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Chandalen ran up behind them, a knife in hand. Kahlan bit into Prindin's arm. She cried out as Prindin spun with impossible speed and strength, catching Chandalen across the side of the head with the branch. The sound of the hollow thunk was sickening. The blow knocked Chandalen into the boughs of a fir tree. As she twisted from Prindin's grip, she saw blood on the snow around Chandalen.
Tossidin, breathing hard, burst through the trees. "What is happening! Prindin!"
He saw them and stopped in his tracks. He looked to Chandalen and then to Prindin.
Prindin peered back over his shoulder at his brother, speaking in his own tongue. "Chandalen tried to kill us! I came here just as he tried to kill the Mother Confessor. Help me. She is hurt."
Kahlan collapsed to her knees, crying out. "No... Tossidin... no..."
Tossidin ran toward them. "What is this trouble Chandalen told me of? What is wrong with you, brother? What have you done?"
"Help me! The Mother Confessor has been hurt!"
Tossidin gripped his brother's shoulder and spun him around. "Prindin! What have you..."
Prindin slammed a knife into his brother's chest. Tossidin's eyes went wide in surprise. His mouth opened but no words came. With a wheeze, his legs buckled and he crumbled to the ground. Kahlan cried out. He had been stabbed through the heart.
Chandalen sat up with a groggy groan. He put his hands to his bleeding scalp. Keeping an eye to the wounded man, Prindin pulled a bone box from his waist pouch. He had a full box of bandu. He hadn't given her all his poison.
Helpless to stop him, Kahlan saw Prindin wipe a generous gob of poison onto the arrow's point. Dazed, Chandalen held his head in his hands as he tried to gather his wits. Prindin drew the bowstring to his cheek. She knew he was aiming for Chandalen's throat. Just as Prindin released the arrow, she managed to throw herself against his legs, making the arrow go astray from its target. It still hit Chandalen in the shoulder.
The back of his fist across her face sent her sprawling. Powered by sheer terror, Kahlan started scrambling away on her hands and knees. The snow was freezing her fingers. The knees of her pants were soaked and icy wet. She concentrated on the cold to try to revive herself. She glanced over her shoulder as she clambered away.
Prindin drew another arrow from his quiver, and wiped it in the poison as he watched her struggle. Like he had watched Chandalen. A cry came from her throat as she staggered to her feet and ran. A nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.
The arrow felt like a club hitting the back of her left leg. She screamed and fell to her face. Her leg flamed in hot pain. A tingling, prickling sensation spread through the muscle. The pain seared through the bone, into her hip.
Prindin was suddenly over her. He knelt down and gripped the arrow sticking from the back of her leg. He put his other hand against her bottom to hold her, and yanked the arrow free. Kahlan could feel the tingle of the poison going up her leg.
"Don't worry, Mother Confessor, I did not use much poison on your arrow, like on Chandalen's, just enough to make sure you will give me no trouble. He will be dead in another minute. You will live long enough to have your head chopped off." His hand stroked her bottom. "If they do not wait too long." Prindin leaned over her. "It is too cold out here. We will go back."
He took hold of her wrist and started dragging her across the snow. In her mind, Kahlan fought him; she struggled, she shrieked, she hit, but she couldn't make her body obey. She was as limp as a rag doll being dragged her over the snow. She could feel the poison spreading to her ribs.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Orsk. Tossidin. Chandalen. Her. How could Prindin do such a thing? She sobbed as her face slid over the snow. How could he? His own brother. He had stabbed his own brother as if it meant nothing. Who could do such a thing? How could anyone do such a thing? How could anyone but a...
Baneling.
She gasped with the realization. She had never fully believed in banelings, before. Wizards had told her they were real, but she never believed the wizards knew for sure. She had always thought it might be superstitious nonsense that sent people hunting things in the dark, things from the underworld, things bidden from the Keeper's own dark whispers.
But now, she knew. She was in the grips of a baneling. Dear spirits, how could no one know? He had helped her so many times. He had befriended her.
So he could be close to her, and keep track of her for the Keeper. He was a baneling. Darken Rahl had laughed at her. Because she was so stupid.
She knew now, without a doubt—the veil was torn. Darken Rahl had promised her such things. He had come to tear the veil the rest of the way, and she had foolishly thought she was in control of what she was doing, but all the time Darken Rahl, and the Keeper, had watched her through Prindin's eyes.
But why wait until now? Why let her fight in this war, let all these people die, before he snatched her?
Kahlan knew why. The Keeper was of the world of the dead. Bringing death to the world of the living was what he wanted. He resented the living. That was why he wanted the veil torn—so he could bring death to the world of the living.
He coveted this world's breath of life. He enjoyed watching people die. He did not wish to stop it too soon, stop the suffering, the fear, the pain.
It felt as if her arm might tear from its socket as Prindin tugged her through the brush, and over a log half covered over with snow. The tingling of the poison had spread across her chest.
Her left leg had gone numb. At least, she thought, she couldn't feel how much the arrow wound hurt. The round, iron point had hit the bone, and Prindin had not been gentle about pulling it out. At least it was numb, now.
When they reached the shelter, she could see bodies all about, not only the Galean men, but the men of the Imperial Order that Orsk had killed. Soon, when Prindin was finished with her, he would turn her over to the army of the Order, and she would be beheaded. It would be over, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She couldn't even fight back. She would never see Richard again. Dear spirits, he would never know how much she loved him.
Prindin dragged her through the opening to the shelter and heaved her onto the mat of boughs. As he lit two more candles from the one that was almost burned down, she struggled to breath, to remain conscious.
"I wish to be able to see you," he explained with a lecherous smile. "You are very fine to look upon. I wish to see all of you."
She had always liked his smile. She didn't like it now.
Prindin took off his fur mantle and tossed it aside. His smile vanished. His eyes were wild. He didn't speak in her tongue anymore, but only his own.
"Take off your clothes. I wish to look upon you, first. To be aroused by the sight of you."
Even if he had held a knife to her throat, she wouldn't have been able to obey; she couldn't move her arms. "Prindin," she managed to whisper, "The men will be back soon. They will catch you here."
"They will be busy. They are having a fight like they never expected." His smile returned. "They will not be back soon, if at all." The smile chang
ed in an instant to a twisted expression of hot rage. "I said take off your clothes!"
"Prindin, you are my friend. Please. Don't do this."
He crawled on top of her, yanking at her belt. "Then I will do it for you!"
Tears, over her helplessness, over the loss of a friend to this madness, to the Keeper, ran down her cheeks. "Prindin, why?"
He sat up, as if surprised by the question. "The great spirit said I may have you before he takes your spirit to the underworld. He said I am to have a reward, for the work I have done. The great spirit is pleased with me for delivering you to him."
The bite on her neck stung with prickling pain. She shivered with sorrow for Tossidin and Chandalen. She shivered at her own desolate, hopeless situation. The tingling from the poison had spread across her shoulders. She could feel the slight twinge of its first touch moving up her throat.
He squeezed her under him as he kissed the place on her neck where Darken Rahl's lips had been, where the bite was. The pain, the visions, sent a silent shriek through her.
"Prindin... please... after you have me... let me go?" She hoped that hearing her words in his tongue would mean more to him. "Please?"
He lifted his head away, looking into her eyes. "It would do no good for me to leave you. You have been poisoned, by the tea, and by the arrow. You will die soon, anyway. You must be beheaded before you die of the poison. It will be better. You will not suffer the poison's end. That is my mercy to you."
Prindin grinned as he started to bend over her again, kissing her neck. Tears ran down her cheeks.
"I hate you," she wept. "You and your great spirit."
He sprang up, standing, as best he could in the small shelter, with his fists at his sides as he glared down at her.
"You are to be mine! I have been promised! I will have you! Your power cannot harm me, I saw to that. It is used up for now. You are to be mine! If you will not give yourself to me, I will take you! You brought your hateful magic to my people, your hateful ways! You are evil, and I will take you, to conquer your wickedness! The great spirit has said it shall be so!"
