Faith of the Fallen

by Terry Goodkind

  “That’s what Verna thought, too. About it falling from her belt, I mean.” Warren chuckled. “Or a cat could even have eaten it.”

  From beneath a furrowed brow, Zedd peered at Warren. “A cat? What cat?”

  “Any cat.” Warren cleared his throat. “I just meant…oh, never mind. I never was any good at jokes.”

  Zedd’s knotted brow lifted. “Oh, I see. A cat could have eaten it. Yes, yes, I see.” He didn’t, but Zedd forced a chuckle for the boy’s sake. “Very good, Warren.”

  “Anyway, she probably lost it. It’s probably something as simple as that.”

  “If that’s the case,” Zedd reasoned, “she will likely end up coming here to let us know that she’s all right, or at least she will send a letter, or messenger, or something. Ever more likely, though, she probably had nothing to tell us and simply saw no need to bother with sending a message in her journey book.”

  Warren made a skeptical face. “But we haven’t had a message from her for nearly a month.”

  Zedd waved a hand dismissively. “Well, she was way north, up almost to where Richard and Kahlan are, last we heard. If she did lose the book and started right out to come here from there, she won’t show up for yet another week or two. If she went on to see Richard first, then it will be longer, I imagine. Ann doesn’t travel all that fast, you know.”

  “I know,” Warren said. “She is getting up there in years. But that’s just another reason why I’m so worried.”

  What really worried Zedd was the way the journey book went silent just as Ann was about to reach Richard and Kahlan. Zedd had been eagerly anticipating hearing that Richard and Kahlan were safe, that Kahlan was all healed. Maybe even that Richard was ready to return. Ann knew how eager they were for word and would certainly have had something to report. Zedd didn’t like the coincidence that the journey book went silent right at that time. He didn’t like it one bit.

  The whole thing made him want to scratch as if he’d been bitten by a white mosquito.

  “Now look here, Warren, a month isn’t so long not to hear from her. In the past, it’s sometimes been weeks and weeks between her messages. It’s too early to start getting ourselves all worked up with worry. Besides, we have our own concerns which require our attention.”

  Zedd didn’t know what they could do even if Ann were in trouble somewhere. They had no idea how to find her.

  Warren flashed an apologetic smile. “You’re right, Zedd.”

  Zedd moved a map and found a half loaf of bread left from the night before. He took a big bite, giving himself an excuse to chew instead of talk. When he talked, he feared he only let out the true level of his worry not just about Ann, but also about Richard and Kahlan.

  Warren was an able wizard, and smarter than just about anyone Zedd had ever met. Zedd often had trouble finding something to talk about that Warren hadn’t already heard of, or was intimately familiar with. There was something refreshing about sharing knowledge with someone who nodded knowingly at esoteric points of magic that no one else would fathom, someone who could fill in little gaps in the odd spell, or delighted at having his own little gaps filled in by what Zedd knew. Warren retained more about prophecy than Zedd thought anyone had a right to know in the first place.

  Warren was a fascinating mix of obstinate old man and callow youth. He was at once set in his ways, and at the same time openly, infinitely, innocently, curious.

  The one thing that made Warren fall silent, though, was when they discussed Richard’s “vision.” Warren’s face would go blank and he would sit without comment while others argued over what Richard had said in his letters and if there was any validity to it. Whenever Zedd had Warren alone and asked him what he thought, Warren would say only “I follow Richard; he is my friend, and he is the Lord Rahl.” Warren would not debate or discuss Richard’s instructions to the army—or, more specifically, Richard’s refusal to give instructions. Richard had given his orders, as far as Warren was concerned, and they were to be swallowed, not chewed.

  Zedd noticed than Warren was twisting his robes again.

  Zedd waved his bread. “You look like a wizard with his pants full of itching spells. Do you have something you need to let out, Warren?”

  Warren grinned sheepishly. “Am I that obvious?”

  Zedd patted the boy on the back. “No, Warren, I’m just that good.”

  Warren laughed at Zedd’s joke. Zedd gestured with his bread toward the folding canvas chair. Warren looked behind himself at the chair, but shook his head. Zedd figured it must be important, if Warren felt he needed to stand to say it.

  “Zedd, with winter upon us, do you believe the Imperial Order will attack, or wait until spring?”

  “Well, now, that’s always a worry. The not knowing leaves your stomach all in knots. But you’ve all worked hard. You’ve all trained and practiced. You’ll do just fine, Warren. The Sisters, too.”

  Warren didn’t seem to be interested in hearing what Zedd was saying. He was scratching his temple, waiting his turn to speak.

  “Yes, well, thank you, Zedd. We have been working hard.

  “Umm, General Leiden thinks winter is our best friend right now. He, his Keltish officers, and some of the D’Harans believe that Jagang would be foolhardy to start a campaign with winter just setting in. Kelton isn’t all that far north of here, so General Leiden is familiar with the difficulty of winter warfare in the terrain we would fall back to. He’s convinced the Order is waiting for spring.”

  “General Leiden in a good man, and may be second-in-command, after General Reibisch,” Zedd said in an even voice as he watched Warren’s blue eyes, “but, I don’t agree with him.”

  Warren looked crestfallen. “Oh.”

  The general had brought his Keltish division down south a couple of months before to reinforce the D’Haran army, at General Reibisch’s request. Regarding Kahlan as their queen, since Richard had named her so, the Keltish forces still had an independent streak, even if they were now part of the “D’Haran Empire,” as everyone had taken to calling it.

  Zedd didn’t do anything to discourage such talk; it was better for everyone in the New World to be one mighty force than a collection of tribes. As far as Zedd was concerned, Richard had clearly had the right instincts in that. A war of this scale would have been ungovernable were the New World not one. Having everyone think of themselves as part of the D’Haran Empire first and foremost could only help make it so.

  Zedd cleared his throat. “But that’s just a guess, Warren. I could be wrong. General Leiden is an experienced man, and no fool. I could be wrong.”

  “But so could Leiden be wrong. I guess that puts you with General Reibisch. He’s been pacing his tent every night for the last two months.”

  Zedd shrugged. “Is there something important to you, Warren, that hinges on what the Imperial Order does? Are you waiting for them to make up your mind for you about something?”

  Warren held up his hands as if to ward the very notion. “No—no, of course not. It’s just that…it’s just that it would be a bad time to be thinking about such things, is all…. But if they were going to lie low for the winter…” Warren fussed with his sleeve. “That’s all I meant…. If you thought they were going to wait until spring, or something…” His voice trailed off.

  “And if they were, then—?”

  Warren stared at the ground while he twisted his robes at his stomach into a purple knot. “If you think they might decide to move this winter, then it wouldn’t be right for me—for us—to be thinking about such things.”

  Zedd scratched his chin and changed his approach. “Let’s say I believe the Order is going to sit tight for the winter. Then what might you do, in that case?”

  Warren threw his hands up. “Zedd will you marry Verna and me?”

  Zedd’s brow went up as he drew back his head. “Bags, my boy, that’s a mouthful to swallow first thing in the morning.”

  Warren took two big strides closer. “Will you Zedd
? I mean, only if you really think the Order is going to sit down there in Anderith for the winter. If they are, then, well, then it would be, I mean, we might as well—”

  “Do you love Verna, Warren?”

  “Of course I do!”

  “And does Verna love you?”

  “Well, of course she does.”

  Zedd shrugged. “Then I’ll marry the both of you.”

  “You will? Oh, Zedd, that would be wonderful.” Warren turned, reaching one hand toward the tent’s opening, lifting his other back toward Zedd. “Wait. Wait there a moment.”

  “Well, I was about to flap my arms and fly to the moon, but if you want me to wait—”

  Warren was already out the tent. Zedd heard muffled voices coming from outside. Warren came back in—right on Verna’s heels.

  Verna beamed from ear to ear, which Zedd found unsettling in its own way, being so unusual.

  “Thank you for offering to marry us, Zedd. Thank you! Warren and I wanted you to do the ceremony. I told him you would do it, but Warren wanted to ask you and give you a chance to say no. I can’t think of anything more meaningful than being wedded by the First Wizard.”

  Zedd thought she was a lovely woman. A little fussy about rules and such, at times, but well intentioned. She worked hard. She didn’t shy from some of the things Zedd had asked of her. And, she obviously held Warren in warm regard, as well as respecting him.

  “When?” Verna asked. “When do you think would be an appropriate time?”

  Zedd screwed up his face. “Do you two think you can wait until I’ve had a proper breakfast?”

  They both grinned.

  “We were thinking more along the lines of an evening wedding,” Verna said. “Maybe we could have a party, with music and dancing.”

  Warren gestured nonchalantly. “We were thinking something to make a pleasant break in all the training.”

  “A break? How much time do you two think you will be needing away from your duties—”

  “Oh, no, Zedd!” Warren had gone as purple as his robes. “We didn’t mean we would—I mean we would still be doing—we would only like—”

  “We don’t want any time away, Zedd,” Verna put in, bringing Warren’s bashful babbling to an end. “We just thought it would be a nice opportunity for everyone to have a well-earned party for an evening. We won’t be leaving our posts.”

  Zedd put a bony arm around Verna’s shoulders. “You two can have all the time away you want. We all understand. I’m happy for you both.”

  “That’s great, Zedd,” Warren said with a sigh. “We really—”

  A red-faced officer burst into the tent without so much as announcing himself. “Wizard Zorander!”

  Two Sisters charged in right behind him.

  “Prelate!” Sister Philippa called.

  “They’re coming!” Sister Phoebe cried.

  Both women were white-faced and looked to be on the verge of losing their breakfast. Sister Phoebe was trembling like a wet dog in winter. Zedd then saw that Sister Philippa’s hair was singed on one side and the shoulder of her dress was blackened. She had been one of those on far watch for the enemy gifted.

  Now Zedd knew what the whistling sound he thought he’d heard was. It was very distant screams.

  Rolling up from the distance came the note of the secondary waypoint alarm horns. Zedd felt the faint tingle of magic woven through them, so he knew they were genuine. Outside the tent, the muted sounds of camp life rose into a din of activity. Weapons were being yanked from where they were stacked, fires hissed as they were dowsed, swords were being strapped on, others were being drawn, horses whinnied at the sudden racket.

  Warren seized Sister Philippa’s arm and started issuing orders. “Get the line coordinated. Don’t let them be seen—keep behind the third ridge. Set the trips close—we need to give the enemy confidence. Cavalry?”

  The woman nodded.

  “Coming in two wings,” the officer put in. “But they aren’t charging yet—they don’t want to get out too far ahead of their foot soldiers.”

  “Start the first fire behind them—once they’re past the blast point—just like we’ve drilled,” Warren told Sister Philippa as she nodded heedfully to his instructions. The intention was to trap any cavalry charge between walls of violent magic. It had to be focused properly to have any hope of piercing the enemy’s shields.

  “Prelate,” Sister Phoebe said, still panting, “you can’t imagine the numbers. Dear Creator, it looks like the ground is moving, like the hills are melting men toward us.”

  Verna put a comforting hand to the young Sister’s shoulder. “I know, Phoebe. I know. But we all know what to do.”

  Verna was already ushering the two Sisters out and calling for her other aides, as yet more officers and returning scouts leaped from horses.

  A big, bearded soldier, sweat running down his face, barged into the tent gasping for his breath.

  “The whole blasted force. All of ’em.”

  “Cavalry with lances—enough to break their way and then some,” another man shouted into the tent from atop a lathered horse, pausing only long enough to deliver the news to Zedd before charging off.

  “Archers?” Zedd asked the two soldiers still in his tent.

  The officer with the beard shook his head. “Too far to tell.” He gulped air. “But I’d bet my life they’re right behind the pikemen’s shields.”

  “No doubt,” Zedd said. “When they get close enough, they’ll show themselves.”

  Warren grabbed the bearded officer’s sleeve and pulled him along behind as he trotted out of the tent. “Don’t worry, when they show themselves we’ll have something to put out their eyes.”

  The other man ran on to his duties. In an instant, Zedd was standing alone in his tent, lit from the outside by early-morning winter sun. It was a cold dawn. It would be a bloody day.

  Outside the tent, the racket exploded into the uproar of practiced pandemonium. Everyone had a job, and knew it well; these were mostly battle-tested D’Harans. Zedd had snuck close and had seen how fearsome the Imperial Order troops looked, but the D’Harans were their match in gristle. For generations, D’Harans prided themselves on being the fiercest fighters in existence. For a good part of his life, Zedd had battled D’Harans who had proven their boasts true.

  Zedd could hear someone shouting, “Move, move, move.” It sounded like General Reibisch. Zedd dashed to the tent’s opening, pausing at the brink of a river of men flowing past in a great churning mass.

  General Reibisch skidded to a halt just outside the tent.

  “Zedd—we were right.”

  Zedd nodded his disappointment to have surmised the enemy’s plans. This was one time he wished he’d been wrong.

  “We’re breaking camp,” General Reibisch said. “We’ve not much time. I’ve already ordered the advance guard to shift their positions north to cover the supply wagons.”

  “Is it all of them—or just a jab to test us?”

  “It’s the whole bloody lot.”

  “Dear spirits,” Zedd whispered. At least he had made what plans for this eventuality as could be made. He had trained the gifted to expect this so they wouldn’t be thrown off balance. It would come just as Zedd told them it would; that would aid their confidence and give them courage. The day hinged on the gifted.

  General Reibisch swiped his meaty hand across his mouth and jaw as he looked to the south, toward an enemy he couldn’t yet see. The early sun made his rust-colored hair look red, and the scar that ran from his left temple to his jaw stand out like a streak of frozen white lightning.

  “Our sentries pulled back along with the outer lines. No use in them standing ground, since it’s the whole Imperial Order.”

  Zedd quickly nodded his agreement. “We’ll be the magic against magic for you, General.”

  The man had a lusty glint in his grayish-green eye. “We’re the steel for you, Zedd. We’ll show them bastards a lot of both today.”


  “Just don’t show them too much, too soon,” Zedd warned.

  “I’m not about to change our plans now,” he said over the sound of the tumult.

  “Good.” Zedd snatched the arm of a soldier running past. “You. I need your help. Pack up my things in there for me, would you, lad? I need to get to the Sisters.”

  General Reibisch gestured the young soldier into Zedd’s tent, and the young man leaped to the task.

  “The scouts said they’re all staying on this side of the Drun River, just as we hoped.”

  “Good. We won’t have to worry about them flanking us, at least not from the west.” Zedd swept his gaze over the dissolving camp as the men swiftly set about their jobs. He looked back to the general’s weathered face. “Just get our men north into those valleys in time, General, so that we can’t be surrounded. The gifted will cover your tails.”

  “We’ll plug up the valleys, don’t you worry.”

  “The river isn’t frozen over, yet, is it?”

  General Reibisch shook his head. “Maybe enough for a rat to skate on, but not the wolf that’s after him.”

  “That should keep them from crossing.” Zedd squinted off to the south. “I have to go check on Adie and her Sisters. May the good spirits be with you, General. They won’t need to watch your back—we’ll do that.”

  General Reibisch caught Zedd’s arm. “There’s more than we thought, Zedd. Twice the number at least. If my scouts weren’t just stuttering, there may be three times the number. Think you can slow that many down while keeping them focused on trying to sink their teeth into my backside?”

  The plan was to draw the enemy north while staying just out of their reach—close enough to make them salivate but not close enough to let them get a good bite. Crossing the river at this time of year would be impractical for an army that size. With the river on one side, and mountains on the other, a force the size of the Imperial Order couldn’t so easily surround and overwhelm the “D’Haran Empire” troops, who were outnumbered ten or twenty to one.