2 - Stone of Tears

by Goodkind, Terry

  'All right. What do you want us to do first?'

  Kahlan walked between the captain and one of the lieutenants. 'The first thing you have to do is get me a horse.'

  Chandalen leapt forward and gripped her arm, slowing her as he put his head close to hers. His tone was angry with suspicion. 'Why do you want a horse? Where are you going?'

  She came to a halt, pulling her arm free. She took in all six men. 'Do you have any idea what it is I'm about to do? I'm about to choose sides. I am the Mother Confessor. If I choose sides, I choose sides for all the Midlands. I commit all the Midlands to war.' She met Chandalen's eyes. 'I cannot do that on the word of these men.'

  Chandalen erupted in fury. 'What more proof do you need! You saw what they did back at that city!'

  'What I saw does not matter. I must know why. I cannot simply declare war. I must know who these men are, for whom they fight.' She had another reason to go, a more important reason, but she didn't speak it.

  They are killers!'

  'You've killed people. Would you not want others to know the reason before they sought vengeance?'

  'You foolish woman!' Prindin put a cautionary hand on Chandalen's arm, attempting to bring a little prudence to Chandalen's words. Chandalen angrily wrenched his arm away. 'You say these men are foolish, and they have thousands. You are one! You have no chance to escape if they decide to kill you!'

  'I'm the Mother Confessor. None may lay a weapon to me.'

  She knew it was an absurd pretext, but she had to do this, and could think of no other justification to allay his fears. Chandalen was too angry to speak. He finally turned away with a growl. She knew that in the past he would have been angry because if she were killed he couldn't return home; she thought that perhaps now he was genuinely afraid for her.

  She didn't like the idea either, but had no choice. She was the Mother Confessor. She had a duty to the Midlands.

  'Lieutenant Hobson, please get me a horse. A white or gray if you have one.' He nodded and ran off to do as asked. 'Captain, I want you to get all your men together and tell them what's happening.'

  Chandalen stood with his back to her. She stroked a hand down the white fur over his shoulder, over his father's bone knife. 'You are fighting for the Midlands now, not just the Mud People.' He let out an angry grunt. 'While I'm gone, I want you three to start explaining to these men what must be done. I hope to be back before dawn.'

  When she saw Hobson returning with the horse, her knees tried to buckle. Dear spirits, what had she gotten herself into?

  She turned to face Captain Ryan. 'If I'm ... If anything ...' She took a breath and started again. 'If I get lost and can't find my way back, you're to take your orders from Chandalen. Do you understand? You're to do as he says.'

  'Yes, Mother Confessor,' he said in a quiet tone as he put his fist to his heart in salute. 'May the good spirits be with you.'

  'From my experience, I'll take a fast horse instead.'

  Then you have your wish,' Lieutenant Hobson said. 'Nick is fast, and he's fierce. He won't let you down.'

  The Captain cupped his hands, giving her a boost up onto the big warhorse. She looked down at the men as she gave the gray an introductory pat on his neck. Nick snorted and tossed his head. Before she lost her nerve, she pulled the big stallion around and urged him toward the slopes, toward a trail that would circle her around to come into the enemy camp from the other side.

  CHAPTER 38

  The snow-crusted trees loomed all about her in the eerie light. The moon would be down soon, but for the time being it gave the snow a luminescence that made the way easy to see. As she trotted her horse into the open valley, she was almost glad to be free of the pressing trees that could hide anyone intent on ambush. She made no attempt to conceal her approach, and the sentries saw her, but they made no move to stop a lone rider.

  Ahead, the army's camp was alive with fires, men, and noise. As large as a small city, it could be spotted easily and heard from miles away. Confident in their numbers, they feared no attack.

  With the hood of her fur mantle pulled up and drawn close around her face, Kahlan walked Nick among the confusion of men, wagons, horses, mules, tents, gear, and roaring fires. She sat tall on her horse, and above the din she could almost hear her heart thumping. The strong aroma of roasting meat and woodsmoke filled the still air. The snow had been trampled and packed flat by tens of thousands of feet, both man and beast, and by wagons of every sort.

  Men were gathered around fires, drinking and eating and singing. Pikes were stacked upright in circles, leaning in, with their heads all resting together in bristling cones. Lances were everywhere, sticking up from snowbanks, looking like forests of stripped saplings. Tents sprouted all about without any order to their layout.

  Men roamed far and near, stumbling from one fire to another to try the food, to join in song around men with flutes, to gamble at dice, or to share the drink. Sharing the drink seemed to be what occupied most of them.

  No one paid any attention to her. They seemed too preoccupied to notice her. She kept her horse at a trot, and passed the ones who did stare up before they had a chance to wonder at, or confirm, what they had seen. The whole place seemed to be in an uproar of activity. Her warhorse didn't so much as flinch at the pandemonium all about.

  From some of the tents in the distance she heard the screams of women, followed by the raucous laughter of men. Despite her attempt to stop it, a shiver ran down her spine.

  Kahlan knew that armies like this one were accompanied by prostitutes who rode along in the supply wagons with other camp followers. She also knew that armies like this one took women as part of their plunder, considering them a simple privilege of victory, much as taking a ring from a dead man, and worth little more. Whatever the reasons for the screams, feigned delight or true terror, she knew she could do nothing about it, and so tried not to hear them, turning her attention instead to the men she passed.

  At first she saw only D'Haran troops. She knew their leather and mail and armored uniforms all too well. Each of the breastplates bore an ornate, embossed letter R, for the House of Rahl. Soon though, she was able to pick out Kel-tans among the D'Harans. She saw one group of a dozen men from Westland, each with an arm around the next fellow's shoulders as they danced in a circle and at the same time drank from mugs. She saw men of other lands, too; a few from Nicobarese, some Sandarians, and to her horror, a handful of Galeans. Maybe, she thought, they were simply D'Harans in the uniforms of men they had killed. Somehow, she didn't believe that.

  Sporadic quarrels were going on throughout the camp. Men argued over a lay of the dice, food, casks, or even bottles of drink. Some of the disputes erupted into fights with fists and knives. She saw one man stabbed in the gut, to the uproarious laughter of onlookers.

  At last she spotted what she was looking for: the tents belonging to the commanders. Though they hadn't bothered to put up their flags, she knew by their size what they were. Outside the largest, a small table had been set up next to a roaring fire with spitted meat over it. Lanterns on poles surrounded the group of men gathered there.

  As she approached, a huge man who sat with his feet up on the table was yelling, '... and I mean right now, or I'll have your head! A full one! You bring a full cask or I'll have your head on a pike!' When the soldier scurried off, the table of men erupted in laughter.

  Kahlan brought her huge warhorse right up to the edge of the table. She sat tall and still as she appraised the half-dozen men sitting around the table. Four were D'Haran officers; the one with his boots resting on the table had been the man who had been yelling; one was a Keltish commander in an ornate uniform unbuttoned to reveal a filthy shirt soaked with wine and meat drippings; and one man wore plain, tan robes.

  With a large knife, the man with his feet up on the table carved a long strip of meat from a bone. He tossed the bone over his shoulder to a snarling pack of dogs behind him. He tore the strip of meat in half with his teeth and pointed with the k
nife to his right, to the young man in plain robes, as he added a swig from a mug to the meat already in his mouth. He spoke around it all.

  'Wizard Slagle here told me he thought he smelled a Confessor.' He peered up with bloodshot eyes. 'And where is your wizard, Confessor? Huh?' Everyone at the table laughed with him. Ale ran down his thick, blond beard. 'Bring anything to drink, Confessor? We're nearly out. No? Well, not to mind.' With the knife, he pointed over to the Keltish commander. 'Karsh here tells me there's a nice city a week or so down the mountains, and they're bound to have some ale for us thirsty boys, after they welcome us to their town and swear allegiance.'

  Kahlan's eyes slid to the wizard. It was for him she had come. She coolly calculated whether or not she could make the jump from the horse to the wizard and touch him with her power before she was caught by that big knife. The man wielding the knife didn't look to be able to react too quickly. Still, she judged it to be poor odds. She was willing to give her life to the task, but only if she could be reasonably sure of success.

  But it was for him she had come. The wizard was this army's eyes. He saw things before they could, and things they couldn't see, like her. And D'Harans feared things magic, and spirits. A wizard was their defense against magic and those spirits.

  Her gaze moved from the wizard's deep-set eyes and drunken, leering smirk to what he was doing with his hands. He was whittling. Before him on the table was a pile of shavings. She remembered the piles of wood shavings in the palace at Ebinissia, outside the girls' rooms.

  The wizard waggled the stick he had whittled. For the first time, she noticed what it was. It was a larger-than-life phallus. His smirk grew.

  The man with the knife pointed it to the wizard. 'Slagle's got something for you, Confessor. Been working on it for two hours, since he realized you were coming for a visit.' He made a feeble attempt to hold back his laughter, but it came in fits through his restraint and he finally gave in to it.

  Two hours. They had just told her the limits of this wizard's power. She had left the Galeans four hours ago, but nearly an hour of that had been spent at her task up on the ridges. That meant the Galean boys weren't yet close enough for the wizard to know of them, but were only concealed from discovery by a dangerously thin margin. Any closer, and the wizard would know of them. Long before they could bring any surprise to bear.

  She waited for the D'Haran man's laughter to sputter out before she spoke. 'You have me at a disadvantage.'

  'Not yet! But I will!' The men roared and hooted again.

  With every beat of her heart, she became more calm. She pushed her hood back. She wore her Confessor's face. 'What is your name, soldier?'

  'Soldier!' He lurched forward and stuck the knife in the table. 'I'm no soldier. I'm General Riggs. I'm supreme commander of all our troops. All our men, old and new, answer to me.'

  And in whose name are you fighting, General Riggs?'

  He swept his hand around. 'Why, the Imperial Order is fighting a war on behalf of those who join us. A war against all the oppressors. Against all who fight us. Those who don't join us are against us, and will be crushed. We fight to bring order.

  'Under the Imperial Order, all who join us will find protection, and in turn they will help protect all. All the lands will join with us, or they will be swept aside. It is a new order for which we struggle. The Imperial Order. They command all the lands, and I command them.'

  Kahlan frowned, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. 'I am the Mother Confessor, and I command the Midlands, not you.'

  'Mother Confessor!' He clapped the wizard on the back. 'You didn't tell me she was the Mother Confessor! Well, you don't look like any mother I've seen. But after tonight, you'll be a mother sure enough. You have my word on that!' He roared with laughter.

  'Darken Rahl is dead.' That brought the laughter to an end. 'The new Lord Rahl has declared the war ended and called all the D'Haran troops home.'

  General Riggs rose to his feet. 'Darken Rahl was a man of limited foresight, a man too much concerned with his ancient magic and too little concerned with order. He was too preoccupied with his own quests, his old religions. Magic, until it is eradicated, is a tool of men, not a master of them.

  'Darken Rahl failed to use the opportunity he had. We will not fail. Darken Rahl himself, in the underworld, knows this, and repents. He is allied to our struggle, now. The good spirits have declared it! We no longer bow to the house of Rahl, but they, as all houses, districts, and kingdoms, to us. The new Lord Rahl will join us, too, or we'll crush him and any heathen dogs who follow him. We will crush all the heathen dogs!'

  'In other words, General, you fight for no one other than yourself. Your purpose is simply to murder people.'

  'I do not fight for myself! This is a larger purpose than one man. We offer all the opportunity to join with us. If they don't join with us, it's because they're aligned with our enemies, and we must kill them!' He threw his hands up. 'It's useless trying to explain such matters of state and canon to a woman. Women have no intellect for rule.'

  'Men have no exclusive talent to rule, General.'

  'It's profanity for men to bow down to a woman for protection! Right men concern themselves only with getting under a woman's skirts, not with hiding behind them! Women rule from their nipples, offering only their sympathetic pap. Men rule from their fist. They make and enforce the law. They provide and protect.

  'Every king and patrician will be offered the chance to join with us, to bring his land and his people under our protection. All queens will be offered the chance to ply their wares in a brothel, or perhaps to be the humble wives of an indentured farmer, but either way make a proper use of themselves.'

  He swept his mug up from the table and took a few gulps. 'Can't you see, woman? Are you that stupid, even for a woman? What has your Midland's alliance accomplished under the rule of women?'

  Accomplished? The alliance is to accomplish nothing but to let all the lands live in peace, to leave their neighbors' lands to their neighbors, and know that their own is safe from covetous hands, and that all will stand to protect each, even the weak and defenseless, so none will stand alone and naked.'

  He smiled in triumph as he looked to his comrades. 'Truly spoken from the teat!'

  He gestured with disgust. 'You provide no leadership, no law; each land proscribes and pronounces as they see fit. What in one place is a crime, in another is virtue. Your alliance shies from bringing order to all. You're nothing but fragmented tribes, each jealously guarding what's his, with no thought to the union other than fits their own greed, and in so doing lets all be vincible.'

  'You are wrong, that is exactly what the Central Council in Aydindril is for, to bring all lands together for the common defense. The common defense against murderers like you. It is not a feeble union, as you seem to think, but one with teeth.'

  A noble ideal. One, in fact, which I share, but one you only give pap to. You bring them together only timidly, not under common canon.' He held his hand out to her, closing it into a fist as he sneered at her. 'In so doing, you leave all lands ripe for the squeezing. You are lost souls in search of true leadership and in desperate need of protection.

  As soon as the boundaries fell, you were ravaged by Darken Rahl, and he was only halfhearted about it, seeking only his magic! Had he let the generals run as they would, there wouldn't be even a shell of this play alliance of yours left.'

  And who is it we all need protection from?'

  He stared off, whispering, almost to himself. 'From the horde who will come.'

  'What horde?'

  He looked up, as if he had just awakened. The horde spoken of in the prophecies.' He frowned at her as if she were hopelessly thick, and then held his hand out to the wizard. 'The good wizard here has counseled us on the prophecies. You are one who spent your life with wizards, and you never sought their knowledge?'

  'Your eloquent claim to want to join people in peace and law are high-minded words, General Riggs. But y
our atrocities in Ebinissia put the lie to them. For all time, Ebinissia will bear mute but irrefutable testimony to your true cause. You, and your Imperial Order, are the horde.' Kahlan glowered to the wizard. 'What's your part in this, Wizard Slagle?'

  He shrugged. 'Why, to assist and facilitate the joining of all people under the rule of common law.'

  'Whose law?'

  'The law of the victors.' He smiled. 'That would be us. The Imperial Order.'

  'You have responsibilities as a wizard. Those responsibilities are to serve, not to rule. You will report at once to Aydindril, to take your place in that service, or you will answer to me.'

  'You?' he said with a derisive sneer. 'You demand that good and decent men whimper and snivel before you, and at the same time you blindly let banelings have a free run of the land.'

  'Banelings?' She glowered at Riggs. 'I suppose you would be foolish enough to seek council from the Blood of the Fold.'