eeper's help--not on their own. Richard alone has been born with Subtractive Magic." "That's what you mentioned last night, but I don't know anything about magic, so I don't know what that means." "We're not exactly sure of everything it means ourselves. Additive Magic uses what is there, and adds to it, or changes it somehow. The magic of the Sword of Truth, for example, uses anger, and adds to it, takes power from it, adds to it until it's something else. With Additive, for example, the gifted can heal. "Subtractive Magic is the undoing of things. It can take things and make them nothing. According to Zedd, Subtractive Magic is the counter to Additive, as night is to day. Yet it is all part of the same thing. "Commanding Subtractive, as Darken Rahl did, is one thing, but to be born with it is quite another. "Long ago, unlike now, being born with the gift--both sides of the gift--was common. The great war then resulted in a barrier sealing the New World off from the Old. That's kept the peace all this time, but things have changed since then. After that time, not only have those born with the gift gradually become exceedingly rare, but those who have been born with the gift haven't been born with the Subtractive side of it. "Richard was born of two lines of wizards, Darken Rahl and his grandfather Zedd. He's also the first in thousands of years to be born with both sides of the gift. "All of our abilities contribute to how we're able to react to situations. We don't know how having both sides contributes to Richard's ability to read a situation and do what's necessary. I suspect he may be guided by his gift, perhaps more than he believes." Jennsen let out a troubled sigh. "After all this time, how did this barrier come to be down, anyway?" "Richard destroyed it." Jennsen looked up in astonishment. "Then it's true. Sebastian told me that the Lord Rahl--Richard--had brought the barrier down. Sebastian said it was so that Richard could invade and conquer the Old World." Kahlan smiled at such a grandiose lie. "You don't believe that part of it, do you?" "No, not now." "Now that the barrier is down, the Imperial Order is flooding up into the New World, destroying or enslaving everything before them." "Where can people live that's safe? Where can we?" "Until they're stopped or driven back, there is no safe place to live." Jennsen thought it over a moment. "If the barrier coming down let the Imperial Order flood in to conquer the New World, why would Richard have destroyed it?" With one hand, Kahlan held on to the side of the wagon as it rocked over a rough patch of ground. She stared ahead, watching Richard walking through the glaring light of the wasteland. "Because of me," Kahlan said in a quiet voice. "One of those mistakes I told you about." She let out a tired sigh. "One of those stabs in the dark." CHAPTER 8 Richard squatted down, resting his forearms across his thighs as he studied the curious patch of rock. His head was pounding with pain; he was doing his best to ignore it. The headache had come and gone seemingly without reason. At times he had begun to think that it just might be the heat after all, and not the gift. As he considered the signs on the ground, he forgot about his headache. Something about the rock seemed familiar. Not simply familiar, but unsettlingly familiar. Hooves partially covered by long wisps of wiry brown hair came to an expectant halt beside him. With the top of her head, Betty gently butted his shoulder, hoping for a snack, or at least a scratch. Richard looked up at the goat's intent, floppy-eared expression. As Betty watched him watching her, her tail went into a blur of wagging. Richard smiled and scratched behind her ears. Betty bleated her pleasure at the scratch, but it sounded to him like she would have preferred a snack. After not eating for two days as she lay in misery in the wagon, the goat seemed to come back to life and begin to recover from the loss of her two kids. Along with her appetite, Betty's curiosity had returned. She especially enjoyed scouting with Richard, when he would let hercome along. It made Jennsen laugh to watch the goat trotting after him like a puppy. Maybe what really made her laugh was that Betty was getting back to her old self. In recent days the land had changed, too. They had begun to see the return of life. At first, it had simply been the rusty discoloration of lichen growing on the fragmented rock. Soon after, they spotted a small thorny bush growing in a low place. Now the rugged plants grew at widely spaced intervals, dotting the landscape. Betty appreciated the tough bushes, dining on them as if they were the finest salad greens. On occasion the horses sampled the brush, then turned away, never finding it to their liking. Lichen that had begun to grow on the rock appeared as crusty splotches streaked with color. In some places it was dark, thick, and leathery, while in other spots it was no more than what almost appeared to be a coat of thin green paint. The greenish discoloration filled cracks and crevasses and coated the underside of stones where the sun didn't bleach it out. Rocks sticking partway out of the crumbly ground could be pulled up to reveal thin tendrils of dark brown subterranean fungal growth. Tiny insects with long feelers skittered from rock to rock or hid in holes in the scattering of rocks lying about on the ground that looked as if they had once been boiling and bubbling, and had suddenly turned to stone, leaving the bubbles forever set in place. An occasional glossy green beetle, bearing wide pincer jaws, waddled through the sand. Small red ants stacked steep ruddy mounds of dirt around their holes. There were cottony webs of spiders in the crotches of the isolated, small, spindly brush growing sporadically across the ever rising plain. Slender light green lizards sat on rocks basking in the sun, watching the people pass. If they came too close, the little creatures, lightning quick, darted for cover. The signs of life Richard had so far seen were still a long way from being anything substantial enough to support people, but it was at least a relief to once again feel like he was rejoining the world of the living. He knew, too, that up beyond the first wall of mountains they would at last encounter life in abundance. He also knew that there they would again begin to encounter people. Birds, as well, were just beginning to become a common sight. Most were small--strawberry-colored finches, ash-colored gnatcatchers, rock wrens and black-throated sparrows. In the distance Richard saw single birds winging through the blue sky, while sparrows congregated in small skittish flocks. Here and there, birds lit on the scraggly brush, flitting about looking for seeds and bugs. The birds disappeared instantly whenever the races glided into sight. Staring at the expanse of rock and open ground before him, Richard rose up, startled, as the reason it looked unsettlingly familiar came to him. At the same time as the realization came to him, his headache vanished. Off to his right, Richard saw Kahlan, with Cara at her side, making their way out to where Richard stood staring down at the astonishing stretch of rock. The wagon, with Tom, Friedrich, and Jennsen, rumbled on in the distance to the south. The dust raised by the wagon and horses hung in the dead air and could be seen for miles. Richard supposed that with the races periodically paying them a visit, the telltale of the dust didn't much matter. Still, he would be glad when they reached ground where they could at least have a chance to try to remain a little more inconspicuous. "Find anything interesting?" Kahlan asked as she wiped her sleeve across her forehead. Richard cast a few small pebbles down at the stretch of rock he'd been studying. "Tell me what you think of that." "I think you look like you feel better," Kahlan said. Her eyes on his, she gave him her special smile, the smile she gave no one but him. He couldn't help grinning. Cara, ignoring the smiles that passed between Richard and Kahlan, leaned in for a gander. "I think Lord Rahl has been looking at too many rocks. This is more rock, just like all the rest." "Is it?" Richard asked. He gestured at the area he'd been scrutinizing and then pointed at another place by where Kahlan and Cara stood. "Is it the same as that?" Cara peered at both areas briefly before she folded her arms. "The rock over there that you've been looking at is just a paler brown, that's all." Kahlan shrugged. "I think she's right, Richard. It looks like the same kind of rock, maybe just a little more of a tan color." She thought it over a moment as she scanned the ground, then added to her assessment. "I guess it looks more like the rock we've been walking across for days until we started encountering a little bit of grass and brush." Richard put his hands on his hips as he stared back at the remarkable stretch of rock he'd found. "Tell me, then, what characterized the rock in the place where we were before--a few days ago, back closer to the Pillars of Creation?" Kahlan looked over at an expressionless Cara and then frowned at Richard. "Characterized it? Nothing. It was a dead place. Nothing grew there." Richard waved his hand around, indicating the land through which they were now traveling. "And this?" "Now things are growing," Cara said, becoming increasingly disinterested in his study of flora and fauna. Richard held a hand out. "And there?" "Nothing is growing there, yet," Cara said in an exasperated sigh. "There are a lot of spots around where nothing is growing yet. It's still a wasteland. Just have patience, Lord Rahl, and we will soon enough be back among the fields and forests." Kahlan wasn't paying attention to what Cara was saying; she was frowning as she leaned closer. "The place where things begin to grow seems to start all at once," Kahlan said, almost to herself. "Isn't that curious." "I certainly think so," Richard said. "I think Lord Rahl needs to drink more water," Cara sniped. Richard smiled. "Here. Stand over here," he told her. "Stand over by me and look again." Cara, her curiosity aroused, did as he asked. She looked down at the ground, and then frowned at the places where things grew. "The Mother Confessor is right." Cara's voice had taken on a decidedly businesslike tone. "Do you think it's important? Or somehow a danger?" "Yes--to the first, anyway," Richard said. He squatted down beside Kahlan. "Now, look at this." As Kahlan and Cara knelt down beside him, leaning forward, looking closely at the rock, Richard had to push a curious Betty back out of the way. He then pointed out a patch of yellow-streaked lichen. "Look here," he said. "See this medallion of lichen? It's lopsided. This side is round, but this side, near where nothing grows, is flatter." Kahlan looked up at him. "Lichen grows on rocks in all kinds of shapes." "Yes, but look at how the rock over where there is lichen and brush growing is spotted all over with little bits of growth. Here, beyond the stunted side of the lichen, there is nearly nothing. The rock almost looks scoured clean. "If you look closely there are a few tiny things, things that have started to grow only in the last couple of years, but they have yet to really begin to take hold." "Yes," Kahlan said in a cautious drawl, "it is odd, but I'm not sure what you're getting at." "Look at where things are growing, and where they aren't." "Well, yes, on that side there's nothing growing, and over here there is." "Don't just look down." Richard lifted her chin. "Look out at the boundary between the two--look at the whole pattern." Kahlan frowned off into the distance. All of a sudden, the color drained from her face. "Dear spirits ..." she whispered. Richard smiled that she finally saw what he was talking about. "What are you two mooning over?" Cara complained. Richard put his hand behind Cara's neck and pulled her head in to look at what he and Kahlan were seeing. "That's odd," she said, squinting off into the distance. "The place where things are growing seem to stop in a comparatively clean line-- like someone had made an invisible fence running east." "Right," Richard said as he got up, brushing his hands clean. "Now, come on." He started walking north. Kahlan and Cara scrambled to their feet and followed behind as he marched across the lifeless rock. Betty bleated and trotted after them. "Where are we going?" Cara asked as she caught up with him "Just come on," Richard told her. For half an hour they followed his brisk pace as he headed in a straight line to the north, across rocky ground and gravelly patches where nothing at all grew. The day was sweltering, but Richard almost didn't notice the heat, so focused was he on the lifeless expanse they were crossing. He hadn't yet gone to see what lay at the other side, but he was convinced of what they would find once they reached it. The other two were sweating profusely as they chased behind him. Betty bleated occasionally as she brought up the rear. When they finally reached the place he was looking for, the place where lichen and scraggly brush once again began to appear, he brought them to a halt. Betty poked her head between Kahlan and Cara for a look. "Now, look at this," Richard said. "See what I mean?" Kahlan was breathing hard from the brisk walk in the heat. She pulled her waterskin off her shoulder and gulped water. She passed the waterskin to Richard. He watched Cara study the patch of ground as he drank. "The growing things start again over here," Cara said. She absently scratched behind Betty's ears when the goat rubbed the top of her head impatiently against Cara's thigh. "They start to appear in the same kind of line as the other side, back there, where we were." "Right," Richard said, handing Cara the waterskin. "Now, follow me." Cara threw up her arms. "We just came from that way!" "Come on," Richard called back over his shoulder. He headed south again, back toward the center of the lifeless patch of rock, the small group in tow. Betty bleated her displeasure at the pace of the hot dusty excursion. If Kahlan or Cara shared Betty's opinion, they didn't voice the complaint. When Richard judged they were back somewhere in the middle, he stood with his feet spread, his fists on his hips, and looked east again. From where they stood, they couldn't make out the sides of the lifeless stretch, the places where growth began. Looking to the east, though, the pattern was evident. A clearly defined strip--miles wide--ran off into the distance. Nothing grew within the bounds of the straight strip of lifeless desert, whether going over rock or sandy ground. To either side the ground with widely spaced brush and lichen growing on the rock was darker. The place where nothing grew was a lighter tan. In the distance the discrepancy in the color was even more apparent. The lifeless strip ran straight for mile after mile toward the far mountains, gradually becoming but a faint line following the rise of the ground until, finally, in the hazy distance, it could no longer be seen. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Kahlan asked in a low, troubled voice. "What?" Cara asked. "What are you thinking?" Richard studied the confused concern on the Mord-Sith's face. "What kept Darken Rahl's armies in D'Hara? What prevented him, for so many years, from invading the Midlands and taking it, even though he wanted it?" "He couldn't cross the boundary," Cara said as if he must be having heat stroke. "And what made up the boundary?" At last, Cara's face, framed by the black desert garb, went white, too. "The boundary was the underworld?" Richard nodded. "It was like a rip in the veil, where the underworld existed in this world. Zedd told us about it. He put the boundary up with a spell he found in the Keep--a spell from those ancient times of the great war. Once up, the boundary was a place in this world where the world of the dead also existed. In that place, where both worlds touched, nothing could grow." "But are you so sure things wouldn't still grow there?" Cara asked. "It was still our world, after all--the world of life." "It would be impossible for anything to grow there. The world of life was there, in that spot--the ground was there--but life couldn't exist there on that ground because it shared that same space with the world of the dead. Anything there would be touched by death." Cara looked out at the straight, lifeless strip running off into the wavering distance. "So you think what? . . . This is a boundary?" "Was." Cara looked from his face, to Kahlan, and again out to the distance. "Dividing what?" Overhead a flight of black-tipped races came into sight, riding the high currents, turning lazy circles as they watched. "I don't know," Richard admitted. He looked west again, back down the gradual slope running away from the mountains, back to where they had been. "But look," Richard said, gesturing out into the burning wasteland from where they had come. "It runs back toward the Pillars of Creation." As the things growing thinned and eventually ceased to be back that way, so too did the lifeless strip. It became indistinguishable from the surrounding wasteland because there was no life to mark where the line had been. "There's no telling how far it runs. For all I know," Richard said, "it's possible that it runs all the way back to the valley itself." "That part makes no sense to me," Kahlan said. "I can see what you mean about it maybe being like the boundaries up in the New World, the boundaries between Westland, the Midlands, and D'Hara. That much I follow. But the spirits take me, I don't get why it would run to the Pillars of Creation. That part just strikes me as more than odd." Richard turned and gazed back to the east, where they were headed, to the rumpled gray wall of mountains rising steeply up from the broad desert floor, studying the distant notch that sat a little north of where the boundary line ran toward those mountains. He looked south, to the wagon making its way toward those mountains. "We better catch up with the others," Richard finally said. "I need to get back to translating the book." CHAPTER 9 The spectral spires around Richard glowed under the lingering caress of the low sun. In the amber light, as he scouted the forsaken brink of the towering mountains beyond, long pools of shadow were darkening to the blue-black color of bruises. The pinnacles of reddish rock stood like stony guardians along the lower reaches of the desolate foothills, as if listening for the echoing crunch of his footsteps along the meandering gravel beds. Richard had felt like being alone to think, so he had set out to scout by himself. It was hard to think when people were constantly asking questions. He was frustrated that the book hadn't yet told him anything that would in any way help explain the presence of the strange boundary line, much less the connection of the book's title, the place called the Pillars of Creation, and those ungifted people like Jennsen. The book, in the beginning that he'd so far translated, anyway, appeared mostly to be an historical record dealing with unanticipated matters involving occurrences of "pillars of Creation," as those like Jennsen were called, and the unsuccessful attempts at "curing" those "unfortunates." Richard was beginning to get the clear sense that the book was laying a careful foundation of early details in preparation for something calamitous. The nearly quaking care of the recounting of every possible course of action that had been investigated gave him the feeling that whoever wrote the book was being painstaking for reasons of consequence. Not daring to slow their pace, Richard had been translating while riding in the wagon. The dialect was slightly different from the High D'Haran he was used to reading, so working out the translation was slow going, especially sitting in the back of the bouncing wagon. He had no way of knowing if the book would eventually offer any answers, but he felt a gnawing worry over what the unfolding account was working up to. He would have jumped ahead, but he'd learned in the past that doing so often wasted more time than it saved, since it interfered with accurately grasping the whole picture, which sometimes led to dangerously erroneous conclusions. He would just have to keep at it. After working all day, focused intently on the book, he'd ended up with a fierce headache. He'd had days without them, but now when they came it seemed they were worse each time. He didn't tell Kahlan how concerned he was that he wouldn't make it to the sliph's well in Tanimura. Besides working at translating, he racked his brain trying to find a solution. While he had no idea what the key to the headaches brought on by the gift was, he had the nagging feeling that it was within himself. He feared it was a matter of balance he was failing to see. He had even resorted when out alone, once, to sitting and meditating as the Sisters had once taught him in order to try to focus on the gift within. It had been to no avail. It would be dark soon and they would need to stop for the night. Since the terrain had changed, it was no longer a simple task to see if the area all around them was clear. Now there were places where an army could lie in wait. With the races shadowing them, there was no telling who might know where to find them. Besides simply wanting a break to think about what he'd read and what he might find within himself to answer the problem of his headaches, Richard wanted to check the surrounding area himself. Richard paused for a moment to watch a family of quail, the juveniles fully grown, hurry across an open patch of ground. They trotted across the exposed gravel in a line while the father, perched atop a rock, stood lookout. As soon as they melted into the brush, they were again invisible. Small scraggly pine trees dotted the sweep of irregular hills, gullies, and rocky outcroppings at the fringe of the mountains. Up higher, on the nearby slopes, larger conifers grew in greater abundance. In low, sheltered places clumps of brush lay in thick clusters. Thin grasses covered some of the open ground. Richard wiped sweat from his eyes. He hoped that with the sun going down the air might cool a little. As he made his way along the concealment of the base of a runoff channel in a fold of two hills, he reached for the strap of his waterskin, about to take a long drink, when movement on a far hillside caught his attention. He slipped behind the screen of a long shelf of rock to stay out of sight. Taking a careful peek, he saw a man making his way down the loose scree on the side of the hill. The sound of the rock crunching underfoot and sliding down the slope sent a distant echo through the rocky canyons. Richard had expected that as they left the forbidding wasteland they might at any time begin encountering people, so he had had everyone change out of the black outfits of the nomadic desert people and back into their unassuming traveling clothes. While he was in black trousers and simple shirt, his sword was hardly inconspicuous. Kahlan, as well, had put on simple clothes that were more in keeping with the impoverished people of the Old World, but on Kahlan they didn't seem to make much difference; it was hard to hide her figure and her hair, but most of all her presence. Once those green eyes of hers fixed on people, they usually had an urge to drop to a knee and bow their head. Her clothes made little difference. No doubt Emperor Jagang had spread their description far and wide and had offered a reward large enough that even his enemies would find it hard to resist. For many in the Old World, though, the price of continued life under the brutal rule of the Imperial Order was too high. Despite the reward, there were many who hungered to live free and were willing to act to gain that goal. There was also the problem of the bond the Lord Rahl had with the D'Haran people; through that ancient bond forged by Richard's ancestors, D'Harans could sense where the Lord Rahl was. The Imperial Order could discover where Richard was by that bond, too. All they had to do was torture the information out of a D'Haran. If one person failed to talk under torture, they would not be shy about trying others until they learned what they wanted. As Richard watched, the lone man, once he reached the bottom of the hill, made his way along the gravel beds lining the bottom of the rocky gullies. Off to Richard's right the wagon and horses were lifting a long trail of dust. That was where the man seemed to be headed. At such a distance it was hard to tell for sure, but Richard doubted that the man was a soldier. He wouldn't likely be a scout, not in his own homeland, and they weren't near the hotbeds of the revolt against the rule of the Imperial Order. Richard didn't think there would be any reason for soldiers to be going this way, through such uninhabited areas. That was, after all, why he had picked this route, heading east to the shadow of the mountains before turning to a more northerly route back to where they had been. There was also the possibility that the bond had inadvertently revealed Richard's whereabouts and an army was out looking for him. If the man was a soldier, there could shortly be many more, like ants, swarming down out of the hills. Richard climbed the back side of a short rocky prominence and lay on his stomach, watching over the top. As the man got closer, Richard could see that he looked young, under thirty years, a bit scrawny, and was dressed nothing at all like a soldier. By the way he stumbled, he was not used to the terrain, or maybe just not used to traveling. It was tiring walking over ground of loose, sharp, broken rock, especially if it was on a slope, since it never provided any solid place for a steady stride. The man stopped, stretching his neck to peer at the wagon. Panting from the effort of making it down the slope, he combed his fine blond hair back repeatedly with his fingers, then bent at the waist and rested a hand on a knee while he caught his breath. When the man straightened and started out once more, crunching through the gravel at the bottom of the wash, Richard slid back down the rock. He used the intervening lay of the land and patches of scraggly pine to screen himself from sight. He paused from time to time, as he moved closer, to listen for the heavy footsteps and labored breathing, checking his dead-reckoning estimation of where the man would be. From behind a freestanding wall of rock a good sixty feet tall, Richard carefully peered out for a look. He had managed to close most of the distance without the man being aware of his presence. Richard moved silently from tree to rock to the back side of slopes, until he was out ahead of the man and in his line of travel. Still as stone behind a twisted reddish spire of rock jutting from the broken ground, Richard listened to the crunch of footfalls approaching, listened to the man gulping for breath as he climbed over fingers of rock that lay in his way. When the man was not six feet away, Richard stepped out right in front of him. The man gasped, clutching his light travel coat beneath his chin as he cringed back a step. Richard regarded the man without outward emotion, but inside the sword's power churned with the menace of rage restrained. For an instant, Richard felt the power falter. The magic of the sword keyed off its master's perception of danger, so such hesitation could be because the smaller man didn't appear to be an immediate threat. The man's clothes, brown trousers, flaxen shirt, and a light, frayed fustian coat, had seen better days. He looked to have had a rough time of his journey--but then, Richard, too, had put on unassuming clothes in order not to raise suspicion. The man's backpack looked to hold precious little. Two waterskins, their straps crisscrossed across his chest, bunching the light coat, were flat and empty. He carried no weapons that Richard saw, not even a knife. The man waited expectantly, as if he feared to be the first to speak. "You appear to be headed for my friends," Richard said, tipping his head toward the thin golden plume of dust hanging like a beacon in the sunlight above the darkening plain, giving the man a chance to explain himself. The man, wide-eyed, shoulders hunched, raked back his hair several times. Richard stood before him like a stone pillar, blocking his way. The man's blue eyes turned to each side, apparently checking to see if he had an escape route should he decide to bolt. "I mean you no harm," Richard said. "I just want to know what you're up to." "Up to?" "Why you're headed for the wagon." The man glanced toward the wagon, not visible beyond the craggy folds of rock, then down at Richard's sword, and finally up into his eyes. "I'm ... looking for help," he finally said. "Help?" The man nodded. "Yes. I'm searching for the one whose craft is fighting." Richard cocked his head. "You're looking for a soldier of some kind?" He swallowed at the frown on Richard's face. "Yes, that's right." Richard shrugged. "The Imperial Order has lots of soldiers. I'm sure that if you keep looking you will come across some." The man shook his head. "No. I seek the man from far away--from far to the north. The man who came to bring freedom to many of the oppressed people of the Old World. The man who gives us all hope that the Imperial Order--may the Creator forgive their misguided ways--will be cast out of our lives so that we can be at peace once again." "Sorry," Richard said, "I don't know anyone like that." The man didn't look disappointed by Richard's words. He looked more like he simply didn't believe them. His fine features were pleasant-looking, even though he appeared unconvinced. "Do you think you could"--the man hesitantly lifted an arm out, pointing--"at least... let me have a drink?" Richard relaxed a bit. "Sure." He pulled the strap off his shoulder and tossed his waterskin to the man. He caught it as if it were precious glass he feared to drop. He pried at the stopper, finally getting it free, and started gulping the water. He stopped abruptly, lowering the waterskin. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start drinking all your water right down." "It's all right." Richard gestured for him to drink up. "I have more back at the wagon. You look to need it." As Richard hooked a thumb behind his wide leather belt, the man bowed his head in thanks before tipping the waterskin up for a long drink. "Where did you hear about this man who fights for freedom?" Richard asked. The man brought the waterskin down again, his eyes never leaving Richard as he paused to catch his breath. "From many a tongue. The freedom he has spread down here in the Old World has brought hope to us all." Richard smiled inwardly at how the bright hope of freedom burned even in a dark place like the heart of the Old World. There were people everywhere who hungered for the same things in life, for a chance to live their life free and by their own labor to better themselves. Overhead a black-tipped race, wings spread wide, popped into sight as it glided across the open swath of sky above the rise of rock to each side. Richard didn't have his bow, but the race stayed out of range, anyway. The man shrank at seeing the race the way a rabbit would shrink when it saw a hawk. "Sorry I can't help you," Richard said when the race had disappeared. He checked behind, in the direction of the wagon, out beyond the nearby hill. "I'm traveling with my wife and family, looking for work, for a place to mind our own business." Richard's business was the revolution, if he was to have a chance for his plan to work, and there were a number of people waiting on him in that regard. He had more urgent problems, first, though. "But, Lord Rahl, my people need--" Richard spun back around. "Why would you call me that?" "I'm, I'm sorry." The man swallowed. "I didn't mean to anger you." "What makes you think I'm this Lord Rahl?" The man painted his hand up and down in front of Richard as he sputtered, trying to find words. "You, you, you just... are. I can't imagine ... what else you want me to say. I'm sorry if I have offended you by being so forward, Lord Rahl." Cara stalked out from behind a rocky spire. "What have we here?" The man gasped in surprise at seeing her as he flinched back yet another step, clutching the waterskin to his chest as if it were a shield of steel. Tom, his silver knife to hand, stepped up out of a gully behind the man, blocking the way should the man decide to run back the way he'd come. The man turned in a circle to see Tom towering behind. As he finally came back around and saw Kahlan standing beside Richard, he let out another gasp. They all were wearing dusty traveling clothes, but somehow Richard didn't suppose that at that moment they looked at all like simple travelers in search of work. "Please," the man said, "I don't mean any harm." "Take it easy," Richard said as he stole a sidelong glance at Cara-- his words meant not only for the man but the Mord-Sith as well. "Are you alone?" Richard asked him. "Yes, Lord Rahl. I'm on a mission for my people, just as I told you. You are of course to be forgiven your aggressive nature--I would expect nothing less. I want you to know I hold no feelings of resentment toward you." "Why does he think you're the Lord Rahl?" Cara said to Richard in a tone that sounded more accusation than question. "I've heard the descriptions," the man put in. Still clutching the waterskin to his chest, he pointed with the other hand. "And that sword. I've heard about Lord Rahl's sword." His gaze moved cautiously to Kahlan. "And the Mother Confessor, of course," he added, dipping his head. "Of course," Richard sighed. He'd expected that he would have to hide the sword around strangers, but now he knew just how important that was going to be whenever they went into any populated areas. The sword would be relatively easy to hide. Not so with Kahlan. He thought that maybe they could cover her in rags and say she was a leper. The man leaned cautiously out, arm extended, and handed Richard his waterskin. "Thank you, Lord Rahl." Richard took a long drink of the terrible-tasting water before offering it to Kahlan. She lifted hers out for him to see as she declined with a single shake of her head. Richard took another long swig before replacing the stopper and slinging the strap back over his shoulder. "What's your name?" he asked. "Owen." "Well, Owen, why don't you come back to camp with us for the night. We can fill up your waterskins for you, at least, before you're on your way in the morning." Cara was near to bursting as she gritted her teeth at Richard. "Why don't you just let me see to--" "I think Owen has problems we can all understand. He's concerned for his friends and family. In the morning, he can be on his way, and we can be on ours." Richard didn't want the man out there somewhere, in the dark, where they couldn't as easily keep an eye on him as they could if he were in camp. In the morning it would be easy enough to make sure that he wasn't following them. Cara finally understood Richard's intent and relaxed. He knew she would want any stranger in her sight while Richard and Kahlan were sleeping. Kahlan at his side, Richard started back to the wagon. The man followed, his head swiveling side to side, from Tom to Cara, and back again. Since they were headed back to the wagon, Richard finished what water remained in his waterskin while, behind, Owen thanked him for the invitation and promised not to be any trouble. Richard intended to see to it that Owen kept his promise. CHAPTER 10 Up in the wagon, Richard dunked Owen's two waterskins in the barrel that still had water. Owen, sitting with his back pressed against a wheel, glanced up at Richard from time to time, watching expectantly, as Cara glared at him. Cara clearly didn't like the fellow, but as protective as Mord-Sith were, that didn't necessarily mean that it was warranted. For some reason, though, Richard didn't care for the man, either. It wasn't so much that he disliked him, just that he couldn't warm to the fellow. He was polite and certainly didn't look threatening, but there was something about the man's attitude that made Richard feel... edgy. Tom and Friedrich broke up dried wood they'd collected, feeding it into the small fire. The wonderful aroma of pine pitch covered the smell of the nearby horses. From time to time Owen cast a fearful eye at Cara, Kahlan, Tom, and Friedrich. By far, though, he seemed most uneasy about Jennsen. He tried to avert his eyes from her, tried not to look her directly in the eye, but his gaze kept being drawn to her red hair shining in the firelight. When Betty approached to investigate the stranger, Owen stopped breathing. Richard told Owen that the goat just wanted attention. Owen gingerly patted the top of Betty's head as if the goat were a gar that might take off his arm if he weren't careful. Jennsen, with a smile and ignoring the way he stared at her hair, offered Owen some of her dried meat. Owen just stared wide-eyed up at her leaning down over him. "I'm not a witch," she said to Owen. "People think my red hair is a sign that I'm a witch. I'm not. I can assure you, I have no magic." The edge in her voice surprised Richard, reminding him that there was iron under the feminine grace. Still wide-eyed, Owen said, "Of course not. I, I... just never saw such ... beautiful hair before, that's all." "Why, thank you," Jennsen said, her smile returning. She again offered him a piece of dried meat. "I'm sorry," Owen said in polite apology, "but I prefer not to eat meat, if it's all right with you." He quickly reached in his pocket, bringing out a cloth pouch holding dried biscuit. He forced a smile at Jennsen as he held out the biscuits. "Would you like one of mine?" Tom started, glaring at Owen. "Thanks, no," Jennsen said as she withdrew her extended hand and sat down on a low, flat rock. She snagged Betty by an ear and made her lie down at her feet. "You'd best eat the biscuits yourself if you don't want meat," she said to Owen. "I'm afraid we don't have a lot that isn't." "Why don't you eat meat?" Richard asked. Owen looked up over his shoulder at Richard in the wagon above him. "I don't like the thought of harming animals just to satisfy my want of food." Jennsen smiled politely. "That's a kindhearted sentiment." Owen twitched a smile before his gaze was drawn once again to her hair. "It's j