2 - Stone of Tears

by Goodkind, Terry

  His eyes narrowed. 'Perhaps you just don't want to help. You're angry that I spoiled the arrangement the Sisters had with the Majendie. You plan on watching, like you always do, just to see what I'll do.'

  She slowly shook her head in frustration. 'Do you really think, Richard, that I would spend half my life in my duty to find you and carry you safely to the Palace of the Prophets, only to watch you killed when we're on the doorstep of my home? Do you actually believe that I wouldn't stop this if I could? Is your opinion of me that low?'

  His impulse was to argue with her, but instead he considered her words. What she said made sense. Richard gave an apologetic shake of his head, then quickly glanced into the shadows. 'How many are there?'

  'Perhaps thirty.'

  'Thirty.' In frustration, he folded his arms. 'How am I to defend against thirty, by myself?'

  She looked out into the darkness a moment, then cast her hands forward. A wind rose, carrying a veil of sand and dirt outward into the blackness. That will slow them for a short time, but not stop them.'

  She turned her brown eyes on him once more. 'Richard, I have used my Han to seek an answer. The only thing my Han tells me is that you must use the prophecy to survive. You've named yourself the bringer of death, as the prophecy foretells. The prophecy is about you.

  'You must use the prophecy if you are to defeat that many. The prophecy says the holder of the sword is able to call the dead forth, call the past into the present. Somehow, that's what you must do in order to survive - call forth the dead, call the past into the present.'

  Richard unfolded his arms. 'We're about to be overrun by thirty people you say are going to try to kill me, and you give me riddles? Sister, I told you before that I don't know what it means. If you want to help, then tell me something I can use.'

  She turned away, walking back toward the horses. 'I have. Sometimes prophecies are meant to give aid to the one named by sending help across time, providing a key that may open a door to enlightenment. I believe this prophecy is such. This prophecy is about you; you must find its use. I don't know its meaning.'

  She stopped and turned to look back over her shoulder. 'You forget, I tried to keep us out of the hands of these people. You said that in this matter, you were not my student, but the Seeker. As the Seeker, you must use this prophecy. You are the one who got us into this. Only you can get us out.'

  Richard stared after her as she gentled the nervous animals. He had thought about this prophecy before, wondering, ever since she had told it to him, what it could mean. Sometimes he had felt as if he was on the verge of insight, but the feeling always slipped away from him before coming to fruition.

  He had used the sword many times, and knew its capabilities. He also knew his own limitations. Against one, the sword was virtually invincible, but he was flesh and blood. He was no expert swordsman; in the past he had always depended on the sword's magic to make the difference. But he was only one man, and they were many. The sword could only be in one place at one time.

  'Are they good fighters?' he asked.

  The Baka Ban Mana are without peer. They have special fighters, blade masters, who train from sunup to sundown, every day. And then they train by the light of the moon. Fighting is almost a religion to them.

  'When I was young, I saw a Baka Ban Mana blade master who had gotten into the garrison in Tanimura kill nearly fifty well-armed soldiers before he was taken down. They fight like they are invincible spirits. Some people believe they are.'

  That's just great,' he said under his breath.

  'Richard,' she said, without looking to him, 'I know we don't get along. We could look at the same thing and each see something different. We're from different worlds, both of us are headstrong, and neither of us likes the other very much.

  'But I want you to know that I'm not trying to be obstinate about this. You spoke the truth in that this is about you as the Seeker, not as my student. In a way I don't understand, it's also bundled up with prophecy. You are riding a ripple in events. I am but a bystander in this. If you die, however, I die, too.'

  She at last lifted her eyes to his. 'I don't know how to help you, Richard. There are people closing around us, to watch what will happen, and I know that if I try to interfere, I will be killed by them. This is about prophecy, you, and the Baka Ban Mana. I play no part in it, other than to die, if you do.

  'I don't know what the prophecy means, and I realize you don't either, but keep it in mind, and maybe its use will come as you need it. Try to use your Han, if you can.'

  Richard stood with his hands on his hips. 'All right, Sister, I'll try. I'm just sorry I'm no good at riddles. And if I'm killed, well, thank you for trying to help me.'

  He looked up at the sky, at the thin veil of clouds that dimmed the moon. The darkness helped hide those who came. There was no reason it couldn't be used to his advantage, too.

  Richard was a woods guide, at home in the darkness of the woods. He had spent countless hours at games like this, with other guides. This was his element, too, not just theirs. He didn't have to do it their way. Crouching, he moved off, away from the Sister and their horses, and became one with the moon shadows.

  He found the first of them looking the wrong way. Still and silent, he watched the dark form wrapped in loose clothes, squatted on one knee, watching the Sister. Clutched tightly in one fist was a short spear, its butt planted in the sand. Two more spears lay on the ground.

  Richard concentrated on controlling his breathing to keep from making a sound as he glided closer. Moving, stopping, moving again, he approached ever closer. His hand reached out. Inches from the spear, he froze as the head turned.

  The figure sprang up, but Richard was close enough. He snatched the spear away. As the man whirled, Richard spun the spear and whacked him across the side of the head. He went down before he had a chance to raise an alarm.

  One down, Richard thought as he straightened, and without having to kill him. At least, he hoped he hadn't killed him.

  Slipping out of the darkness, a figure appeared. To the side, another. And then another. Richard turned about and saw more appearing. Before he could move away, he was surrounded.

  The forms were wrapped in bark-colored loose clothes so they would blend in with the surrounding country. Cloth wound around their heads hid all but their dark eyes, which shined with grim determination.

  There was nowhere to run. Richard sidestepped into the clearing as the circle of forms moved with him. More were closing in all about. Richard turned, watching them as they formed two rings around him.

  Maybe he could still do this without killing. 'Who speaks for you?'

  The inner ring of robed figures dropped their round shields and cast their extra spears to the ground, points toward Richard. Each clasped their remaining spear in two hands like a staff. Their eyes never left him. The outer ring of warriors cast their shields and all their spears to the ground and put their hands to their sword hilts, but didn't draw them.

  A soft rhythmic chant began, and the two circles slowly began moving in opposite directions.

  Richard walked backward in a tight circle, trying to keep watch on all of them. 'Who speaks for you!'

  The slow chant continued in time with their sideways steps.

  A figure wrapped from head to foot like the others rose up on a rock beyond the outer circle.

  'I am Du Chaillu. I speak for the Baka Ban Mana.'

  Richard could hardly believe this was happening. rDu Chaillu, I saved your life. Why would you want to murder us?'

  The Baka Ban Mana are not here to murder you. We are here to execute you for stealing our sacred lands.'

  'Du Chaillu, I've never even seen your land before. I had nothing to do with whatever happened.'

  'Magic men took our lands from us. They laid down our laws. You are a magic man. You bear the sins of those magic men before you. You even bear their mark, to prove it. You must do as all before, who we could catch. You must face the circle. You must die
.'

  'Du Chaillu, I told you the killing must stop.'

  'It is easy to proclaim the killing must end, when you are the one about to die.'

  'How dare you say that to me! I risked my life to stop the killing! I risked my life for you!'

  She spoke softly. 'I know, Richard. For that I will always honor you. I would have borne your sons, had you asked it of me. I would lay my life down for you. For what you have done, you will live on as a hero to my people. I will tie a prayer to my dress, that the spirits take you tenderly to their hearts.

  'But you are a magic man. The old law says that we must practice every day, and be better with a blade than any other people born. We have been told that we must kill every magic man we can catch, or the Spirit of the Dark will take the world of life into the dark.'

  'You can't go on killing magic men, or anyone else! It must stop!'

  The killing cannot end because of what you have done. It can only end when the spirits dance with us.'

  'What does that mean?'

  'It means we must kill you or what has been spoken will be brought to pass - the Dark Spirit will escape his prison.'

  Richard pointed with the spear. 'Du Chaillu, I don't want to kill any of you, but I will defend myself. Please stop now, before anyone else is hurt. Don't make me kill any of you. Please.'

  'Had you tried to run, we would have put spears in your back, but since you choose to stand, you have earned the right to face us. You will die anyway, as have all before whom we have caught. If you do not fight us, it will be made quick, and you will not suffer. You have my word.'

  She turned her hand in the air and the chanting started again. The outer ring of men drew their swords - long, black-handled weapons, each with a ring at the pommel holding a cord that looped around the swordsman's neck to keep the sword from being lost in battle. Each blade was curved, widening toward the clipped point.

  The men spun the swords, passing them from right hand to left, and back again. The blades never stopped spinning. The two rings began moving in opposite directions again. The inner circle of men began twirling the spears like staffs.

  Richard had known guides who carried staffs. No one ever bothered a guide with a staff. These people were better than any guide he had ever seen. The shafts of wood were a blur in the moonlight, the steel points a circle of dull reflection.

  Richard broke the spear shaft over his knee and drew his sword. The sound of steel rang above the sound of the whistling spears and blades.

  'Don't do this, Du Chaillu! Stop it now, before anyone else is hurt!'

  'Do not fight us, witch man, and we will grant you a quick death. I owe you at least that.'

  Richard's chest heaved; the muscles in his jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth. The chanting increased in speed, and the circles of men moved faster.

  Richard glared at Du Chaillu as she stood on the rock. 'I disavow responsibility for what is to happen, Du Chaillu. It is you who presses this. What happens is your responsibility. You bring it!'

  She spoke softly, her voice filled with regret. 'We are many. You are but one. I am sorry, Richard.'

  'Only a fool would have confidence in those odds, Du Chaillu. They are not what they seem. You cannot all come at me at once. You can only attack one, or two, or at most three at a time. The odds are not what they seem to your eyes.' Richard wondered dimly where his own words had come from.

  He could see her nod in the moonlight. 'You understand the dance of death, witch man.'

  'I'm not a witch man, Du Chaillu! I am Richard, the Seeker of Truth. I'm not going with this Sister to learn to be a witch man by choice. I'm a prisoner. You know that. But I will defend myself.'

  Du Chaillu watched him in the moonlight. 'The spirits know I am sorry for you, Seeker Richard, but you must die.'

  'Don't be sorry for me, Du Chaillu. Be sorry for those of you who are going to die this night, for no good reason.'

  'You have not seen the Baka Ban Mana fight. We will not be touched. Only you will taste steel. Dismiss your concern; we are safe. You will have no killing to regret.'

  Richard loosed the sword's magic, the rage.

  The two circles moved and chanted faster, spun their weapons faster. The storm of the sword's anger thundered through the Seeker. Even in the grip of the rage, the wanton need to kill, he knew it wasn't going to be enough. They were too many. And he had never seen anyone handle weapons the way these people did.

  Heedlessly, he pulled more of the magic to him. Pulled until the mercilessness of the hate pounded in his head and nearly made him sick. He drew it into the depths of his soul.

  Richard stood still in the center of the moving circles. He touched the gleaming blade to his forehead. The steel was cold against his hot skin, against his sweat.

  'Blade, be true this day.'

  He called the magic onward. Before he even realized what he was doing, he pulled off his shirt and threw it aside, to be free of any hindrance to his movement. Why would he think to do that? It seemed the right thing to do, but he had no idea where the thought came from. He drew the blade up straight before him. His muscles flexed and tightened, glistening with sweat.

  He found the center of himself, that place of quiet, of focus. He sought his Han within the white-hot center of his rage.

  Use what you have, a voice within him said. Use what is there. Let it loose.

  In the quiet of his mind, Richard remembered the time he had stood on Zedd's wizard's rock, to use its magic to hide the cloud that Darken Rahl had sent to track him. The rock had been used by many wizards before Zedd. As Richard had stood on it, calling the magic onward, letting it flow through him, he had felt the essence of those who had come before. He remembered the way it had felt to feel the things they had felt, to know the things they had known. It had given him insight into those who had once used the magic.

  Suddenly, he knew what the prophecy meant.

  He wondered how it was possible to have used the sword before without seeing it, without seeing what the magic held. Just like the wizard's rock.

  Others had used the Sword of Truth's magic, and in the bargain, the magic retained a memory of their talents at fighting, of every move in which it had ever been used. The talent of untold hundreds who had wielded this blade, men and women alike, was there for the taking. The skill of both the good and the wicked was bound into the magic.

  In his stillness, he saw the first come from the left.

  Be a feather, not a rock. Float on the wind of the storm.

  Richard unleashed the magic and spun with the attack, letting it sweep past him. He didn't strike, but let himself float with the press of the charge. He let the sword's magic guide him. The attacker tumbled to the ground when he didn't make the expected contact.

  Instantly, another came, twirling his spear. Richard spun around again, and as the attacker passed, he used the sword to splinter the shaft in two. A spearpoint thrusted toward him. Without stopping, he glided past it and brought the sword up, cutting the shaft in half. Another charge came from behind. He met it with a foot to the chest, throwing the man back.

  Richard gave himself over to the magic from the sword, and to the peace within himself. Things he didn't even understand, he was doing without thought.

  He controlled the rage to keep from killing. He used the flat of the blade to strike the back of a head here, used his feet to trip an advance there. The faster they came, the faster he reacted, the magic feeding off their energy. Fluidly, he slipped among the attackers, splintering spears when he could, trying to disarm the Baka Ban Mana without killing them.

  'Du Chaillu! Stop this before I have to hurt them!'

  Yelling at her was a mistake. It distracted him. It allowed a spear through his flowing defense. He had a choice as the rage instantly exploded at the threat. He could kill the attacker, or do only what was necessary to stop him.

  His sword spun, its tip whistling through the air, and lopped off the hand that thrust the spear. Blood and fragments
of bone filled the air. The scream was a woman's.

  Some of the Baka Ban Mana were women, he realized. It didn't matter. They would kill him if he didn't defend himself. Losing a hand was better than losing your head. First blood brought the rage, the need to kill, boiling up within him, hot and thirsty for more.

  He fought the attackers and fought the things within himself that wanted to press the attack to those around him. He didn't want to press the attack. He only wanted them to stop. But if they didn't stop ...

  When he broke their spears, they picked up others and threw themselves at him again. He slipped among them like a phantom, conserving his energy as he let them wear themselves out.