2 - Stone of Tears

by Goodkind, Terry

  Kahlan thought back to every gathering they had been at together. 'I think you're right.' She rubbed a hand on his chest. 'I think the only solution is for us to be alone.'

  Richard kissed her hand. 'I would like that.'

  She enfolded his big hand in both of hers, wanting to feel the warmth of him as she watched him rest. It was dead quiet in the spirit house, except for the slow crackling of the fire. She listened to his slow, steady breathing.

  After a while, he slid his hand away, and looked up at her. Firelight reflected in his eyes. There was something about his face, his eyes; something her mind was trying to tell her. He looked like someone else she had met, but who? A name whispered in the back of her thoughts, but she couldn't quite hear it. She stroked his hair back off his forehead. His skin didn't feel quite so cold.

  He sat up. 'I just thought of something. I asked the elders for permission to marry you, but I haven't really asked you.'

  Kahlan smiled. 'No, you haven't.'

  Suddenly he looked embarrassed and unsure of himself.

  His eyes wandered a little. That was really stupid. I'm sorry. That wasn't the right way to do it. I hope you're not angry. I guess I'm not very good at this. I've never done it before.'

  'Me neither.'

  'And I guess this isn't the most romantic place to do it. It should be someplace beautiful.'

  'Wherever you are is the most romantic place in the world to me.'

  'And I guess I must look pretty silly asking you something like this when I'm lying here with a headache.'

  'If you don't ask me pretty soon, Richard Cypher,' she whispered, 'I'm going to choke it out of you.'

  His eyes finally found hers, found hers so intently it nearly took her breath away. 'Kahlan Amnell, will you marry me?'

  Quite unexpectedly, she found she couldn't speak. She closed her eyes and kissed his soft lips as a tear rolled down her cheek. His arms closed around her, hugging her tight against the heat of him. She pulled back breathlessly. Her voice at last returned. 'Yes.' She kissed him again. 'Please, yes.'

  Kahlan laid her head against his shoulder. Richard gently stroked her hair as she listened to his breathing and the crackle of the fire. He held her tenderly and kissed the top of her head, there being no need for words. She felt safe in his arms.

  Kahlan let loose her pain: the pain of loving him more than life itself and thinking he had been tortured to death by the Mord-Sith before she could tell him how much she loved him; the pain of having thought she could never have him because she was a Confessor and her power would destroy him; the hurt of how much she needed him, how uncontrollably she loved him.

  As her anguish expended itself, it was replaced by her joy in what lay ahead: a lifetime, together. The breathless excitement of it seeped into her. She clutched at him, wanting to melt into him, wanting to be one with him.

  Kahlan smiled. That was what being married to him would be: being one with him, as Zedd had told her once -like finding the other half of herself.

  When she finally looked up, there was a tear on his face. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, and he did the same. She hoped his tears meant he had let his demons go, too.

  'I love you,' she whispered.

  Richard pulled her tight against him. His fingers traced a trail down the bumps of her spine.

  'I feel so frustrated that there aren't any better words than "I love you,"' he said. 'It doesn't seem enough for the way I feel about you. I'm sorry there aren't any better words to tell you.'

  They are words enough for me.'

  'Then, I love you, Kahlan. A thousand times, a million times, I love you. Forever.'

  She listened to the snap and pop of the fire, and to his heart beating. To her own heartbeat. He rocked her gently. She wanted to stay there in his arms forever. Suddenly the world seemed a wonderful place.

  Richard grasped her shoulders and held her away to better see her. A wonderful smile spread across his face. 'I can't believe how beautiful you are. I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you.' He ran a hand down her hair. 'I'm so glad I didn't cut your hair that time. You have beautiful hair. Don't ever change it.'

  'I'm a Confessor, remember? My hair is a symbol of my power. Besides, I can't cut it. Only another can do that.'

  'Good. I would never cut it. I love you the way you are, power and all. Don't ever let anyone cut it. I've liked your long hair ever since the first day I saw you, in the Hartland Woods.'

  She smiled as she remembered that day. Richard had offered her help in escaping from the quads. He had saved her life. 'It seems so long ago. Will you miss that life? Being a simple, carefree woods guide?' She smiled coquettishly. And single?'

  Richard grinned. 'Single? Not with you as my wife. But a woods guide? Maybe a little.' He stared off at the fire. 'I guess that for better or worse, I am the true Seeker. I hold the Sword of Truth, and the responsibilities that go with it, whatever they are. Do you think you can be happy being the wife of the Seeker?'

  'I would be happy living in a tree stump, if you were there with me. But Richard, I'm afraid I'm still the Mother Confessor. I have responsibilities, too.'

  'Well, you told me what it meant to be a Confessor, how when you touch someone with your power it forever destroys who they were, replacing it with absolute, magical devotion to you, to your wishes, and in that way you can have them confess the truth of their crimes, or for that matter you can make them do anything you would wish, but what other responsibilities do you have?'

  'I guess I never told you about everything else that it means to be the Mother Confessor. It wasn't important at the time; I didn't think we could ever be together. I thought we would die, or even if we somehow won, you would go home to Westland and I would never see you again.'

  'You mean the part about it mea'ning that you are more than a queen?'

  She nodded. 'The Central Council of the Midlands in Ay-dindril is made up of representatives of the more important lands of the Midlands. Together, the Central Council more or less rules the Midlands. Even though the lands are independent, they still bow to the word of the Central Council. In that way, through the Confederation of Lands, common goals are protected and peace is maintained. It keeps people talking instead of fighting. If one land were to attack an-other, it would be viewed as an attack against unity, against all, and all would put the aggression down. Kings, queens, rulers, officials, merchants, and others come to the Central Council to petition for what they want: trade agreements, boundary treaties, accords dealing with magic - an endless list of wants and wishes.'

  'I understand. It's something like that in Westland. The council rules in much the same way. Although Westland isn't nearly big enough to have kingdoms, there are districts that govern themselves, but are represented by councilors in Hartland.

  'Since my brother was a councilor, and then First Councilor, I was around the dealings of government. I saw the councilors coming from different places to ask for things. Being a guide, I was always leading them to and from Hartland. I learned a lot about it from talking to them.'

  Richard folded his arms. 'So what is the Mother Confessor's part in it?'

  'Well, the Central Council rules the Midlands ...' She cleared her throat as she looked down at her hands in her lap. '... and the Mother Confessor rules the Central Council.'

  His arms came unfolded. 'You mean to say that you rule all the kings and queens? All the lands? You rule the Midlands?'

  'Well ... yes, in a way, I guess. You see, not all the lands are represented on the Central Council. Some are too small, like Queen Milena's Tamarang, and the Mud People, and a few others are lands of magic, the land of the night wisps, for example. The Mother Confessor is the advocate for these lesser lands. Left to their own wishes, the council would decide to carve up these smaller lands. And they have the armies to do it easily. Only the Mother Confessor stands for those who have no voice.

  'The other problem is that these lands are often in disagreement. Some have been bitter adv
ersaries for as long as anyone can remember. The council is often deadlocked as rulers or their representatives each stubbornly demands his own way, to the detriment of the greater interests of the Midlands. The Mother Confessor has no interest but the good of the Midlands.

  'Without leadership the different lands, through the Central Council, would only be interested in vying for power. The Mother Confessor counters these parochial interests with a larger view, with direction and leadership.

  'Just as the Mother Confessor is the final arbiter of truth through her magic, she is also the final arbiter of power. The word of the Mother Confessor is law.'

  'So it is you who tells all the kings and queens, all the lands, what to do?'

  She took one of his hands and held it. 'I, and most of the Mother Confessors before me, let the Central Council decide for themselves what they wish, how they want the Midlands ruled. But when they fail to come to agreement, or to a just agreement, it is to the disadvantage of those not represented. Only then do I step in and tell them how it shall be.'

  'And they always do as you say?'

  'Always.'

  'Why?'

  She took a deep breath. 'Well, they know that if they don't bow to the Mother Confessor's leadership, they will be alone and vulnerable to any stronger neighbor who craves power. There would be war until the strongest among them crushed all the rest, as Darken Rahl's father, Panis Rahl, did in D'Hara. They know that ultimately it is in their own interest to have an independent council leader, who sides with no land.'

  'But it's not in the best interest of the strongest. Something other than a good heart or common sense must keep the strongest of these lands in line.'

  She nodded with a smile. 'You understand the games of power well. You are right. They know that if they were bold enough to allow their ambitions a free rein, I, or any of the Confessors, could take their ruler with our magic. But there is more. The wizards back the Mother Confessor.'

  'I thought wizards didn't want anything to do with power.'

  'They don't, exactly. The threat of their intervention makes it unnecessary. Wizards call it the paradox of power: if you have power, and are ready, able, and willing to use it, you don't need to exercise your power. The lands know that if they don't work together, and use the impartial leadership of the Mother Confessor, then the wizards are always in the background, ready to teach the disadvantages of being unreasonable or greedy.

  The whole thing is a very complex, interwoven relationship, but what it all comes down to is that I rule the Central Council, and if I'm not there to do so, the weak, the defenseless, and the peaceful will eventually be overrun, and the rest will be drawn into a war until all but the strongest are crushed.'

  Richard sank back to contemplate this with a slight frown on his face. She watched the firelight play on his features. She could feel what he was thinking about: he was remembering the way she had, with only a gesture of her hand, demanded that Queen Milena fall to her knees, kiss the Mother Confessor's hand, and swear loyalty. She wished she hadn't had to show him the power she wielded, and how much she was feared, but what she had done had been necessary. Some deferred only to power. When necessary, a leader had to show that power, or be cut down.

  When he looked up at last, his face held a serious cast. 'There is going to be trouble. The wizards are all dead; they killed themselves before they sent you looking for Zedd. The threat backing the Mother Confessor is gone. The other Confessors are all dead, killed by Darken Rahl. You are the last. You have no allies. There is no one to take your place if anything happens to you. Zedd told us to meet him in Aydindril, he must know this too.

  'From what I have seen of powerful people, from councilors in my homeland, even my own brother, to queens here, to Darken Rahl, they will view you as a lone obstacle in their way. If the Midlands is to be kept from being torn apart, the Mother Confessor must rule, and you are going to need help. You and I both must serve the truth. I'm going to help you.'

  A sly smile parted his lips. 'If those councilors were afraid to plot against the Mother Confessor, or give her trouble, because of the wizards, wait until they meet the Seeker.'

  Kahlan touched her fingers to his face. 'You are a rare person, Richard Cypher. You are with the most powerful person in the Midlands. Yet you make me feel as if I am riding your coattails to greatness.'

  'I'm nothing more than the one who loves you with all my heart. That is the only greatness I wish to live up to.' Richard sighed. 'It seemed a lot simpler when it was just you and me all by ourselves in the woods, and I cooked you dinner on a stick over an open fire.' He gave her a sidelong glance. 'You are still going to let me cook you dinner, aren't you, Mother Confessor?'

  'I don't think Mistress Sanderholt would like that. She doesn't like anyone in her kitchens.'

  'You have a cook?'

  'Well, I've never seen her cook anything, come to think of it. Mostly she just whisks all about, ruling her domain with a wooden spoon she wields like a scepter, tasting food and scolding cooks, assistants, and scullions. She is the head cook.

  'She frets something awful when I come down to the kitchens to cook. Mistress Sanderholt begs me to take up another interest. She says I scare her people. She says they shake for the rest of the day whenever I come to the kitchens and ask for pots. So I try not to do it too often. But I do so like to cook.'

  Kahlan smiled at the memory of Mistress Sanderholt. It was long months since she had been home.

  'Cooks,' Richard muttered to himself. 'I've never had anyone cook for me. I always cooked for myself.' His smile returned. 'Well, I guess this Mistress Sanderholt will be able to make a little room for me if I want to cook you something special.'

  'I would wager that you will soon have her doing whatever it is you wish.'

  He squeezed her hand. 'Will you promise me one thing? Promise me that one day you will let me take you back to Westland and show you some of the beautiful places in the Hartland woods, places that only I know of. I've dreamed of taking you to them.'

  'I would like that,' Kahlan whispered. Richard leaned forward to kiss her. Before his lips touched hers, before his arms could embrace her, he winced in pain. His head sagged forward against her shoulder as he moaned. Kahlan clasped him to her in fear, then laid him back down as he clamped his arms to his head, unable to breathe. Panic gripped her. He pulled his knees up to his chest as he rolled onto his side.

  She braced her hand on his shoulder as she leaned over him. 'I'm going to get Nissel. I'll go fast as I can.'

  He could only nod as he shook.

  Kahlan ran to the door, pushing it open, out into the still night. She could see her ragged breaths in the frigid air as she pushed the door closed. Her eyes flicked over the short wall. Moonlight washed the top of it with a silver cast.

  The chickens were gone.

  A dark shape hunched, still, behind the wall.

  It moved a little in the moonlight, and there was a quick flash of shiny, golden eyes.

  CHAPTER 7

  The dark thing rose up, claws rasping over the top of the short wall. It laughed a low cackle that sent goose bumps up her arms to the base of her neck. Kahlan froze. Breath caught in her throat. The form was a black void in the pale moonlight. After the brief flash, the eyes had vanished into a pool of night.

  Her mind raced, trying to fit what she knew with what she was seeing. She wanted to run, but didn't know which way. Toward Richard, or away?

  Though she couldn't see the eyes, she could feel them, like cold death. The tiniest of sounds rose from her throat. With a howling laugh, the dark shape leaped to the top of the wall.

  The heavy door crashed open behind her, banging against the wall of the spirit house. At the same time, she heard the distinctive ring of the Sword of Truth being drawn in anger. The black head snapped toward Richard, the eyes flashing golden again in the moonlight. Richard reached out, snatching her by the arm, and tossed her back through the doorway. As the door rebounded from hitting the wall,
he kicked it shut behind himself.

  From beyond the door, Kahlan heard a howling laugh, and then there was a crash against the door. She came to her feet, pulling her knife. Through the door she could hear the sword tip whistle, and bodies thudding against the wall of the spirit house. She could hear the screaming howls of laughter.

  Kahlan threw her shoulder against the door and rolled out into the night. As she sprang to her feet she saw a small, dark form hurtling toward her. She slashed with her knife and missed.

  It came again, but before it was on her, Richard kicked it, slamming it back against the short wall. In the moonlight the Sword of Truth flashed toward the shadow. The blade caught only the wall. A shower of mud-brick fragments and plaster exploded into the air. The thing howled in laughter.