Stone of Tears tsot-2

by Terry Goodkind

“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 meaning that you are more than a queen?”

  She nodded. “The Central Council of the Midlands in Aydindril 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 another, 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 adversaries 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 kille
d 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.

  Richard snatched her back just as the dark shape flew past. She caught it with her blade, ripping through something hard—bone hard. A claw flashed past her face, the sword following, missing.

  She could hear Richard panting as he searched the darkness. The shadow came out of nowhere and knocked him to the ground. Dark forms tumbled across the dirt. She couldn’t tell which was Richard and which was the attacker. Claws flung dirt into the air as it flailed at him.

  With a grunt, Richard heaved it over the wall. Instantly it sprang to the top, and stood there, eyes flashing golden in the moonlight, cackling that awful laugh as the two of them backed away. It fell silent as it watched them walking backward.

  The air was suddenly alive with the zip of arrows. Within the space of a heartbeat, a dozen thudded into the black body. Not one missed. A breath later an equal number followed. The thing panted in laughter. It stood on the wall looking like a black pincushion.

  Kahlan’s jaw dropped as she saw it snap off a handful of arrows that stuck out of its chest. The thing snarled a cackling laugh at them, then blinked as it watched them backing away. She couldn’t understand why it just stood there. Another flight of arrows thudded into the black body. It paid no attention, but dropped from the wall to the ground.

  A dark figure ran forward, spear in hand. From the shadow of the wall, the thing sprang at the runner. The hunter let the spear fly. With impossible speed, the black form ducked to the side and with its teeth snatched the spear from the air. Laughing, it bit the shaft in half. The hunter who had thrown it backed away, and the thing seemed to lose interest, turning to again watch her and Richard.

  “What in the world is it doing?” Richard whispered. “Why did it stop? Why is it just watching us?”

  With a cold shock, she knew.

  “It’s a screeling,” Kahlan whispered more to herself than to him. “Oh, dear spirits protect us, it’s a screeling.”

  She and Richard were clutching each other’s shirtsleeves as they walked backward, watching the screeling.

  “Get away!” she yelled at the hunters. “Walk! Don’t run!”

  They answered with another useless flight of arrows.

  “This way,” Richard said. “Between the buildings, where it’s dark.”

  “Richard, that thing can see better in the dark than we can see in the light. It’s from the underworld.”

  He kept his eyes on the screeling standing in the open, in the moonlight. “I’m listening. What else can we do?�
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  She shook her head. “I don’t know. But don’t run, and don’t stand still. That attracts its attention. I think the only way to kill it may be to hack it apart.”

  He looked over to her, his eyes angry in the moonlight. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do?”

  Kahlan looked around at the small passageway they were entering. “Maybe we should go through here after all. Maybe it will stay there and we can get away. If not, at least we can lead it away from the others.”

  The screeling watched them backing away, and then started loping after them, panting a wicked laugh.

  “Nothing is ever easy,” Richard muttered.

  They backed through the narrow passageway of smooth, plastered walls, the screeling following. Kahlan could see the dark knot of hunters following it in, could feel the pounding of her heart.

  “I wanted you to stay in the spirit house. Why didn’t you stay there where you were safe?”

  She recognized the tone of rage from the sword’s magic. Her hand holding his shirtsleeve felt wet and warm. She looked over and saw blood running down his arm, over her hand. “Because I love you, you big ox. And don’t you dare do anything like that again.”

  “If we get out of this alive, I’m going to put you over my knee.”

  They kept backing down the twisting passageway. “If we get out of this alive, I will let you. What happened to your headache?”

  Richard shook his head. “I don’t know. One second I could hardly breathe, and the next, it was gone. As soon as it was gone, I could feel that thing on the other side of the door, and I heard it make that awful laugh.”

  “Maybe you just thought you could sense it because you heard it.”

  “I don’t know. That could be. But it was the strangest feeling.”

  She pulled him by his shirtsleeve down a side passage. It was darker. Moonlight fell high up on a wall to their left. With a start, she saw the dark shape of the screeling skittering across the moonlit wall, like some huge, black bug. Kahlan had to force herself to draw a breath.