As she gasped in that needed breath, her sight was focused on his clothes lying not far away. She spotted the hilt of the sword just sticking out from under his trousers. She could see the early-morning light glinting off the gold word truth on the silver wire of the hilt.
Kahlan desperately grasped for the hilt of the sword. It was just beyond the reach of her fingers. She knew that, since she was on the ground and didn’t have full use of her arm, even if she could get ahold of it she had no chance to draw the blade from its scabbard in order to stab Samuel or even slash at him. Her aim was simply to get her hand around the hilt and then bash the point of the pommel into his face or skull. A sword was heavy enough to do substantial damage in that manner. A good hit in the right place, such as his temple, could even kill her attacker.
But the hilt of the sword was just out of reach.
At the same time she was desperately stretching, trying to reach the sword, Samuel was having difficulty having his way with her. The blanket was interfering with his lust to get at her. Crouching on top of her to keep her down was proving a troublesome complication. It seemed he hadn’t taken the practical aspects of the procedure into consideration. He was quite effectively pinning her down, but the blanket was part of the means by which he was keeping her arms and legs under control. At the same time it was preventing him from getting to his ultimate goal.
She knew that it was going to be only a moment until it dawned on him to simply knock her unconscious.
As if reading her mind, she saw his right arm cock back. She could see his big fist tighten. As he drove the fist down toward her face, she used all her strength to twist her body and lunge away from the blow.
His fist slammed the ground just behind her head.
Her fingers found the gold wire spelling out truth on the hilt of the sword.
The world seemed to come to an abrupt halt.
In an instant, she was flooded with understanding.
Things within her that had been entirely lost were suddenly right there.
She didn’t remember who she was, but she instantly remembered what she was.
A Confessor.
It was far from a complete joining with her past, but in that thread of linkage she knew what being a Confessor meant. It had been a complete mystery for so long, but now she not only remembered all that it meant, she felt that birthright within her, felt its bond to her.
She still didn’t know who she was, who Kahlan Amnell was, and she didn’t remember anything of her past, but she remembered what it meant to be a Confessor.
Samuel drew back his arm to punch at her again.
Kahlan pressed her hand to his chest. It no longer felt like there was a powerful man atop her, controlling her. She no longer felt panic or fury. She no longer struggled. She felt as if she were as light as a breath of air and that he no longer had any power over her.
There was no longer any frantic rush, any sense of desperation.
Time was hers.
She didn’t need to consider, evaluate, or decide. She knew with complete certainty what to do. She didn’t even have to think it through.
It was not necessary for Kahlan to invoke her birthright, but merely to withdraw her restraint of it.
She could see his furious, focused expression frozen above her. His fist remained poised unmoving in an ever-expanding spark of time, as it would until this was finished.
She had no need to hope, or expect, or act. She knew that time was hers. She knew what was going to be, almost as if it had already happened.
Samuel had come into the Imperial Order camp not to rescue her but—for reasons she would know before this was finished—to capture her.
This was not her savior.
This was the enemy.
The inner violence of her power’s cold coiled force slipping its bounds was breathtaking. It surged up from that deep dark core within, obediently inundating every fiber of her being.
Time was hers.
She could have counted every whisker on his frozen face had she wanted to and he still would not have moved an inch in his headlong rush to hit her.
Her fear was gone; the calm of purpose and control had replaced it. There was no hate; the cold appraisal of justice had taken over.
In a state of profound peace born of the command of her own ability, and through it her own destiny, she contained no hate, no rage, no horror . . . nor any sorrow. She saw the truth of what was. This man had condemned himself. He had made the choice; now he would have to encounter the immutable consequence of his choices. In that infinitesimal spark of existence, her mind was in a void where the all-consuming rush of time seemed suspended.
He had no chance. He was hers.
Even though she had all the time she could want, doubt did not exist.
Kahlan unleashed her power.
From her innermost being, that power became all.
Thunder without sound jolted the air—exquisite, violent, and for that pristine instant, sovereign.
The memory of that instant of effect was an island of sanity for her in the dark river of her unknown self.
Samuel’s face was frozen in twisted hate for that which he had hoped to possess.
Kahlan stared up into his golden-yellow eyes, knowing that he saw only her merciless eyes.
In the twist of that instant, his mind, who he was, who he had been, was already gone.
Trees all around in the frigid early-morning air shook from the violent blow of the concussion. Small twigs and dry bark dropped from branches and boughs. The profound shock to the air lifted a ring of dust and dirt all around that raced away in an ever-expanding circle.
Samuel’s strange eyes went wide. “Mistress,” he whispered, “command me.”
“Get off me.”
He immediately rolled away to end up on his knees, his hands pressed together in supplication as his gaze remained fixed on her.
As Kahlan sat up, she realized that the sword was still gripped in her right hand. She let go of it. She needed no sword to deal with Samuel.
Deeply distressed as he waited, Samuel looked on the verge of tears. “Please . . . how may I serve you?”
Kahlan tossed the blanket aside. “Who am I?”
“Kahlan Amnell, the Mother Confessor,” he answered immediately.
Kahlan already knew that much. She thought a moment.
“Where did you get that sword?”
“I stole it.”
“Who does it rightfully belong to?”
“Before, or now?”
She was a bit confused by the response. “Before.”
Samuel became distraught by the question. He began to cry in earnest as he wrung his hands.
“I don’t know his name, Mistress. I swear, I don’t know his name. I never knew his name.” He fell to sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Mistress, I don’t know, I don’t, I swear I don’t know—”
“How did you get it away from him?”
“I snuck up and cut his throat while he was asleep—but I swear I don’t know his name.”
Those touched by a Confessor confessed without the slightest hesitation anything they had done—anything. Their only concern was their constant, torturous dread that they might not please the woman who had touched them with her power. Their mind’s only remaining purpose was to do her bidding.
“Have you murdered other people?”
Samuel looked up sharply with the sudden joy of having a question he could fully answer. His face beamed with a smile.
“Oh, yes, Mistress. Many. Please, may I kill someone for you? Anyone. Just name them. Just tell me who I am to kill. I will do it as quickly as possible. Please, Mistress, tell me who and I will do your bidding and dispatch them for you.”
“Who does the sword belong to now?”
He paused at the change of subject. “It belongs to Richard Rahl.”
Kahlan was not surprised.
“How does Richard Rahl know me?”
“He is your husband.�
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Kahlan froze with the shock of what she thought she had just heard. She blinked, her thoughts suddenly scattered in every direction at once.
“What?”
“Richard Rahl is your husband.”
She stood staring for a long moment, unable to reconcile it all in her mind. In one way it was a stunning shock. At the same time, it made sense in a way she couldn’t begin to fathom.
Kahlan stood struck speechless.
Finding that she was married to Richard Rahl was a terrifying revelation. In another way . . . it made her heart swell with profound joy. She thought of his gray eyes, thought of the way he looked at her, and the frightening aspect of it seemed to evaporate. It was if all the dreams she had not dared to dream had just come true.
She felt a tear roll down her cheek. With her fingers she wiped it away, but it was quickly followed by another. She almost let out a jubilant laugh.
“My husband?”
Samuel nodded furiously. “Yes, Mistress. You are the Mother Confessor. He is the Lord Rahl. He is married to you. He is your husband.”
Feeling herself trembling, Kahlan tried to think, but her mind just didn’t respond, as if it had so many thoughts all at once that they simply jumbled together in a tangled mess.
She suddenly remembered Richard lying on the ground in the Order’s camp, crying out for her to get away.
Richard was a captive of the Order at best, but more likely, he was dead.
She had only just learned her connection to him, and now he was lost to her.
She felt a tear roll down her cheek, but this time there was no joy behind it, only horror.
She finally collected herself and focused her attention on the man on his knees before her. “Where were you taking me?”
“To Tamarang. To my . . . my other mistress.”
“Other mistress?”
He nodded hurriedly. “Six.”
She recalled Jagang talking about her. Kahlan frowned. “The witch woman?”
Samuel looked terrified to answer, but he did. “Yes, Mistress. I was told to bring you and to give you over to her.”
She gestured to where she had been sleeping. “Did she tell you to do that?”
Even more reluctantly, Samuel licked his lips. Confessing to murder was one thing, but this was entirely different.
“I asked if I could have you,” he whined. “She said that if I wanted to take you I could, as my reward for my service, but that I was to bring you to her alive.”
“And what did she want with me?”
“I believe she wanted you as a bargaining tool.”
“With who?”
“Emperor Jagang.”
“But I was already with Jagang.”
“Jagang wants you very badly. She knows how valuable you are to him. She wanted to take possession of you and then trade you back to Jagang in return for favors for herself.”
“How far are we from Tamarang, from the witch woman?”
“Not far.” Samuel pointed southwest. “If we don’t delay, we can get there by the end of tomorrow, Mistress.”
Kahlan suddenly felt very vulnerable being this close to a woman as powerful as that. She knew without doubt that she had to get out of the area or she might be located without the benefit of Samuel dragging her right up to Six’s feet.
“And since you were to turn me over tomorrow, you knew that your time with me was running out. You were going to rape me.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.
Samuel wrung his hands, tears streaming down his red face. “Yes, Mistress.” In the terrible silence he became even more distraught as she stood staring down at him. Kahlan knew that a person touched was no longer who they were, no longer had all the mind they once had. Once taken, they were completely devoted to the Confessor.
It occurred to her that something very much like that had been done to her. She wondered if her memory was as lost to her as Samuel’s past was now forever lost to him. It was a terrifying thought.
“Please, Mistress . . . forgive me?”
In the dragging silence he could not endure the guilt of his intent. He began to cry hysterically, unable to endure the condemnation in her eyes.
“Please, Mistress, find mercy for me in your heart.”
“Mercy is a contingency plan devised by the guilty in the eventuality that they are caught. Justice is the domain of the just. This is about justice.”
“Then please, Mistress, please . . . forgive me?”
Kahlan stared into his eyes to be sure that he would not mistake her words or her intent.
“No. That would be a corruption of the concept of justice. I will not forgive you, not now, not ever—not out of hate but because you are guilty of more crimes than those against me.”
“I know, but you could forgive me of my crimes against you. Please, Mistress, just those things. Just forgive me for what I have done to you, and for what I intended to do to you?”
“No.”
The reality of the finality of that proclamation settled into his eyes. He gasped in horror at the realization that his actions, the choices he had made, were irredeemable. He felt nothing for his other crimes, but he felt the full weight of responsibility for his crimes against her.
He saw himself, probably for the first time in his life, for what he really was—the way she saw him.
Samuel gasped again as he clutched his chest, and then crumpled onto his side, dead.
Without delay, Kahlan began gathering up her things. With the witch woman this close she had to get away as fast as possible. She didn’t know where she would go, but she knew where she couldn’t go.
She suddenly realized that she should have thought more about it and asked Samuel a great many more questions. She had let those many answers slip through her fingers.
The news about Richard—about Richard being her husband—had so scrambled her thoughts that she simply hadn’t considered asking Samuel anything else. She suddenly felt like a monumental fool for missing such an invaluable opportunity.
Done was done. She had to concentrate on what to do now. She rushed over in the dim, early light to saddle the horse.
She found the horse on the ground, dead. Its throat had been cut. Samuel, probably fearing that she might use the horse to somehow escape before he could have his way with her, had cut the poor animal’s throat.
Without delay she rolled as much as she could carry into her blanket and stuffed it into the saddlebags. She tossed the saddlebags over a shoulder and picked up the Sword of Truth in its scabbard. Sword in hand, Kahlan started away, in the opposite direction of Tamarang.
Chapter 57
In crushing loneliness, Kahlan plodded northeast. She began to wonder why she bothered. What was the point of fighting for her life if there could be no future? What could there be to a life without her own mind in a world dominated by the fanatical beliefs of the Imperial Order, by people who defined their existence through a filter of hatred for those who wanted to live and accomplish for themselves? They didn’t want to accomplish anything; they simply wanted to murder anyone else who did, as if by destroying productive accomplishment they could revoke reality and live a life made of wishes.
All those who denned their existence by that burning hatred of others were smothering all joy out of life, and in the process suffocating life itself out of existence. It would be easy to simply give up. No one would care. No one would know.
But she would care. She would know. Reality was what it was. It was the only life she would ever have. In the end, that precious life was all she had, all anyone had.
It had been up to Samuel to decide how he would live his life, and he had made his choices. It was no less true for her. She had to make the most of what she had in life, even if her choices were limited, and even if that life itself was to be cut short.
She had walked for less than an hour when she began to hear the distant ramble of galloping hooves. She paused as she saw horses br
eak from a line of trees ahead. They were coming right toward her.
She glanced around the bottomland she was crossing. In the gloomy light of a leaden sky she could see that the trees covering the foothills to each side were too far for her to reach their cover in time. The grass, long since brown as winter closed in, had been flattened by wind and weather. It didn’t provide anywhere for her to hide.
Besides, it looked like she might have been spotted. Even if she hadn’t, at the speed the horses were closing they soon would catch up to her, and she had no hope of running across their line of sight and not being seen.
She tossed the saddlebag on the ground. The gentle breeze lifted her hair back off her shoulders as she gripped the scabbard of the sword in her left hand. Her only choice was to stand and fight.
She realized, then, that she was invisible to most everyone. She almost laughed aloud with relief. This was one of those rare times when she was thankful to be invisible. She stood her ground, remaining quiet, hoping the riders wouldn’t see her and would simply ride by and be gone.
But in the back of her mind she remembered Samuel telling her that Jagang would send men after them. Jagang had men who could see her. If that was who was riding toward her, then she was going to have to fight.
She didn’t pull the sword free in case the riders, on the off chance they could see her, weren’t hostile. She didn’t want to start a battle unless she really had no choice. She knew she could draw the blade in an instant if need be. She had two knives as well, but she knew that she could handle a sword. She didn’t know where she’d learned, but she knew she was good with a sword.
She remembered seeing Richard fight with a blade. She recalled thinking at the time that it reminded her somewhat of the way in which she fought with a blade. She wondered if it had been Richard—her husband—who had taught her to use a sword the way she did.
She noticed then that while there were three horses, only one had a rider. That was good news. It cut the odds to even.
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