she could hardly stand. Sweat trickled down between  her breasts. She needed
rest,  but this problem was  more  immediate  and  needed to be attended  to
first.
     On  their  way  to  the  man  waiting  on his knees,  his  eyes  turned
expectantly up  toward Kahlan, Richard halted. There, in the dirt before his
boots,  was the  remains  of the statue Sabar  had  brought  to them. It was
broken  into a hundred  pieces, none of them  any longer recognizable except
that those pieces were still a translucent amber color.
     Nicci's letter had said that they didn't need the  statue, now  that it
had given its warning--a warning that Kahlan had somehow broken a protective
shield sealing away something profoundly dangerous.
     Kahlan  didn't know  what the seal protected, but  she feared  that she
knew all too well what she had done to break it.
     She feared even more that, because of her, the magic of Richard's sword
had begun to falter.
     As Kahlan  stood staring down at  the  amber fragments ground  into the
dirt, despair flooded into her.
     Richard's  arm  circled  her  waist.  "Don't  let your  imagination get
carried away. We  don't know what  this  is  about, yet.  We  can't  even be
certain that it's true--it could even be some kind of mistake."
     Kahlan wished that she could believe that.
     Richard finally slid his sword back into its scabbard.  "Do you want to
rest first, sit a bit?"
     His concern for her took precedence over everything. From the first day
she met him, it always had. Right then, it was his well-being that concerned
her.
     Using  her power sapped a Confessor  of strength.  It  had  left Kahlan
feeling not only weak, but, this time, nauseated. She had been named  to the
post of Mother Confessor,  in part, because her power was so strong that she
was  able to recover it in hours; for others it had taken a day or sometimes
two. At the thought of all those other Confessors, some of whom she'd dearly
loved, being  long dead, Kahlan felt the weight of hopelessness  pulling her
even lower.
     To fully recover her  strength, she would need  a night's rest. At  the
moment,  though,  there were more important considerations, not the least of
which was Richard.
     "No," she said. "I'm all right.  I can rest later.  Let's ask  him what
you will."
     Richard's  gaze moved over the campsite littered with  limbs, entrails,
bodies. The ground was soaked with blood. The stench of  it  all, along with
the still  smoldering body beside the fire,  was making Kahlan sicker by the
second. She turned away from the man on his knees, toward Richard,  into the
protection of his arms. She was exhausted.
     "And  then let's get away  from this place," she said. "We need to  get
away from here. There might  be more men  coming." Kahlan worried that if he
had to draw the sword again, he might  not  have the  help of its magic. "We
need to find a more secure camp."
     Richard nodded his agreement. He looked over her head as he held her to
his  chest.  Despite everything, or perhaps  because of  everything, it felt
wonderful simply to be held. She could hear Friedrich just rushing back into
camp,  panting as  he ran.  He  stumbled to  a halt as  he let out a moan of
astonishment mixed with revulsion at what he saw.
     "Tom, Friedrich," Richard asked, "do you have any idea if there are any
more men coming?"
     "I don't think  so,"  Tom said. "I think they  were together. I  caught
them coming up a gully. I was going to try to make it back here to warn you,
but four  of them came over a rise and jumped  me while the rest ran for our
camp."
     "I  didn't see anyone, Lord Rahl," Friedrich said, catching his breath.
"I came running when I heard the yelling."
     Richard acknowledged Friedrich's words with  a  reassuring hand on  the
man's shoulder. "Help Tom get the horses hitched. I don't want  to spend the
night here."
     As the two men sprang into action, Richard turned to Jennsen.
     "Please lay out some bedrolls  in the back of  the wagon, will you? I'd
like Kahlan to be able to lie down and rest when we move out."
     Jennsen  patted Betty's shoulder,  urging  the goat to follow her.  "Of
course, Richard." She hurried off to the wagon,  Betty trotting along  close
at her side.
     As everyone rushed as quickly as possible to get their things together,
Richard  went by himself to an open patch  of ground nearby to dig a shallow
grave.  There was no time for  a  funeral pyre. A lonely  grave was the best
they could do, but Sabar's spirit was gone, and wouldn't fault the necessity
of their hurried care for his body.
     Kahlan  reconsidered  her thought.  After the  letter  from  Nicci  and
learning the meaning of the warning beacon,  she now had even more reason to
doubt that many things, including spirits, were still true. The world of the
dead was connected to the world  of the  living by links of magic. The  veil
itself was magic and said to be within those  like Richard. They had learned
that without magic those links themselves could fail, and that, since  those
other worlds  couldn't  exist  independent  of the world of  life,  but only
existed in a  relational  sense to the world  of life, should the links fail
completely,  those other  worlds might very well cease  to  exist--much  as,
without the sun, the concept of daytime would not exist.
     It was now clear to Kahlan that the world's hold on magic was slipping,
and had been slipping for several years.
     She knew the reason.
     Spirits,  the good and the bad,  and the  existence  of everything else
that depended  on magic, might  soon be lost. That  meant  that  death would
become final, in every sense of the word. It could even be that there was no
longer the possibility of being with a  loved one after  death,  or of being
with the good spirits. The good spirits, even the  underworld itself,  might
be passing into nothingness.
     When  Richard was finished, Tom helped him gently place Sabar's body in
the  ground. After Tom spoke quiet  words asking  the  good spirits to watch
over one of their own, he and Richard covered the body over.
     "Lord Rahl," Tom said  in a low  voice when they were  finished, "while
some  of  the men began the attack  on you,  here,  others slit  the horses'
throats before joining their fellows to come after you four."
     "All the horses?"
     "Except  mine. My draft horses  are  pretty big. The  men were probably
worried about getting  trampled. They  left some men to take care of  me, so
these here thought  they had me out of the way. They probably  figured  they
could worry  about the draft horses later, after  they had the rest of you."
Tom shrugged his broad shoulders. "Maybe  they even  planned to capture you,
tie you up, and take you in the wagon."
     Richard  acknowledged  Tom's  words with a single  nod.  He  wiped  his
fingers across his forehead.  Kahlan  thought he looked worse than she felt.
She could  see that the headache had returned and was crushing him under the
weight of its pain.
     Tom looked around  their  camp, his gaze  playing over  the fallen men.
"What should we do with the rest of the bodies?"
     "The races can have the rest of them," Richard said without hesitation.
     Tom didn't look to have any disagreement with that. "I'd better go help
Friedrich finish  getting  the horses  hitched  to the wagon.  They'll  be a
handful with the  scent  of blood  in their nostrils  and the  sight of  the
others dead."
     As Tom went to see  to his horses,  Richard called to  Cara. "Count the
bodies," he told her. "We need to know the total."
     "Richard,"  Kahlan asked in a  confidential tone after  Tom was out  of
earshot and Cara had started stepping over  some  of  the bodies and between
others, going about the task of taking a count, "what happened when you drew
the sword?"
     He didn't ask what she meant or try to spare her from worry.
     "There's something  wrong with  its  magic. When  I  drew the sword, it
failed to heed my call. The men were rushing in and I couldn't delay in what
I had to do. Once I met the attack, the magic finally reacted.
     "It's  probably  due  to  the  headaches  from the gift--they  must  be
interfering with my ability to join with the sword's magic."
     "The  last  time you  had the  headaches they didn't interfere with the
sword's power."
     "I told you, don't let your imagination get carried away. This has only
happened since I've started getting  the headaches again. That has to be the
reason."
     Kahlan  didn't know  if  she dared  believe him, or if he  really  even
believed  it  himself. He  was right, though. The problem with  the  sword's
magic had only recently developed--after he started getting the headaches.
     "They're getting worse, aren't they?"
     He nodded. "Come on, let's get what answers we can."
     Kahlan let out a  tired sigh, resigned to that part of  it. They had to
use this chance to find out what information was now available to them.
     Kahlan turned to the man still on his knees.




        CHAPTER 16



     The man's tearful eyes gazed pleadingly  up at Kahlan as she stepped in
front of him. He had been waiting, alone and without her wishes, for quite a
while and as a result was in a state of dire misery.
     "You are  to come with us," Kahlan told him in a cold tone. "You are to
walk  in front of the  wagon for now,  where  we can keep an eye on you. You
will obey the orders  of  any of  the others with  me as  you would obey  my
orders. You will answer all questions truthfully."
     The  man fell to his belly on the ground, in  tears, kissing her  feet,
thanking her profusely  for at last commanding him. Groveling on the ground,
with that V-shaped notch in his ear, he reminded her of nothing so much as a
swine.
     Fists at  her side, Kahlan screamed "Stop  that!"  She didn't want this
murdering pig touching her.
     He  sprang  back   instantly,  aghast   at  the  rage  in   her  voice,
horror-struck that she was displeased with him. He cringed motionless at her
feet, his  eyes wide, fearful that  he would do  something else to displease
her.
     "You aren't in a uniform,"  Richard said to the man. "You and the other
men aren't soldiers?"
     "We're soldiers, just not regular soldiers,"  the man said  with  eager
excitement to be able  to answer the question and thus do Kahlan's  bidding.
"We're special men serving with the Imperial Order."
     "Special? How are you special?"
     With a hint of uncertainty in his wet eyes, the man looked nervously up
at  Kahlan. She gave  him no sign. She had already told him that he  was  to
follow  all their orders. The man, at last  certain of her intention, rushed
to go on.
     "We're a special unit of  men--with the army--our task  is  to  capture
enemies of the Order--we have to pass tests to be sure we're able men--loyal
men--and that we can accomplish the missions we're sent on--"
     "Slow down," Richard said. "You're talking too fast."
     The man glanced quickly at Kahlan, his eyes  filling with tears that he
might have displeased her, too.
     "Go on," she said.
     "We don't wear uniforms or let our purpose be known," the man said with
obvious  relief that if he continued it would  satisfy her. "Usually we work
in  cities, searching out insurrectionists. We mingle  with people, get them
to think of us as one of them. When they plot against the Order, we go along
until we find out the names of all those  involved  and then we capture them
and turn them over for questioning."
     Richard stared  down  at  the man for a  long time, his face showing no
reaction. Richard  had  been in  the  hands  of  the Order and "questioned."
Kahlan could only imagine what he must have been thinking.
     "And  do you hand over only those who  you know  to be plotting against
the Order?" Richard asked.  "Or  do you simply turn in those you suspect and
anyone who they know?"
     "If we suspect  they might be plotting--like if they keep to themselves
and their own group, and won't open their lives  to other  citizens--then we
turn them  in to be questioned so  that it can be determined what they might
be hiding." The man licked his  lips, keen to tell them  the  full extent of
his  methods. "We  talk to those  they work with, or neighbors, and get  the
names of anyone  they associate  with, any of their  friends--sometimes even
their closest  family members. We  usually take at least some  of them, too,
and  turn  them  over  for questioning.  When they're  questioned, they  all
confess their crimes against the Order  so that proves  our suspicions about
them were right."
     Kahlan thought that Richard might draw his  sword and behead the man on
the  spot. Richard knew all too well what they did to those who were brought
in, knew how hopeless was their plight.
     Confessions obtained under torture often  provided  names of anyone who
might be suspicious for any reason, making  the job of torturing a very busy
profession.  The people  of  the Old World lived in constant fear that  they
would be taken to one of the many places where people were questioned.
     Those pulled in were rarely guilty  of plotting against the Order; most
people were too  busy just trying to survive, trying to feed their families,
to have  time  to plot  to overthrow the rule  of the  Imperial  Order. Many
people did, however, talk about a better life, about what they would like to
do, to grow, to create, to own,  about their hopes that their children would
have a better life than theirs. Since mankind's duty  was  sacrifice  to the
betterment of their fellow  man, not  to their own betterment, that, to  the
Imperial Order, was not just insurrection, but blasphemy. In the  Old World,
misery was a widespread virtue, a duty to a higher calling.
     There  were others  who  didn't dream of a better life,  but dreamed of
helping the Order  by  turning in  the names  of those who spoke ill  of the
Order, or hid food  or even a  bit of money, or talked  of  a  better  life.
Turning in such "disloyal citizens" kept yet other fingers  from pointing at
the informer. Informing became an indicator of sanctity.
     Instead of drawing his sword, Richard changed the subject. "How many of
you were there, tonight?"
     "Including me, twenty-eight," the man said without delay.
     "Were you all together in one group when you attacked?"
     The  man nodded, keen to admit their whole plan and thus gain Kah-lan's
approval. "We wanted to make sure you and, and..." His eyes turned to Kahlan
as  he  realized  the incompatibility  of  his  two  goals--  confessing and
pleasing the Mother Confessor.
     He  burst  into  tears, clasping his  hands prayerfully.  "Forgive  me,
Mistress! Please, forgive me!"
     If  his voice was the  quintessence of emotion, hers was the  opposite.
"Answer the question."
     He brought his sobbing to a  halt  in order  to  speak as  he  had been
commanded. Tears, though,  continued  to stream down his filthy cheeks.  "We
stayed together for a  focused attack, so we could be sure that  we captured
Lord  Rahl  and,  and... you, Mother Confessor.  When  trying  to  capture a
good-size group we split up,  with half  holding back to look for anyone who
might  try to slip away, but  I told the men  that I wanted the both of you,
and you  were said to be together, so this was  our chance. I didn't want to
run the risk that you would  have any hope of fighting us off, so I  ordered
all the men to the attack, having some cut the throats of the saddle horses,
first, to prevent any possibility of escape."
     His face brightened. "I never suspected that we might fail."
     "Who sent you?" Kahlan asked.
     The man shuffled forward on his  knees, his hand tentatively  coming up
to touch her leg. Kahlan remained motionless,  but by her icy glare  let him
know that touching her would displease her greatly. The hand backed away.
     "Nicholas," he said.
     Kahlan's  brow  twitched. She had been expecting him  to say Jagang had
sent him.
     She was wary of the possibility that the dream walker might be watching
through this man's eyes. Jagang had  in the past sent assassins after he had
slipped into their  thoughts. With Jagang  in a person's mind,  he dominated
and  directed them,  and even  Cara could  not control  them. Nor, for  that
matter, could Kahlan.
     "You're lying to me. Jagang sent you."
     The man fell to pitiful  weeping.  "No,  Mistress!  I've  never had any
dealings  with His Excellency. The  army is vast and  far-flung. I  take  my
orders from those  in my  section.  I don't  think  that the ones they  take
orders  from, or  their  commanders,  or  even  theirs,  are worthy  of  His
Excellency's  attention.  His  Excellency is far to the north,  bringing the
word of the Order's salvation to a  lawless and savage people; he would  not
even be aware of us.
     "We are but a lowly squad  of men with the muscle  to snatch people the
Order wants, either for questioning or to silence them. We are all from this
part of the empire and so we were called upon because we were here. I am not
worthy of the attention of His Excellency."
     "But Jagang has visited you--in your dreams. He has visited your mind."
     "Mistress?"  The  man looked terrified  to have to  question her rather
than answer her question. "I don't understand."
     Kahlan stared. "Jagang has come into your mind. He has spoken to you."
     He looked sincerely puzzled as he shook his head. "No, Mistress. I have
never met His  Excellency.  I  have  never dreamed about  him--I  don't know
anything  about him, except that Altur'Rang has the honor of being the place
where he was born.
     "Would you like me to kill him for you, Mistress? Please, if it is your
wish, allow me to kill him for you?"
     The man didn't know how preposterous such a notion was;  in his  desire
to  please her, though, if  she commanded  it  he would be only too happy to
make the attempt. Kahlan turned her back on the man as Richard watched him.
     She  leaned toward  Richard  a bit as  she  spoke quietly, so  the  man
wouldn't  hear. "I  don't know if those  visited  by the dream  walker  must
always be aware of it, but I think they would  be. The ones I've seen before
were mindful of Jagang's presence in their mind."
     "Couldn't the  dream  walker  slip into a person's  mind without  their
being aware of it just so he could watch us?"
     "I suppose it's possible," she said. "But think of all the  millions of
people  in the Old World--he can't know whose mind to enter so he can watch.
Dream walker or not, he is only one man."
     "Are you gifted?" Richard asked the man.
     "No."
     "Well," Richard  whispered, "Nicci told me that  Jagang rarely  bothers
with the ungifted. She said  that it was difficult for him  to take the mind
of the  ungifted,  so he  simply uses the gifted  he controls  and has  them
control the ungifted for him.  He has all the Sisters he's captured  that he
has  to  worry about. He  has to maintain his  control over  them and direct
their actions--including  what we started  to read in  Nicci's letter--about
how he's guiding  the Sisters in altering people into weapons.  Besides that
he heads the  army and plans strategy. He has a lot  of things to manage, so
he usually confines himself to the minds of the gifted."
     "But not always. If he has to, if  he needs to, if he wants  to, he can
enter the minds of the ungifted. If  we were  smart," Kahlan whispered,  "we
would kill this man now."
     As they  spoke,  Richard's glare never left the man. She knew  he would
not hesitate to agree unless he thought the man might still be of use.
     "I  have but to  command  it," Kahlan reminded  him,  "and he will drop
dead."
     Richard took in her eyes for a moment, then turned  back to the man and
frowned. "You said someone named Nicholas sent you. Who is this Nicholas?"
     "Nicholas is a fearsome wizard in the service of the Order."
     "You saw him. He gave you these orders?"
     "No. We  are too lowly  for one such as he  to bother with us. He  sent
orders that were passed down."
     "How did you know where we were?" Richard asked.
     "The orders included  the general  area. They said  that we should look
for  you  coming north at the eastern edge of the desert wasteland and if we
found you we were to capture you."
     "How did Nicholas know where we were?"
     The man blinked,  as if searching his mind to see if he had the answer.
"I don't know. We weren't  told how he  knew. We were told only that we were
to search this area and if we found you we were to bring you both in, alive.
The  commander who passed on  the orders  told me not  to fail or  the Slide
would be very displeased with us."
     "Who would be displeased? ... The Slide?"
     "Nicholas  the  Slide. That is what he's  called. Some people just call
him 'the Slide.' "
     Frowning, Kahlan turned back to the man. "The what?"
     The man began trembling at her frown. "The Slide, Mistress."
     "What does that mean? The Slide?"
     The man fell to  wailing, his hands clasped together again as he begged
her forgiveness. "I don't  know, Mistress. I don't know. You asked  who sent
me, that is his name. Nicholas. People call him the Slide."
     "Where is he?" Richard asked.
     "I don't know,"  the man blurted out as he wept. "I  received my orders
from my commander. He said that a Brother of the Order brought the orders to
his commander."
     Richard  took a deep breath  as he rubbed the back  of his neck.  "What
else do you know about this Nicholas, other than that he's a wizard and he's
called 'the Slide'?"
     "I only know to fear him, as do my commanders."
     "Why? What happens if you displease him?" Kahlan asked.
     "He impales those who displease him."
     With the stench of blood and burning flesh,  along with the  things she
was hearing, it was all Kahlan could do to keep from being sick. She  didn't
know how much longer her stomach could take it if they stayed in this place,
if this man told her anything else.
     Kahlan  gently  grasped   Richard's  forearm.  "Please,  Richard,"  she
whispered, "this isn't really getting us anything very useful. Please, let's
get out of here? If we think of anything, we can question him more later."
     "Get  out in front of the wagon," Richard said  without  hesitation. "I
don't want her having to look at you."
     The man bobbed his head and scrambled away.
     "I don't think Jagang  is  in  his mind," Kahlan said, "but what if I'm
wrong?"
     "For now, I think we should keep him alive. Out  in front of the wagon,
Tom  will have a clear view of him. If we're wrong, well, Tom  is very quick
with  his  knife." Richard let  out a shallow breath.  "I've already learned
something important."
     "What?"
     His hand in the small of her back started  her moving. "Let's get going
and I'll tell you about it."
     Kahlan could see the wagon waiting in  the distant darkness. Tom's eyes
followed  the man as he ran out  in front of  the big draft horses and stood
waiting. Jennsen and Cara were in the back of the wagon. Friedrich sat up on
the seat beside Tom.
     "How many?" Richard called to Cara as they approached the wagon.
     "With the four out in the hills that Tom  took  care  of, and this one,
here, twenty-eight."
     "That's all of them, then," Richard said with relief.
     Kahlan felt his hand on  the small of her back slip away. He  staggered
to a halt. Kahlan paused  beside him, not knowing why he'd  stopped. Richard
sank to one knee. Kahlan dropped down beside him, throwing an arm around him
for support. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain. With his arm  pressed across
his abdomen, he doubled over.
     Cara leaped over the side of the wagon and raced to their side.
     Despite how exhausted Kahlan was,  panic jolted  her  instantly to full
alert. "We need to  get to the sliph," she said to Cara as  well as Richard.
"We need to get to Zedd and get some answers--and some help. Zedd can help."
     Richard drew labored breaths, unable  to speak  as he  held his  breath
against a wave of agony. Kahlan felt helpless not knowing what to do to help
him.
     "Lord Rahl," Cara said,  kneeling before him, "you have been taught  to
control pain. You must do that,  now." She seized  a fistful of his hair and
lifted his  head to be  able to  look into his eyes. "Think," she commanded.
"Remember. Put the pain in its place. Do it!"
     Richard clutched her forearm as if to thank her for her words. "Can't,"
he finally managed to say to Kahlan through his obvious suffering. "We can't
go in the sliph."
     "We must," she insisted. "The sliph is the fastest way."
     "And  if  I step  down  into the  sliph,  breathe  in that  quicksilver
creature--and my magic fails?"
     Kahlan was frantic.  "But  we must go in  the  sliph to get there in  a
hurry." She feared to say "in time."
     "And  if anything is  wrong, I'll die." He panted,  trying to catch his
breath against the  pain. "Without magic, breathing the sliph is death.  The
sword is failing me." He swallowed, coughed, gasped for  breath. "If my gift
is  causing the headaches, and that's making magic falter in me, and I enter
the sliph,  I will be dead after I take the first  breath. There's no way to
test it."
     An  icy  wave of  terror shot through  her veins.  Getting to Zedd  was
Richard's only hope. That had been her plan. Without help, the  headaches of
the gift would kill him.
     She  feared,  though, that she knew why  the  magic of  his  sword  was
failing, and it  wasn't the  headaches. She feared that  it  was in fact the
same  thing  that  had  caused  the  seal to be broken. The  warning  beacon
testified that she was the cause of that. If it was true, then she  was  the
cause of that and much more.
     If she was right, she realized, if it was true,  then Richard was right
about  the sliph--going  into  the sliph  would indeed be death.  If she was
right, then he wouldn't even be able to call  the sliph, much less travel by
it.
     "Richard Rahl, if you're going  to throw  mud on my best ideas then you
had better have an idea of your own to offer in its place."
     He was gasping, now, in the clutch of violent pain. And then Kahlan saw
blood when he coughed.
     "Richard!"
     Tom,  looking  alarmed, raced up  beside  them. When he  saw  the blood
running down Richard's chin, he turned ashen.
     "Help him to the wagon," Kahlan said, trying to keep her voice steady.
     Cara  put her shoulder under his arm. Tom circled an arm around Richard
and helped Kahlan and Cara lift him to his feet.
     "Nicci," Richard said.
     "What?" Kahlan asked.
     "You wanted to know if I had an  idea. Nicci." He  gasped in  pain  and
struggled to  get his breath.  Yet more blood came  when  he coughed. It was
dripping off his chin.
     Nicci was a sorceress, not  a wizard. Richard needed a  wizard. Even if
they  had  to travel  overland, they  could  race  there. "But Zedd would be
better able--"
     "Zedd  is too far," he said. "We need to get to Nicci. She can use both
sides of the gift."
     Kahlan hadn't thought of that. Maybe she really could help.
     Halfway to the wagon, Richard  collapsed.  It was all  they could do to
hold  up his  dead weight.  With Tom gripping him  under  the backs  of  his
shoulders and Cara and Kahlan each holding a leg, they ran the rest  of  the
way to the wagon.
     Tom,  without  the need of help  from Cara  and Kahlan, hoisted Richard
into the back of the wagon. Jennsen hurriedly unfurled another bedroll. They
laid  Richard out as carefully  as they  could. Kahlan felt  as  if she were
watching herself react, move, talk. She  refused to allow herself to give in
to panic.
     Kahlan and Jennsen tried to lean in, to see how he was, but Cara shoved
them back out of the  way.  She  bent over Richard,  putting  her ear to his
mouth, listening.  Her fingers  felt for a pulse at the  side of his throat.
Her other hand cupped the back of  his  neck, no doubt preparing to hold him
to give him the breath of  life if  she had to. Mord-Sith were knowledgeable
about such things;  they knew how  to keep people alive in  order to  extend
their torture. Cara knew how to use that knowledge to help save lives, too.
     "He's breathing," Cara said  as she straightened. She laid a comforting
hand on Kahlan's arm. "He's breathing easier now."
     Kahlan nodded  her thanks, unwilling  to  test  her voice. She moved in
closer to Richard,  on the  other side, while Cara wiped the blood  from his
chin and mouth. Kahlan felt helpless. She didn't know what to do.
     "We'll  ride  all night,"  Tom said  over his shoulder as he climbed up
into the driver's seat.
     Kahlan forced herself to think. They had to get to Nicci.
     "No,"  she said.  "It's a  long way  to Altur'Rang. We're not near  any
roads; picking  our way  cross country in  the dark  is foolhardy. If  we're
reckless  and push too  hard we'll just end up  killing the horses--or  they
could break a leg,  which would  be  just as bad.  If we lose the horses, we
can't very well carry Richard all the way and expect to make it in time.
     "The wisest thing  to do is  to go just as fast as we possibly can, but
we also  have to get rest  along  the  way to be ready should we be attacked
again. We have to use our heads or we'll never make it."
     Jennsen held Richard's hand in both of hers. "He has that headache, and
he  fought all those  men--maybe if  he can just get some  sleep,  he'll  be
better, then."
     Kahlan was buoyed by that thought,  even though she didn't think it was
that simple.  She stood in the wagon bed, looking out at the man waiting for
her to command him.
     "Are there any more of you? Any more sent  to  attack us or capture us?
Did this Nicholas send anyone else?"
     "Not that I'm aware of, Mistress."
     Kahlan spoke softly to Tom. "If he even looks like he's  going to cause
any trouble, don't hesitate. Kill him."
     With a nod, Tom  readily agreed.  Kahlan  dropped back  down  and  felt
Richard's brow. His skin was cold and wet.
     "We'd best go on until we find a place that will be easier to defend. I
think Jennsen is right that he needs rest; I  don't think bouncing around in
the back of this wagon is going to help him. We'll all need to get some rest
and then start out at first light."
     "We need to find a horse," Cara said. "The wagon is too slow. If we can
find a horse, I'll ride  like the wind, find Nicci, and start back with her.
That way we don't have to wait all the way until we get there in the wagon."
     "Good idea." Kahlan looked up at Tom. "Let's get going--find a place to
stop for the night."
     Tom nodded as he threw off the brake. At his  urging, the horses heaved
their weight against the names and the wagon lurched ahead.
     Betty, puling  softly,  lay  beside an unconscious Richard and  put her
head down on his shoulder. Jennsen stroked Betty's head.
     Kahlan  saw  tears  running  down Jennsen's cheeks.  "I'm  sorry  about
Rusty."
     Betty's head came up. She let out a pitiful bleat.
     Jennsen nodded. "Richard will be all right," she said, her voice choked
with tears as she took Kahlan's hand. "I know he will."




        CHAPTER 17



     Zedd thought he heard something.
     The spoonful of stew he was about to put into his waiting mouth paused.
He remained motionless, listening.
     The Keep often had sounded alive to him,  as if it were breathing. Once
in  a  while  it even  sounded as if it were letting  out a small sigh. Ever
since  he was a boy,  Zedd had, on occasion, heard loud  snaps that he never
could  trace.  He suspected such sounds  were most likely the massive  stone
blocks moving just a tad, popping as they yielded ground against a neighbor.
There  were stone blocks  down in the foundations of  the Keep that were the
size of small palaces.
     Once, when Zedd  was no more than ten or twelve, a  loud crack had rung
through the entire Keep as if the place had been struck with a giant hammer.
He ran out of the  library,  where  he'd been studying, to see  other people
coming  out of  rooms  all up  and down  the hall, looking about, whispering
their worries to one another. Zedd's father had later  told  him that it was
found  to  be  nothing  more than one of the huge foundation blocks cracking
suddenly, and while  it posed no structural problem, the abrupt snap of such
an enormous  piece of granite had been  heard throughout the Keep.  Although
such  occurrences  were rare,  it was  not  the  last  time he  heard such a
harmless, but frightening, sound in the Keep.
     And then  there were the animals. Bats flew unrestricted through  parts
of the Keep.  There were towers that soared to dizzying heights, some  empty
inside but for  stone stairs curving up around the inside of  the outer wall
on their way up to a  small room at the top,  or an observation deck. In the
dusty streamers of sunlight penetrating  the dark interiors of those  towers
there could be seen myriad bugs flitting about. The bats loved the towers.
     Rats,  too,  lived in parts  of  the Keep. They  scurried and squeaked,
sometimes  causing  a  fright.  Mice were  common  in places,  making  noise
scratching and gnawing at things. And then there were the cats, offspring of
former mousers and pets, but  now all wild, that lived  off the rats and the
mice. The cats  also  hunted the  birds  that flew  in and out  of uncovered
openings to feed on bugs, or to build nests up in high recesses.
     There were sometimes awful  sounds when a bat, a mouse, a bird, or even
a cat  went somewhere they weren't permitted. The shields were meant to keep
people away from dangerous or restricted areas, but they were also placed to
prevent unauthorized access to many of the items stored and preserved in the
Keep.  The  shields  guarded against life; they made  no distinction between
human and nonhuman life.
     Otherwise,  after  all,  a  pet  dog that  innocently  wandered into  a
restricted  area  could  theoretically  retrieve  a  dangerous talisman  and
proudly take it to a child master who could be put in peril by it. Those who
placed  the  shields  were aware that it was also possible for  unscrupulous
people  to  train  animals to go  to restricted areas,  snatch whatever they
might be able to carry, and bring it to them.  Not knowing what animal might
potentially be trained for  such a task,  the shields were made to ward  all
life. If a bat flew into the wrong shield, it was incinerated.
     There were shields  in the Keep  that  even Zedd could not  get through
because they required both sides of the gift and he had only the Additive.
     Some of the shields took the form of a barrier of magic that physically
prevented passage in some way, either by restricting movement or by inducing
a  sensation so unpleasant that  one wouldn't  force  oneself  beyond. Those
shields  were meant to  prevent  ungifted people  or children from  entering
certain  areas,  not to  prevent  entrance  to  the gifted, so  it  was  not
necessary for those shields to kill.
     But such shields only worked for those who were ungifted.
     In other places, entrance was  strictly  forbidden to anyone but  those
with not only  the appropriate  ability, but  proper authority. Without both
the  appropriate  ability  and  authority  granted by  spells  keyed  to the
particular  defenses  in  that  area,  such as  metal plates that had  to be
touched by an  authorized wizard, the shields  killed whatever entered them.
The shields killed animals as infallibly, as effectively, as they would kill
any intruder.
     Such dangerous shields gave warnings of heat,  light, or  tingling as a
warning so  as to prevent people from unintentionally going near them--after
all,  with the  size of the place, it was easy  enough  to become lost. Such
warnings  worked for  the  animals,  too, but  occasionally  a cat  chased a
panicked mouse into a lethal  shield, and sometimes  the cat, racing  after,
would run right into it as well.
     As Zedd  waited, listening, the  silence stretched on, unbroken.  If he
really had heard something, it could have been the Keep moving, or an animal
squeaking when it approached a shield, or even a gust of wind coming through
one of the  hundreds of openings.  Whatever it was, it was  silent, now. The
wooden spoonful of stew finally completed its journey.
     "Umm ..." Zedd declared to no one in particular. "Good!"
     To his great disappointment when he'd  first  tasted it, he  had  found
that  the  stew wasn't done. Rather  than hurry  the  process with a  bit of
magic, and possibly incur Adie's wrath for  meddling with her  cooking, Zedd
had sat down on the couch and resigned himself to doing a bit of reading.
     There  was  no  end to the  reading.  Books  offered  the potential  of
valuable information  that  could aid  them in ways they  couldn't foretell.
From time to time, as he read, he checked the  progress of  the stew, rather
patiently, he thought.
     Now, as he tasted it, it finally  seemed to be done. The chunks of  ham
were so tender  they  would fall apart when his  tongue pressed them to  the
roof of his mouth. The  whole  delightfully  bubbling pot had  taken  on the
heady melding of  onions and oils, carrots and turnips, a hint of garlic and
a dizzying  swirl of  complementary spices, all crowded with nuggets of ham,
some still with crisp fat along one edge.
     To his great annoyance, Zedd had long ago noticed that Adie hadn't made
any  biscuits. Stew went  well with biscuits.  There should be  biscuits. He
decided that a bowl of stew would hold him until she returned and made some.
There should be biscuits. It was only right.
     He didn't know where Adie had gone. Since he had been down in Aydindril
most of the day, he reasoned  that  she  had probably gone off to one of the
libraries to  search through books for anything  that might be of help.  She
was  a great help ferreting potentially relevant books out of the libraries.
Being from Nicobarese,  Adie sought out books  in that  language. There were
books all over the Keep, so there was no telling where she was.
     There were also storerooms filled  with racks and racks of bones. Other
rooms  contained rows of tall cabinets, each with hundreds  of drawers. Zedd
had seen bones  of creatures there that he had never seen in  life. Adie was
an expert of sorts on bones. She had lived for a good portion of her life in
seclusion in the shadow of  the boundary. People living in the area had been
afraid of  her; they called her the bone  woman because she collected bones.
They had been  everywhere in  her house.  Some of  those bones protected her
from the beasts that came out of the boundary.
     Zedd  sighed. Books  or  bones, there  was no  telling  where she  was.
Besides that, there were  any number  of  other things in  the Wizard's Keep
that  would be of great interest to a sorceress.  She might even have simply
wanted to go for a walk, or up on a rampart to gaze at the stars and think.
     It was much easier  to  wait for her to  come back to her stew than for
him to go looking  for her. Maybe he should have put one of the bells around
her neck.
     Zedd hummed a merry tune to himself  as he spooned stew into  a  wooden
bowl. No use waiting on an empty  stomach, he always said;  that only made a
person grouchy. It was really better  to have  a snack and be in good  humor
than to  wait and  be miserable.  He would only  be  bad company  if  he was
miserable.
     On the eighth spoon of stew into the bowl, he heard a sound.
     His hand froze above the bubbling pot.
     Zedd thought he'd heard a bell tinkle.
     Zedd wasn't given  to flights of imagination or to  being  unreasonably
jumpy, but a cold shiver tingled across his flesh as if he'd been touched by
the  icy fingers  of a spirit  reaching  out  from  another world.  He stood
motionless, partly bent toward the pot in the fire, partly turned toward the
hall, listening.
     It could be a cat. Maybe he hadn't  tied  the thin cord high enough and
as a cat  went under the line  its tail had swished  up  and rung the  bell.
Maybe  a  cat  was being  mischievous  and as  it sat on  its haunches, tail
swishing back and forth, it had batted a bell. It could be a cat.
     Or maybe a bird had landed on the line to roost for the night. A person
couldn't  get past the shields in  order  to trip a belled  cord.  Zedd  had
placed extra shields. It had to be an animal--a cat, or a bird.
     If  so, if no one could get past  the regular shields and the extras he
had placed, then why had he strung bells?
     Despite the likely explanations,  his hair wa