Faith of the Fallen

by Terry Goodkind

  Zedd staggered to his feet, worried about the distant thunder of horses. Horns closer into camp repeated the warning to hold arrows and spears, that it was friendly forces. It sounded like too many horses for any patrol they had out. In the back of his mind, Zedd tried to recall if he felt the twinge of magic that would tell him the horns were genuine. In the fog of fatigue, he had forgotten to pay attention. That was how people ended up dead, he knew—inattention to such details.

  Men were rushing all about, carrying supplies, water, and linen for bandages, or messages and reports. Here and there Zedd saw a Sister working at healing. Other men struggled with repairs to wagons and gear in case they had to depart in a hurry. Some men sat staring at nothing. A few wandered as if in a daze.

  It was difficult to see in the poor light, but Zedd was able to see well enough to tell that the ground was littered with the dead, the wounded, or the simply spent. Fires, both the common orange and yellow flames of burning wagons and the unnatural green blazes that were the remnants of magic, were left to burn out on their own. Horses as well as men lay everywhere, still and lifeless, torn open by ghastly wounds. The battlefields changed, but battle didn’t. Now was a time of helpless shock. He remembered from his youth the stench of blood and death mingled with greasy smoke. It was still the same. He remembered in battles past thinking the world had gone mad. It still felt the same.

  The rumble of horses was getting closer. He could hear quite a commotion, but he couldn’t tell what sort of ruckus it was. Off to his right, he spotted a stooped woman shuffling toward him. He recognized Adie’s familiar limp. A woman more distant, catching up to Adie from behind, was probably Verna. A little farther off, Zedd saw Captain Meiffert being lectured to by General Leiden. Both men turned to look toward the clatter of hooves.

  Zedd squinted into the murk and saw in the distance soldiers scattering before a mass of approaching riders. Men waved their arms, as if in greeting. A few offered weak cheers. Many pointed in Zedd’s direction, funneling the horsemen his way. As First Wizard, he had become a focal point for everyone. The D’Harans, in Richard’s absence, relied on Zedd to be their magic against magic. The Sisters relied on his experience in the nasty art of magic in warfare.

  In the wavering glow of fires still burning out of control, Zedd watched the column of horsemen coming relentlessly onward, points of light glinting off row upon row of armor and weapons, shimmering off chain mail and polished boots, as they each in turn passed the burning wagons and barricades. The thundering column slowed for nothing, expecting men to get out of its way. At their fore, long pennons flew atop perfectly upright lances. Standards and flags flapped in the cold night air. The ground thundered with thousands of horses charging over the blood-soaked ground. They rolled onward, like a ghost company riding out of the grave.

  Orange and green smoke, lit from behind by the eerie light of fires, curled away to each side as the column of riders charged though the middle of the camp at an easy gallop.

  Zedd saw, then, who was leading them.

  “Dear spirits…” he whispered aloud.

  Sitting tall atop a huge horse at the head of the column was a woman in leather armor with fur billowing out behind her like an angry pennant.

  It was Kahlan.

  Even at that distance, Zedd could see, sticking up behind her left shoulder, the gleam of light off the silver and gold hilt of the Sword of Truth.

  His flesh went cold with tingling dread.

  He felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Adie, her completely white eyes transfixed by the sight she beheld through her gift alone. Verna was still weaving her way through the wounded. Captain Meiffert and General Leiden rushed to follow in Verna’s footsteps.

  The column stretched out behind Kahlan as far as Zedd could see. They charged onward, collecting cheering men as they came. Zedd waved his arms as they all bore down on him, so that Kahlan would notice him, but it seemed as if she had had her eyes on him the whole time.

  The horses skidded to a halt before him, snorting and stamping, tossing their armored heads. Plumes of steam rose from their nostrils when they blew great hot breaths in the icy air. Powerful muscles flexed beneath glossy hides as they pawed the ground. The eager beasts stood at the ready, their tails lashing side to side, slapping their flanks like whips.

  Kahlan swept the scene with a careful gaze. Men were rushing up from all directions. Those gathering around stared in wonder. The horsemen were Galeans.

  Kahlan had provisionally taken the place of her half sister, Cyrilla, as queen of Galea, until Cyrilla was well again—if that ever happened. Kahlan’s half brother, Harold, was the commander of the Galean army, and didn’t want the crown, feeling himself more fit to serve his land in the soldier’s life. Kahlan had Galean blood in her veins, although, to a Confessor, matters of blood were irrelevant. They were not so irrelevant to Galeans.

  Kahlan swung her right leg forward over the horse’s neck and dropped to the ground. Her boots resounded like a hammer strike announcing the Mother Confessor’s arrival. Cara, in her red leather, and similarly cloaked in a fur mantle, likewise jumped down off her horse.

  Battle-weary men all around stood in rapt silence. This was not merely the Mother Confessor. This was Lord Rahl’s wife.

  For just an instant, as Zedd stared into her green eyes, he thought she might run into his arms and break down in helpless tears. He was wrong.

  Kahlan pulled off her gloves. “Report.”

  She wore stealth-black light leather armor, a royal Galean sword at her left hip, and a long knife at her right. Her thick fall of hair cascaded boldly over the wolf’s fur mantle topping a black wool cloak. In the Midlands, the length of a woman’s hair denoted rank and social standing. No Midlands woman wore hair as long as Kahlan’s. But it was the hilt of the sword sticking up behind her shoulder that held Zedd’s gaze.

  “Kahlan,” he whispered as she stepped closer, “where’s Richard?”

  Whatever pain he had seen for that instant was gone. She swept a brief glare Verna’s way, as the young Prelate still hurried toward them between the wounded, then met Zedd’s gaze with eyes like green fire.

  “The enemy has him. Report.”

  “The enemy? What enemy?”

  Again her glare slid to Verna. Its power straightened Verna’s back and slowed her approach.

  Kahlan returned her attention to Zedd. Her eyes softened with a vestige of sympathy for the anguish she must have seen on his face. “A Sister of the Dark took him, Zedd.” The respite of warmth in her voice and eyes faded as her countenance returned to the cold, empty mask of a Confessor. “I would like a report, please.”

  “Took him? But is he—is he all right? You mean she took him as a prisoner? Do they want ransom? He’s still all right?”

  She touched the side of her mouth and Zedd saw then that she had a swollen cut. “He’s all right as far as I know.”

  “Well, what’s going on?” Zedd threw up his skinny arms. “What’s this about? What does she intend?”

  Verna finally made it up to Zedd’s left side. Captain Meiffert and General Leiden ran up to the other side of Adie, on his right.

  “What Sister?” Verna asked, still getting her breath back. “You said a Sister took him. What Sister?”

  “Nicci.”

  “Nicci…” Captain Meiffert gasped. “Death’s Mistress?”

  Kahlan met his gaze. “That’s the one. Now, is someone going to give me a report?”

  There was no mistaking the command, or the rage, in her voice. Captain Meiffert lifted an arm to the south.

  “Mother Confessor, the Imperial Order forces, all of them, finally moved up from Anderith.” He rubbed his brow as he tried to think. “Yesterday morning, I guess it was.”

  “We wanted to pull them up here, into the valley country,” Zedd put in. “Our idea was to get them out of the grassland, where we couldn’t contain them, up into country where we had a better chance to do so.”

  “We knew,”
Captain Meiffert went on, “that it would be a fatal mistake to let them get by us and stream into the Midlands unopposed. We had to draw them into action to prevent them from unleashing their might against the populace. We had to engage them and bog them down. The only way to do that was to taunt them into following us out of the open, where they had the advantage, into terrain that helped even the odds.”

  Kahlan nodded as she scanned the dismal scene. “How many men did we lose?”

  “I’d guess maybe fifteen thousand,” Captain Meiffert said. “But that’s just a guess. It may be more.”

  “They flanked you, didn’t they.” It didn’t sound like a question.

  “That’s right, Mother Confessor.”

  “What went wrong?”

  The Galean troops behind her formed a grim wall of leather, chain mail, and steel. Officers with incisive eyes watched and listened.

  “What didn’t?” Zedd growled.

  “Somehow,” the captain explained, “they knew what we planned. Although, I guess it wouldn’t be all that hard to figure out, since anyone would know it was our only chance against their numbers. They were confident they could defeat us, regardless, so they obliged our plan.”

  “Like I asked, what went wrong?”

  “What went wrong!” General Leiden interrupted heatedly. “We were outnumbered beyond all hope! That’s what went wrong!”

  Kahlan settled her cool gaze on the man. He seemed to catch himself and fell to one knee.

  “My queen,” he added in formal address before falling silent.

  Kahlan’s gaze lost some of its edge as it moved back to Captain Meiffert.

  Zedd noticed the captain’s fists tightening as he went on with his report. “Somehow, Mother Confessor, near as we can tell they managed to get a division across the river. We’re pretty sure they didn’t use the open ground to the east—we had preparations should they try that, as we feared they might.”

  “So,” Kahlan said, “they reasoned you would think it impossible, so they sent a division across the river—probably a great deal more, willing to bear their losses in the crossing—went north through the mountains, unsuspected, unseen, and undetected, and crossed back to this side of the river. When you got here, they were waiting for you, holding the ground you had planned to hold. With the Order hot on your heels, you had nowhere else to go. The Order intended to crush you between that division holding this defendable ground and their army on your tail.”

  “That’s the gist of it,” Captain Meiffert confirmed.

  “What happened to the division waiting here?” she asked.

  “We wiped them out,” the captain said with a cool rage of his own. “Once we realized what had happened, we knew it was our only chance.”

  Kahlan gave him a nod. She knew full well what a mighty effort his simple words conveyed.

  “They cut us to pieces from behind as we did so!” General Leiden’s temper was getting frayed around the edges. “We had no chance.”

  “Apparently you did,” she answered. “You gained the valley.”

  “What of it? We can’t fight a force their size. It was insane to throw men into that meat grinder. What for? We gained this valley, but at a terrible price. We won’t be able to hold a force that huge! They had their way with us from the first until the last. We didn’t stop them, they just got tired of hacking us to pieces for the night!”

  Some men looked away. Some stared at the ground. Only the crackle of fires and the moans of the wounded filled the frigid night air.

  Kahlan glanced around again. “What are you doing sitting here, now?”

  Zedd’s brow went up, along with his own anger. “We’ve been at it for two days, Kahlan.”

  “Fine. But I don’t allow the enemy to go to bed with victory. Is that clear?”

  Captain Meiffert clapped a fist to his heart in salute. “Clear, Mother Confessor.”

  He glanced over his shoulders. Fists of attentive men near and far likewise went to their hearts.

  “Mother Confessor,” General Leiden said, dropping her title of queen, “the men have been up for two days, now.”

  “I understand,” Kahlan said. “We have been riding without pause for three days, now. Neither changes what must be done.”

  In the harsh reflection of firelight, the creases in General Leiden’s face looked like angry gashes. He pressed his lips together and bowed to his queen, but when he came up, he spoke again.

  “My queen, Mother Confessor, you can’t seriously be expecting us to carry out a night attack. There’s no moon and clouds mostly hide the stars. In the dark such an attack would be a disaster. It’s lunacy!”

  Kahlan finally withdrew her cold glare from the Keltish general and passed a gaze among those assembled around her. “Where is General Reibisch?”

  Zedd swallowed. “I’m afraid that’s him.”

  She looked where Zedd pointed, at the corpse he had fallen asleep atop while trying to heal. The rust-colored beard was matted with dried blood. The grayish-green eyes stared without seeing, no longer showing pain. It had been a fool’s task, Zedd knew, but he couldn’t help trying to heal what could not be healed, giving it everything he had left. It hadn’t been enough.

  “Who is next in command,” Kahlan asked.

  “That would be me, my queen,” General Leiden said as he took a stride forward. “But as the ranking officer, I can’t allow my men to—”

  Kahlan lifted a hand. “That will be all, Lieutenant Leiden.”

  He cleared his throat. “General Leiden, my queen.”

  She fixed him with an implacable stare. “To question me once is a simple mistake, Lieutenant. Twice is treason. We execute traitors.”

  Cara’s Agiel spun up into her fist. “Step aside, Lieutenant.”

  Even in the haunting orange and green light of fires, Zedd could see the man’s face pale. He took a step back and wisely, if belatedly, fell silent.

  “Who is next in command?” the Mother Confessor asked again.

  “Kahlan,” Zedd said, “I’m afraid the Order used their gifted to single out men of rank. Despite our best efforts, I believe we lost all our senior officers. It cost them dearly, at least.”

  “Then who is next in command?”

  Captain Meiffert looked around and finally lifted his hand.

  “I’m not positive, Mother Confessor, but I believe that would be me.”

  “Very well, General Meiffert.”

  He inclined his head. “Mother Confessor,” he said in a quiet, confidential voice, “that isn’t necessary.”

  “No one said it was, General.”

  The new general softly struck a fist to his heart. Zedd saw Cara smile in grim approval. Of the thousands of faces watching, that was the only smile. It wasn’t that the men disapproved, but rather that they were relieved to have someone so firmly in command. D’Harans respected iron authority. If they couldn’t have Lord Rahl, they would take his wife, and an iron one at that. They might not have smiled, but Zedd knew they would be pleased.

  “As I said, I don’t allow the enemy to go to bed with victory.” Kahlan scanned the faces watching her. “I want a cavalry raid ready to go within the hour.”

  “And who do you intend to send on such an attack, my queen?”

  Everyone knew what the former General Leiden meant by the question. He was asking who she was sending to their death.

  “There will be two wings. One to make their way unseen around the Order’s camp so as to come in from their south, where they will least expect it, and another wing to hold back until the first is in place, and then come in from this side, from the north. I intend to have us spill some of their blood before bed.”

  She looked back to the new Lieutenant Leiden’s eyes and answered his question. “I will be leading the southern wing.”

  Everyone, except the new general, began voicing objections. Leiden spoke up louder.

  “My queen, why would you want us to get our men together for a calvary raid?” He
pointed to the wall of men, all on horses behind her: all Galeans—traditional adversaries of the Keltans, Leiden’s homeland. “When we have these?”

  “These men will be helping get this army back together, relieving those on duty to get needed rest, helping dig defensive ditches, and filling in wherever they are needed. The men who were bloodied are the ones who need to go to bed with the sweet taste of vengeance. I would not dare to deny D’Harans that to which they are so entitled.”

  A cheer went up.

  Zedd thought that if war was madness, madness had just found its mistress.

  General Meiffert took a step closer to her. “I’ll have my best men ready within the hour, Mother Confessor. Everyone will want to go; I’ll have to disappoint a lot of volunteers.”

  Kahlan’s face softened when she nodded. “Pick your man for the northern wing, then, General.”

  “I will be leading the northern wing, Mother Confessor.”

  Kahlan smiled. “Very well.”

  She ordered the Galean troops off to their duties. With a sweep of her finger, she dismissed everyone but the immediate group and called that inner circle closer.

  “What about Richard’s admonition not to directly attack the Order?” Verna asked.

  “I remember well what Richard said. I’m not going to directly attack their main force.”

  Zedd supposed she did remember it well. She had been there with Richard—they hadn’t. Zedd brought up a touchy issue.

  “The main force will be in the center, well protected. At their edges, where you attack, will be defenses, of course, but mostly the camp followers will be at the tail end of the Order’s camp—the fringe to the south, mostly.”

  “I don’t really care,” she said with cold fury. “If they’re with the Order, then they are the enemy. There will be no mercy.” She was looking at her new general as she spoke her orders. “I don’t care if we kill their whores or their generals. I want every baker and cook dead as much as I want every officer and archer dead. Every camp follower we kill will deprive them of the comforts they enjoy. I want to strip them of everything, including their lives. Is that understood?”