was  crooked from  being broken a  number  of  times.  Richard knew the  man
couldn't  really help it, and so never gave him trouble  about it. Faval had
taken a liking to him.
     "I don't know, I just thought you might not come."
     Faval's big eyes blinked in the moonlight. Richard's face wrinkled in a
puzzlement.
     "Faval, I said I was coming. Why would you think I might not?"
     Faval's fingers worried at his earlobe. "No reason."
     Richard climbed down. "The city guards stopped me-"
     "No!" Faval's titter  rippled out through  the darkness. "What did they
want? Did they ask you anything?"
     "They wanted to know if I'd seen anything unusual."
     "But you didn't." He giggled. "They let you go. You saw nothing."
     "Well," Richard drawled, "I did see that fellow with the two heads."
     Crickets chirped in the  silence. Faval blinked in astonishment. In the
moonlight, Richard could see his mouth hanging open.
     "You saw a man with two heads?"
     This time, it was Richard  who laughed.  "No, Faval,  I didn't. It  was
just a joke."
     "It was? But it wasn't funny."
     Richard  sighed. "I suppose  not.  Have you  got  the load of  charcoal
ready? I've got a long  night ahead of me. Victor needs a load of steel, and
Priska needs charcoal or  he said he  would  have to close down. He said you
didn't send your last order."

     Faval giggled. "I couldn't! I wanted  to, Richard  Cypher.  I need  the
money.  I owe the loggers for the trees I made into this charcoal. They told
me they were going to quit bringing me wood if I didn't pay them."
     Faval lived at the edge  of a forest, so his source of  wood was handy,
but he wasn't allowed to cut the wood. All resources belonged  to the Order.
Trees were  cut when the  loggers, who  had permits, needed  work,  not when
someone  needed  wood. Most of the wood lay on the ground and rotted. Anyone
caught  picking  up  wood was liable to be  arrested for  stealing  from the
Order.
     Faval held his  hands  up as if to implore Richard's  understanding. "I
tried to get the charcoal transported to Priska, but the committee denied me
permission to transport it. They said I don't need the money. Don't need the
money! Can  you imagine?"  He laughed  painfully. "They told me that I was a
rich man, because I had a business, and that I had to wait while they saw to
the needs of the common people, first. I am only trying to live."
     "I  know,  Faval.  I  told   Priska  that  it  wasn't  your  fault.  He
understands-he  has  troubles  like that  of his  own. He's  just  desperate
because he  needs the  charcoal. You  know Priska; he gets hot at those  who
have  nothing to do with the  problem. I  told him I would  bring a load  of
charcoal tonight, and another two tomorrow night. Can I count on you for two
more loads tomorrow?"
     Richard held out the silver coins for the load of charcoal.
     Faval clapped  his hands together prayerfully. "Oh,  thank you, Richard
Cypher. You are a savior. Those loggers are  a nasty lot. Yes, yes,  and two
tomorrow. I have them  cooling now. You are as good as a ,son to me, Richard
Cypher." He motioned off into  the darkness as he tittered. "They are there,
cooking. You will have them."
     Richard  could  see the  dozens  and  dozens  of  mounds,  like  little
haystacks,  that were the  earthen ovens. Small  pieces  of split wood  were
tightly  stacked around  in  a  circle, with tinder stuffed  in  the center,
building them up into a  rounded pile which  was then covered over with fern
leaves and broom and then plastered over with firm earth. Fire was put in at
the  bottom, then that opening  was closed over.  Moisture and smoke escaped
from small vents in the  top for six to  eight days. When the smoke  ceased,
the vents were sealed to kill  the fire. After it  cooled, the earthen ovens
could  be  opened  and  the  charcoal  removed.  It  was  a  labor-intensive
occupation, but rather simple work.
     "Let me help you load your wagon," Faval said.
     Richard  caught  the man's shirt  at his shoulder as  he started  away.
"Faval, what's going on?"
     Faval  put a finger  to his  lower lip as he laughed. It almost sounded
like it  was painful for him  to laugh. He hesitated,  but finally whispered
his answer.
     "The revolt. It has started."
     Richard had suspected as much. "What do you know about it, Faval?"
     "Nothing! I know nothing!"
     "Faval, it's me, Richard. I'm not going to turn you in."
     Faval laughed. This time it sounded  more like relief. "Of  course not.
Of  course  not. Forgive  me, Richard  Cypher.  I get  so nervous, I  wasn't
thinking."
     "So, what about this revolt?"
     Faval turned up his  hands  in  a  helpless gesture. "The  Order,  they
strangle people. We can't live. If not for you, Richard Cypher, I would be .
. .  well,  I  don't want to think  about  it. But  others, they are  not so
fortunate. They starve. The Order takes

     the food they grow. People have loved ones who have been arrested. They
confess to things they did not do.
     "Did you know  that,  Richard Cypher? That  they confess to things they
did not  do?  I never  believed it myself I  thought that if they confessed,
then they were guilty. Why confess if you are innocent?" He giggled. "Why? I
thought they were terrible people  wanting to  hurt  the Order. I thought it
served them right, and I was glad they were arrested and punished."
     "So what changed your mind?"
     "My  brother." Faval's chuckles  suddenly were sobs. "He helped me make
charcoal. We made it together. We supported our families making charcoal. We
worked from sunup until sundown. We slept in the same house, there. That one
there. One room. We were together all the time.
     "Last year, at a  meeting where we all had to stand up and tell how the
Order made our lives better, as we were leaving, they arrested  him. Someone
gave his name as maybe an  insurgent. I was not worried. My brother was  not
guilty of anything. He makes charcoal."
     Richard waited in the darkness, sweat trickling down his neck, as Faval
stared off into the dark visions.
     "For  a  week,  I went every day  to the barracks to  tell them that he
would  not  do  anything against the Order.  We loved the Order.  The  Order
wishes all people to be fed and cared for.
     "The guards said my brother finally confessed. High crimes, they called
itplotting to overthrow the Order. They said he confessed it to them.
     "The next day,  I was going to go to see more people,  the officials at
the barracks-I  was so angry-to  tell them that  they were cruel animals. My
wife, she cried  and begged me not to go back to the barracks yet again, for
fear they  would arrest  me, too. For her sake, and the children, I did  not
go.  It would do no good, anyway. They had my  brother's  confession. No one
who confesses is innocent. Everyone knows that.
     "They  put