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For the first time that night, she truly feared she wasn't going to make it. She was going to die, here, in the snow, in this mist shrouded valley. She would never see Richard again.
She felt an abrupt, icy pain in the bite on her neck. Darken Rahl's bite. She thought she heard quiet laughter in the air.
She slashed away at the men grabbing for her. Powerful fingers clutched her legs. The pain of those fingers urged her into frantic stabbing. Nick managed to spin, the men's feet flying outward, but they held on tight. She slashed and hacked the arms. More caught hold of her horses bit, taking control from her. A horse was valuable plunder, and they didn't want it killed, as long as they thought they were in control of the situation.
A big soldier grabbed the horn of her saddle, dragging himself up. "Don't kill her! It's the Mother Confessor! Don't kill her! She must be alive when she's beheaded!"
She slashed the side of his neck, A fountain of hot blood gushed across her thigh. Another yelled, "Don't kill her! Bring the bitch down!" A cheer went up from the reaching men.
She swung at the grasping hands. Fingers raked her legs. Eyes all around leered up at her. She slashed wildly as Nick stumbled sideways, trying to pull his head free, but the men held his bit tight.
A man leapt up from behind and snatched her by the hair. She let out a cry as he yanked her backwards off the saddle. Hands grappled her as she tumbled to the ground. Everyone went down in a pile under her. Big hands seized her by her legs, her waist, her ankles, and her breasts.
Fingers wrapped around the blade, trying to wrench it from her. She twisted the hilt, severing the fingers. She swung and stabbed ferociously. Bodies pressed her to the cold ground, pressed the wind from her lungs. She bit the fingers covering her mouth. A huge fist struck her across the jaw.
They finally seized her flailing arms.
There were too many.
Dear Richard, I love you.
45
Kahlan struggled to draw a breath, but with the weight of men on her, she couldn't. Tears stung her eyes. More men piled on. A beefy elbow in her middle pressed into her, feeling as if it would squash her in two. Drunken breath bathed her face.
Her vision dwindled to a small spot. Everything around the center was going black, and the center was shrinking. She swallowed a mouthful of blood. Her own.
She heard what sounded like the distant rumble of thunder. At first, she could only feel the vibration in her back against the ground, but then the sound swelled, growing louder, sharper. The screams of men reached her ears.
Some of the men over her looked up. Their weight lifted a bit, and she sucked air into her lungs. It was the sweetest breath she had ever drawn.
As the giant of a man atop her, the one who had struck her face, turned to the sound of thunder, turned his fierce eye from her, she saw that his other had a scar across it, and down his cheek. That empty eye was sewn shut. Somehow, her left hand squirmed free. She seized his throat.
She heard a metallic rattle. The thunder, she suddenly realized, was horses' hooves. Erupting out of the fog, Brin and Peter, atop Daisy and Pip, galloped at a full charge down the line of D'Harans, mowing them down with the chain. They raced toward her like a landslide felling trees. The men stared in frozen shock. Kahlan's fingers clutched around the one eyed man's throat.
And then she released her power.
The magic slammed into him.
Thunder without sound rattled all the chain mail.
The staggering jolt made the men flinch back. They all cried out with the pain of being so close as the magic was loosed. A ring of snow lifted, sweeping outward in a circle.
Nick was standing over her, and he jumped with the pain, too. His hind leg came down on a man's head right next to her ear. Bone crunched under the weight. Hot blood and gore splattered the side of her face.
The one eye of the man above her gaped at her. "Mistress!" he whispered. "Please command me."
"Protect me!" she screamed.
He sat up abruptly, his massive muscles bulging. He held the hair of a man in each fist. He tossed them back as if they were mere children.
Her sword arm was free. She swung at a man to the other side, the blade ruining his face. The one eyed man roared as he tossed men aside. The draft horses rushed onward at a full charge.
She was free of the hands. She leaped to her feet. The chain was almost upon them.
"Help me up on my horse!"
The one eyed man grabbed her ankle in his big fist and, with one arm, boosted her up into the saddle. Somehow she still had the sword in her hand. She leaned forward and swung it at the man holding the bit, holding his prize. The sword's tip sliced open the side of his face and half the length of his arm. He staggered back with a shriek. She snatched up the reins. The one eyed man bellowed as he lopped off heads and ripped open chests with his huge war axe.
"Go, Mistress! Escape! Orsk will protect you!"
"I'm going! Run, Orsk! Don't let them get you!"
The D'Harans abandoned her and her horse to turn to the new threats—Orsk and the chain. She thumped Nick's ribs with her heels, urging him into a gallop just as Brin and Peter caught up with her. She stuffed her bare feet into the stirrups as the three of them raced away.
She spotted the trail that hundreds of feet had left in the snow and followed it across the valley, into the mist, leaving the men of the army of the Order to collect their wits. It took them mere seconds. They charged after her. There were more than enough still alive. Thousands.
Peter unhooked the chain that must have broken hundreds of bones, and necks. The end of the chain bounced behind. Brin's bony fingers drew in the dragging slack and coiled it over the hame.
As she galloped into the night, she thought she could hear the sound of soft laughter fading behind. She shivered with the memory of the kiss Darken Rahl had left on her neck. She felt suddenly very naked again.
Though the mist was icy cold, feeling like sparkling flecks all over her, she was sweating. Blood ran from her swollen lip.
"I never thought I would see you two again," she yelled over the sound of hooves.
Brin and Peter, in their too-big coats, grinned in the darkness. "We told you we could do the job," Brin said.
She smiled for the first time that night. "You two are a marvel."
She just caught sight of the hindquarters of the other draft horses disappearing into the fog. She pointed. "There are your men. Good luck." With a wave, they turned away from her.
She galloped on alone, and a short distance later caught up with the men on foot. She first saw only one. He had a horrific gash on his leg and had fallen far behind. She knew she should leave him. She knew she should. The D'Harans were right behind.
As she rode up to him, he turned his head up as he struggled through the snow. He knew she had to leave him. Those were the orders. Her orders. Keep up, or be left behind. No exceptions.
As she rode by, she leaned over, extending her arm down. They clasped wrists and she yanked him up behind her.
"Hold on, soldier."
He held his arms out, trying to balance as the horse ran, afraid to touch her. "But... where?"
"Around my waist! Put your arms around my waist!"
He still heald his arms out as he bounced. "But..."
"Haven't you ever put your arms around a woman before!"
"Yes... but she had clothes on," he whined.
"Do it, or you'll fall off, and I'm not coming back for you."
Reluctantly, carefully, he put his arms around her waist, stiffly trying to keep them away from anything important, or unfamiliarly exotic. Kahlan gave the back of his hands a pat of reassurance. "When you brag about this, don't make it more than it is." He let out a small, worried groan that made her smile.
As they rode on, she could feel his warm blood running down the back of her leg, dripping from her toes in the stirrup. She could hear the shouts of the enemy chasing behind.
He was losing a lot of blood. In exhaustio
n, he laid his head against the back of her shoulder. If they didn't tie his wound closed, he would bleed to death in short order. She was naked, and had nothing to use as a bandage, even if they had the time to stop.
"Hold the wound closed with a hand," she said. "Clamp it closed as tight as you can. And hold fast to me with your other arm. I don't want you falling off."
He took one arm from her waist and held the gash closed as she rode right on the heels of the men at the end of the line. They were cold and fatigued. The men of the Order were not far behind. As she looked back, they came into sight. She was shocked by the numbers. They hooted and hollered.
"Run! Run or we will be caught!"
