Adie laid a gnarled hand on Kahlan’s shoulder.
“Kahlan,” Verna said in a gentle voice, “I can understand how you feel. Ann used me, too, and I didn’t understand why. I thought she used everyone for her own selfish purposes. For a time, I thought her a despicable person. You have every reason to believe as you do.”
“But I would be wrong, Verna? Is that what you were going to add? I’d not be so sure, were I you. You didn’t have to kill a little boy today.”
Verna nodded in sympathy but didn’t argue.
“Adie,” Kahlan asked, “do you think there would be anything you might be able to do for the woman who was accidentally blinded? Perhaps you could help her?”
Adie nodded. “That be a good idea. Verna, take me to her, and let me see what I can do.”
Kahlan cocked her head as the two women moved toward the tent opening. “Did you hear that?”
“The horn?” Verna asked.
“Yes. It sounds like alarm horns.”
Verna squinted in concentration. She turned her head to the side, listening attentively.
“Yes, it does sound like alarm horns,” she finally declared, “but it doesn’t have the right trace of magic through it. The enemy does that often—tries to get us to act based on false alarms. We’ve been having more and more lately.”
Kahlan frowned. “We have? Why?”
“Why…what?”
Kahlan stood. “If we know they’re false alarms, and they don’t work, then why would the Order increase the attempts? That makes no sense.”
Verna’s gaze roved about as as if searching in vain for an answer. “Well, I don’t know. I can’t imagine. I’m no expert in the tactics of warfare.”
Cara turned to go have a look. “Maybe it’s just some scouts coming back in.”
Kahlan turned her head, listening. She heard horses running, but that wasn’t so rare. It could be, as Cara suggested, scouts returning with reports. But, by the sound of the hooves, the horses sounded big.
She heard men yelling. The clash of steel rang out—along with cries of pain.
Kahlan drew her Galean royal sword as she started around the table. Before any of them could get more than a step, the tent shuddered violently as something crashed against its walls. For an instant, the whole thing tipped at an impossible angle; then steel-tipped lances burst through the canvas. With a rush of wind the tent collapsed around them.
The heavy canvas drove Kahlan to the ground as it caved in. She couldn’t get a grip on anything solid as the tent rolled her over and began dragging her along. Hooves thundered past, pounding the ground right beside her head.
She could smell lamp oil as it sloshed across the canvas. With a whoosh, the oil and the tent ignited. Kahlan coughed on the smoke. She could hear the crackle of flames. She could see nothing. She was trapped—rolled up in the bucking tent as it slid across the ground.
Chapter 37
Tightly shrouded in stiff canvas, Kahlan couldn’t see anything. She choked and gagged on the thick, acrid smoke burning her lungs. She pulled frantically at the canvas, trying to disentangle herself, but as she bounced and tumbled along the ground, she couldn’t make any headway gaining her liberty. The heat of flames close to her face ignited in her a sense of panic. Her weariness forgotten, she kicked and struggled madly as she gasped for air.
“Where are you!”
It was Cara’s voice. It sounded close, as if she, too, was being dragged along and strenuously engaged in her own fight for life. Cara was smart enough not to shout Kahlan’s name or title when surrounded by the enemy; hopefully, Verna knew better, as well.
“Here!” Kahlan shouted in answer to Cara.
Kahlan’s sword was trapped, pressed to her legs by the rolled canvas. She managed to wiggle her left hand up onto the knife at her belt. She yanked it free. She had to turn her face to try to keep away from the heat of the oily flames. The smothering smoky blindness was terrifying.
With angry resolve, Kahlan stabbed at the canvas, punching her knife through. Just then, the tent hit something and they were bounced into the air. The hard landing knocked the wind from her lungs. A gasp pulled in suffocating smoke. Again, Kahlan plunged her knife into the heavy canvas and slashed an opening as her entire shroud erupted into flame.
She yelled again to Cara. “I can’t get—”
The tent hit something solid. Her shoulder whacked hard into what felt like a tree stump and she was flipped up and over the top of it. Had she not been wearing her stiff leather armor, the blow surely would have broken her shoulder. Crashing down on the other side, Kahlan tumbled free and across the snow. She spread her arms to stop herself from rolling.
Kahlan saw General Meiffert reach up, seize a fistful of chain mail, and unhorse the man who had been dragging her tent. The man’s eyes gleamed from behind long, curly, greasy hair. His stout body was covered with hides and furs over chain mail and leather armor. He was missing his upper teeth. As he lunged at the general, he lost his head, too.
Yet more Order troops wheeled their big warhorses, striking down at the D’Harans scrambling both to escape the blows and to mount a defense. One of the warhorses charged Kahlan’s way, its rider leaning out, swinging a flail. Kahlan sheathed both her knife and sword. She snatched up the lance of the man who had been dragging the tent. She brought the long weapon up and spun around just in time to plant the butt end in a frozen rut and let the charging warhorse take the steel-tipped point in his chest.
As the grinning Order soldier with the flail leaped from the staggering horse, he drew his sword with his free hand. Kahlan didn’t wait; as he was still alighting on his feet, she spun while drawing her own sword and landed a solid backhanded blow across the left side of his face.
Without pause, she dove under the legs of another horse to dodge a blade when the horse’s rider slashed down at her. She sprang up on the other side and hacked the rider’s leg open to the bone twice before turning just in time to ram her sword up to its hilt into the chest of another horse sidling in, trying to crush her against the first. As the animal reared with a wild scream, Kahlan yanked her sword free and tumbled away just before the big horse crashed to the ground. The rider’s leg was trapped, and he was at an awkward angle to defend himself. Kahlan made the best of the opportunity.
For the moment, the immediate area was clear, enabling her to scramble over to the tent where the general was on his knees, yanking at the snarled mess of canvas and rope. More Order cavalry were thundering past, threatening to trample Verna, Adie, and Cara still trapped in the tangle of tent. At least the burning section had pulled away.
Kahlan worked beside General Meiffert to tug and cut the canvas. At last they ripped open the heavy material, freeing Adie and Verna. The two women were rolled up together, nearly in each another’s arms. Adie’s head was bleeding, but she pushed away Kahlan’s concerned hands. Verna emerged from the cocoon and stumbled to her feet, still dizzy from the wild ride.
Kahlan helped Adie up. The scrape on her brow didn’t look too serious. General Meiffert pulled frantically at the canvas. Cara was still inside, somewhere, but they no longer heard her.
Kahlan seized Verna by the arm. “I thought they were false alarms!”
“They were!” Verna insisted. “Obviously, they tricked us.”
All around, soldiers were engaged in pitched battle with Imperial Order cavalry. Men shouted in fury as they threw themselves into battle; some screamed as they were wounded or killed; others called out orders, commanding a defense, while the men on horseback ordered in their attack.
Some of the cavalry were setting fire to wagons, tents, and supplies. Others charged past, trampling men and tents. Pairs of riders teamed up to single out soldiers and take them down, then charged after another victim.
They were using the same tactics the D’Harans had used. They were doing what Kahlan had taught them to do.
When a soldier, draped in filthy fur and weapons, cried out in bravado as he rushed at
her wielding a raised mace studded with glistening bloody spikes, Kahlan took his hand off with a lightning-swift blow. He staggered to a stop and stared a her in surprise. Without missing a beat, she drove her sword into his gut and gave it a wrenching twist before pulling it free. She turned her attention elsewhere as he crashed down atop a fire. His screams melted in with all the others.
Kahlan fell to her knees once more to help General Meiffert free Cara. He had found her amid the snare of rope and folds of canvas. From time to time one of them had to turn to fight off sporadic attackers. Kahlan could see Cara’s red boots sticking out from under the canvas, but they were still.
Tent line was tangled around Cara’s legs. With Kahlan and the general working together, they cut through the mire of rope and were finally able to unroll Cara. She held her head as she moaned. She wasn’t unconscious, but she was groggy and unable to get her bearings. Kahlan found a lump in her hair, at the right side of her head, but it wasn’t bleeding.
Cara tried to sit up. Kahlan pressed her down on her back.
“Stay there. You were hit on the head. I don’t want you to get up just yet.”
Kahlan looked over her shoulder and saw Verna, nearby, singling out Imperial Order troops, each twitch of her hands casting a fiery spell to blast them from their horses, or a focused edge of air as sharp as any blade, yet more swift and sure, to slice them down. Without the gift themselves, or one of the gifted to protect them, the enemy’s simple armor was no defense.
Kahlan caught Verna’s attention and motioned for her help. Seizing the woman’s cloak at her shoulder, Kahlan pulled Verna close to speak into her ear so as to be heard above the noise of battle.
“See how she is, will you? Help her?”
Verna nodded and then huddled at Cara’s side as Kahlan and the general turned to a fresh charge of cavalry. As one man galloped in close, wielding his lance around, General Meiffert dodged the strike and then leaped up onto the side of the horse, catching hold of the saddle’s horn. With a grunt of angry effort, he drove his sword through the rider. The surprised man clawed at the blade in his soft middle. The general yanked his sword free, then grabbed the man by the hair and dragged him out of the saddle. As the dying man fell away, General Meiffert sprang up into the saddle, in his place. Kahlan snatched up the fallen cavalryman’s lance.
The big D’Haran general wheeled the huge horse into the way of charging enemy cavalry, protecting Verna and Cara. Kahlan sheathed her sword and used the lance to good effect against the warhorses. Horses, even well-trained warhorses, didn’t appreciate being stabbed in the chest. Many people considered them just dumb beasts, but horses were smart enough to understand that driving themselves onto a pointed lance was not what they wanted to do, and reacted accordingly.
As horses bucked and reared when Kahlan stabbed them with her lance, many of their riders fell. Some were injured from the fall onto scattered equipment or the frozen ground, but most came under the swarming attack of the D’Harans.
From atop his Imperial Order warhorse, General Meiffert commanded his men to form a defensive line. After directing them into place, he charged off, roaring a string of orders as he went. He didn’t tell his men who to protect, so as not to betray Kahlan to the enemy, but they quickly saw what it was he intended them to do. D’Harans grabbed up the enemy lances, or came running with their own pikes, and soon there was a bristling line of steel-tipped pole weapons presenting a deadly obstacle to any approaching cavalry.
Kahlan called out orders to men on either side, and, as she joined the line, commanded them into position to block an Imperial Order cavalry unit of about two hundred who were trying to make good their escape. The enemy might have been emulating the raids the D’Haran cavalry had made on the Imperial Order’s camp, but Kahlan wasn’t about to allow them to succeed at it. She intended them to fail.
The enemy’s horses balked when they encountered a solid line of advancing pikes brandished by men shouting battle cries. Soldiers coming from behind the Order cavalry rained down arrows. D’Harans dragged trapped riders from their saddles, down into the bloody hand-to-hand fighting on the ground.
“I don’t want one of them escaping camp alive!” she yelled to her men. “No mercy!”
“No mercy!” every D’Haran within earshot called out in answer.
The enemy, so confident and arrogant as they had charged in, relishing the prospect of spilling D’Haran blood, were now nothing more than pathetic men in the ungainly grip of despair as the D’Harans hacked them to death.
Kahlan left the soldiers with the lances and pikes, now that a defensive line had been established and the enemy was trapped, and ran back through the fires and choking smoke to find Verna, Adie, and Cara. She had to dodge wounded soldiers of both armies on the ground. The fallen attackers who still had fight in them snatched at her ankles. She had to stab several who tried to rise up to grab her. Others afoot who suddenly appeared, she had to cut down.
The enemy knew who she was, or at least they were pretty sure. Jagang had seen her, and no doubt had described the Mother Confessor to his men. Kahlan was sure to have a heavy price on her head.
There seemed to be Imperial Order men scattered throughout the camp. She doubted there had been an attack by foot soldiers; they were probably cavalrymen who had lost their mounts. Horses were often easier moving targets to hit with arrows and spears than were men. In the gathering darkness it was hard to make out enemy soldiers. They were able to sneak through the camp undiscovered as they hunted targets of value, such as officers, or maybe even the Mother Confessor.
When the lurking enemy spotted Kahlan making her way through the chaos, they came out from their hiding places to go after her with wild abandon. Others, she came upon and surprised. Remembering not only her father’s training, but Richard’s admonition, Kahlan cut fiercely into the enemy soldiers. She gave them no opening; no chance; no mercy.
Her training under her father had been a good foundation for the esoteric tactical precepts that Richard had taught her when she was recovering from her wounds back in Hartland. Richard’s way had seemed so strange, then; now, it seemed so natural. In much the same way a lighter horse could outmaneuver a big warhorse, her lighter weight became her edge. She didn’t need the weight because she simply didn’t clash with the enemy in the traditional manner, as they expected. She was a hummingbird, floating out of their reach, swooping in between their ponderous moves to efficiently deliver death.
Such moves were not at odds with the manner of fighting that her father had taught, but complemented it in a way that fit her. Richard had trained her not with a sword, but with a willow switch, a mischievous smile, and a dangerous glint in his eyes. Now, Richard’s sword, strapped over the back of her shoulder, was an ever-present reminder of those playful lessons that had been not only unrelenting, but deadly serious.
She finally found Verna, bent over Cara, but didn’t see the general anywhere. Kahlan snatched Verna’s sleeve.
“How is she?”
“She threw up, but that seemed to have helped, once it passed. She will probably be woozy for a while, but I think she’s otherwise all right.”
“She has a thick skull,” Adie said. “It not be cracked, but she should lie still for a time—at least until she recovers her balance.”
Cara’s hands groped as if having trouble finding the ground beneath her. Despite her obvious dizziness, she was cursing the Prelate and trying to sit up. Kahlan, squatting beside Cara, pressed her shoulder to the ground.
“Cara, I’m right here. I’m fine. Lie still for a few minutes.”
“I want at them!”
“Later,” Kahlan said. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance.” She saw that the blood was cleaned from Adie’s head. “Adie, how are you? How is your head?”
The old sorceress gestured dismissively. “Bah. I be fine. My head be thicker than Cara’s.”
Soldiers had gathered, forming a protective wall of steel. Verna, Adie, and Kahlan
crouched over Cara, keeping an eye on the surrounding area, but the fighting immediately around them seemed to have ended. Even if pockets of battle remained, with the large number of D’Haran soldiers who had protectively closed ranks, the four women were safe for the time being.
General Meiffert finally returned, charging through the line of D’Haran defenders as they parted for him. He leaped from his enemy warhorse. The horse tossed his head at the indignity of being ridden by the enemy, and ran off. The young D’Haran general crouched down on the opposite side of Cara. Winded, he started talking anyway.
“I’ve been down checking with the front lines. This is a raid, much like what we’ve been doing to them. It looked bigger than it really was. When they spotted the Mother Confessor, they called their men into this area, so the damage was mostly focused in this section.”
“Why didn’t we know?” Kahlan asked. “What went wrong with the alarm?”
“Not sure.” He was shaking his head, still getting his breath. “Zedd thinks that they learned our codes, and that when we blew the alarm, they must have used Subtractive Magic to alter the magic woven into the sound that tells our gifted that it’s a real attack.”
Kahlan let out an angry breath. It was all starting to make sense to her. “That’s why there have been so many false alarms. They were numbing us to them so that when they attacked, we would be unconcerned, falsely believing our own alarms were just another enemy false alarm.”
“I’m guessing you’re right.” He flexed his fist in frustration. He looked down then and noticed Cara scowling up at him. “Cara. Are you all right? I was so—I mean, we thought you might be badly hurt.”
“No,” she said, casting a cool glare at Verna and Kahlan, each of whom used a hand to hold her shoulders down. She casually crossed her ankles. “I just thought you could handle it, so I decided to take a nap.”
General Meiffert gave her a quick smile and then turned a serious face to Kahlan.
“It gets worse. This cavalry attack was a diversion. They hoped it might get you, I’m sure, but it was meant to make us believe it was just a raid.”
Faith of the Fallen Page 46
