AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Is everything else in order? The archers, the cavalry? We must make the best use of our opportunity while they are drunk and sick with the poison. We must make the most of this weather, too. We can't let up for a moment. One lightning strike after another. No engagement. Glancing attacks, always from a different place."
"They all know their jobs, and are waiting their turn. The archers should be finished soon, then the cavalry, they the pikemen. We're ready for their sentries, when they send them out. Our men will sleep in turns, but from now on, the Imperial Order will get no sleep."
"Good. These men need rest. In the morning, it will be their turn again." She lifted a finger to the Captain. "Remember the most important thing." She quoted her father, "'The weapon which most readily conquers reason is terror and violence.' Don't forget that. It is the tool they use, and now we must turn it on them."
Prindin came back into the firelight. "Mother Confessor. My brother and I made you a shelter, while we waited for your return. We have your clothes there, and hot water, so you may wash yourself if you wish."
She tried not to show how eager she was to wash off the reek of war. "Thank you, Prindin."
He held his arm out, showing her the way to the small clearing. The brothers had built a roomy shelter of balsam boughs covered over with snow. She crawled through the low opening to find candles inside. The snowy ground was covered with a mat of boughs, too, giving the shelter the pleasant aroma of balsam. A steaming bucket of water had just been set next to hot rocks placed in the center. She warmed her fingers over the rocks.
The brothers had made her a warm and snug home for the night. She could have wept at their thoughtfulness.
Her pack was there, and her clothes folded in a neat pile. Kahlan took off her necklace, the one Adie had given her, the one with the round bone. It was the only thing she had worn into battle. She clutched it to her cheek a moment before she washed it. It reminded her of the one her mother had given her.
She dunked her whole head in the bucket, washed her hair, and then methodically washed the rest of herself. It was only a sponge bath, but it still felt wonderful to wash off the blood, and the feel of the hands. She had to force herself to think of other things as she washed, to keep from being sick. She thought of Richard, thought of his boyish smile that never failed to make her grin, thought of his gray eyes that could look right into her. When she finished washing, she laid down, drying her hair on the rocks.
She desperately needed sleep. She still hadn't recovered her Confessor's power since using it on the one-eyed man, Orsk. She could feel the emptiness in the pit of her stomach, a hollow where the power belonged. It would be a while longer, until it was restored. She wouldn't be able to shake the sick, dizzy exhaustion, though, until she had sleep.
She longed to lay down in her bedroll and sleep. It had been so long, and she was so sleepy. But she couldn't. Not yet.
She put the necklace back over her head and then laboriously pulled on her clothes. From her pack she recovered an unguent and spread it on her cut lip. When she replaced it, she saw the bone knife Chandalen had given her, and tied it around her arm again.
She was so tired she could hardly force herself up, but she had something to do before she slept; she had to be with her men. She wouldn't let them think she didn't hold their interest highest in her heart. They had offered their lives, the least she could do was show her appreciation, on behalf of the Midlands.
Clean, her long hair full and shiny once more, and dressed at last in layers of warm clothes and her mantle, she wound her way among the campfires. She listened with serious attention to the babbling stories of some, and the quiet, brief words of others. She spoke with all who had questions, gave smiles of reassurance, and she let them all know how proud she was of what they had done. She knelt by the wounded, checking to see if they were warm enough, and laid a hand to their cheeks, giving comfort, and wishing them good health and quick healing. She, too, felt relief when they were calmed by her touch.
At a fire surrounded by ten silent soldiers, one young man was trembling, but she didn't think it was from the cold.
"How are you doing? Are you all right? Are you getting warm?"
Her presence surprised and brightened him. "Yes, Mother Confessor." A racking shiver rattled his teeth. "I never thought it would be like that." He composed himself, and indicated the others. "These are my friends. Six didn't come back."
She held her mantle closed with one hand and brushed the hair back off his forehead with the other. "I'm sorry. I, too, grieve for them. I just wanted you men to know that you made me proud. You were as brave as any soldiers I've ever seen."
He gave a nervous chuckle. "We'd all be dead if it wasn't for you. We were being driven back, hacked to pieces, and then you charged right into the enemy, all by yourself. They all turned their attention to you, and then, while they were confused, we counterattacked. What you did saved us."
He shook his head. "I wish I had killed half as many men tonight as I saw you kill." They all nodded their earnest agreement. He brushed trembling fingers across his face. "Thank you, Mother Confessor. If it wouldn't have been for what you did, we would all be dead, too." He gave her a twitch of a smile. "If I had the choice, I'd choose to follow you into battle over Prince Harold himself."
"Pretty good with a sword, is she?"
She started at the voice. The soldier turned to see Captain Ryan standing behind her.
"I think she could teach us swordsmen a thing or two. You wouldn't believe what she..."
Kahlan patted his shoulder. "Have you had something to eat?"
He pointed to the pot of beans on the fire. "Would you share some with us, Mother Confessor?"
She almost lost control of her queasy stomach. "You men eat. You need the strength. Thank you for the offer, but I must first see to the others."
Captain Ryan followed her away. "I had thought you might have some trouble handling a sword. The men who unsaddled your horse told me they found dismembered hands and fingers caught in the girth strap, and a few other places."
Kahlan smiled at men she passed. They lifted a hand or bowed their heads in greeting. "Have you forgotten who my father was? He taught me the use of a sword."
"Mother Confessor, that doesn't mean..."
"Lieutenant Sloan was killed."
He fell silent a moment. "I know. They told me." He put a hand under her arm when she stumbled. "You don't look so good. Some of those men who were poisoned looked better than you."
"It's just that I haven't slept for so long." She didn't tell him that she had also used her power again. "I'm dead tired."
Back outside her shelter, Tossidin offered her a bowl of beans. Her fingers covered her mouth as her eyes winced closed. She thought she might faint at the sight and smell of food. Tossidin seemed to understand and took it away.
Prindin put a hand under her other arm. "Mother Confessor, you must eat, but you need rest even more." She nodded her agreement. "I made you some tea; I thought it might be a comfort." He pointed with his chin to the shelter. "It is inside."
"Yes, tea might help settle my stomach." She gave the Captain's arm a squeeze. "Wake me in the morning, when it is time for the next attack. I will go with the men."
"If you are rested enough. Only if..." She cut him off with a look. "Yes, Mother Confessor. I will wake you myself."
Inside the cozy shelter, she sipped the hot tea, and shook. Her head was spinning. She could only take a few swallows before she fell into the bedroll. She would be better, she told herself, when she was rested. She could feel her power coming to life at last, swelling with its familiar force within her chest.
She curled up under her fur mantle, thinking of the thousand things that needed to be tended to. She worried about the men who were at that moment attacking, and the ones who would go next. She fretted for them all. They were so young.
She worried about what she had started. War.
But she hadn't started it. She had only
refused to abandon the lives of innocent people to a sure death. She'd had no choice. As the Mother Confessor, she had a responsibility to the people of the Midlands. If the Imperial Order wasn't stopped, untold thousands would die at their hands, and those who lived would live as slaves to the Order.
She thought about the young women at the Palace in Ebinissia. Their faces floated and spun through her mind's eye. She was too weary to weep for them. When they were avenged, there would be time enough to weep.
She seethed with a lust for vengeance. She resolved that she would hound the army of the Imperial Order to their graves. In the morning, she would once more lead her men against the enemy. She would see it through. She would see those girls, and all the others, avenged.
If the Imperial Order wasn't stopped, not only would innocent people be slaughtered, but all magic, good and bad, all the creatures of magic, would perish.
Richard had magic.
Her mind drifted to Richard. And then she did weep, weep in the hope that he would not hate her for what she had done. She prayed that he would be able to understand and forgive her. She had done the best for him, to save him, to save the living. Her tears slowed, finally sobbing to a stop.
Her thoughts of Richard swept the jumbled, tangled, flashing images from her head. Her mind focused, for the first time in days, it seemed, on things other than fighting and killing.
Focused on who she was, who Richard was. Focused on important matters floating in the fog at the back of her awareness.
Thinking about Richard brought back to her the things that were important, but which she seemed to have forgotten. There were things other than the Order that were important. Very important. It seemed as if this war had distracted her from higher imperatives, from those important matters.
She thought about Darken Rahl. Darken Rahl had marked Richard. The Sisters of the Light had taken him. She was supposed to be going to Aydindril, to help Richard, to get Zedd to help Richard...
Richard had to stop the Keeper.
Kahlan frowned in the darkness under her mantle. The veil to the underworld was still torn. She shouldn't be running around, swinging a sword at D'Haran troops.
She remembered Darken Rahl's laughter.
