“I’m sorry, Kahlan,” Zedd said.
“What do you mean you’re sorry? You must . . .”
Kahlan realized that although her hand still throbbed, the grip on it had gone slack. She looked down and saw the mask of death. He was now in the spirits’ hands.
The pall of death sent a shudder through her. She knew what it was to feel the touch of death. She felt it now. She felt it every waking moment. In sleep it saturated her dreams with its numb touch. Her icy fingers reflexively brushed at her face, trying to wipe away the ever-present tingle, almost like a hair tickling her flesh, but there was never anything there to brush away. It was the teasing touch of magic, of the death spell, that she felt.
Zedd stood, letting the flame float to a torch that a man nearby was holding out, igniting it into wavering flame. While Zedd held one hand out as if in command to the wagon, he motioned the men away with his other. They cautiously took their shoulders away, but remained poised to catch the wagon if it suddenly fell again. Zedd turned his palm up and, in harmony with his arm’s movement, the wagon obediently rose into the air another couple of feet.
“Pull him out,” Zedd ordered in a somber tone.
The men seized Stephens by his shoulders and hauled him off the spoke. When he was out from under the axle, Zedd turned his hand over and allowed the wagon to settle to the ground.
A man fell to his knees beside Kahlan. “It’s my fault,” he cried in anguish. “I’m sorry. Oh, dear spirits, it’s my fault.”
Kahlan gripped the driver’s coat and urged him to his feet. “If it’s anyone’s fault, then I’m to blame. I shouldn’t have been trying to make distance in the dark. I should have . . . It’s not your fault. It was an accident, that’s all.”
She turned away, closing her eyes, still hearing the phantoms of his screams. As was their routine, they hadn’t used torches so as not to reveal their presence. There was no telling what eyes might see a force of men moving through the passes. While there was no evidence of pursuit, it was foolhardy to be overconfident. Stealth was life.
“Bury him as best you can,” Kahlan told the men. There would be no digging in the frozen ground, but at least they could use the rock from the scree to cover him. His soul was with the spirits, and safe, now. His suffering was over.
Zedd asked the officers to get the trail cleared and then went with the men to find a place to lay Stephens to rest.
Amid the mounting noise and activity, Kahlan suddenly remembered Cyrilla, and climbed back into the wagon bed. Her half sister was wrapped in a heavy layer of blankets and nestled among piles of gear. Most of the rock had fallen in the back of the wagon, missing her, and the blanket had protected her from the smaller stones the pile of gear didn’t stop. It was a wonder that no one had been crushed by one of the larger boulders that had crashed down in the darkness.
They had put Cyrilla in the wagon instead of the coach because she was still unconscious, and they thought that in the wagon they could lay her down so she would be more comfortable. The wagon was probably beyond repair. They would have to put her in the coach, now, but it wasn’t far.
In the bottleneck in the trail, men started gathering, some squeezing past at officers’ instructions and moving on into the night, while others brought out axes to cut trees and repair die support wall, while still others were told to throw the small stones and roll the larger rocks from the trail so diey could get the coach through.
Kahlan was relieved to see that Cyrilla was unhurt by any of the rocks, and relieved, too, that she was still in her near constant stupor. They didn’t need Cyrilla’s screams and cries of terror at the moment; there was work to be done.
Kahlan had been riding in the wagon with her in case she happened to wake. After what had been done to her back in Aydindril, Cyrilla panicked at the sight of men, becoming terrified and inconsolable if Kahlan, Adie, or Jebra wasn’t there to calm her.
In her rare spells of lucidity, Cyrilla made Kahlan promise, over and over, that she would be queen. Cyrilla worried for her people, and knew that she was in no state to help them. She loved Galea enough to refuse to burden her land with a queen in no condition to lead them. Kahlan had reluctantly assumed the responsibility.
Kahlan’s half brother, Prince Harold, wanted nothing to do with a monarchial burden. He was a soldier, as was his and Cyrilla’s father, King Wyborn. After Cyrilla and Harold had been born, Kahlan’s mother had taken King Wyborn as her mate, and Kahlan was bom. She was born a Confessor; the magic of the Confessors took precedence over petty matters of royalty.
“How is she?” Zedd asked as he tugged his robes off a snag while climbing into the wagon.
“The same. She was unhurt by the rockfall.”
Zedd put fingers to her temples for a moment. “There is nothing wrong with her body, but the sickness still holds reign over her mind.” He shook his head with a sign as he rested an arm on his knee. “I wish the gift could cure maladies of the mind.”
Kahlan saw the frustration in his eyes. She smiled. “Be thankful. If you could you would never have time to eat.”
As Zedd chuckled, she glanced to the men around the wagon, and saw Captain Ryan. She gestured him closer.
“Yes, my queen?”
“How far to Ebinissia?”
“Four, maybe six hours.”
Zedd leaned toward her. “Not a place we want to reach in the dead of the night.”
Kahlan caught his meaning and nodded. For them to reclaim the Crown city of Galea, they had a lot of work to do; the first of it was taking care of the thousands of corpses littering the city. It was not a scene they wanted to encounter in the middle of the night after a hard day’s march. She didn’t look forward to returning to the sight of that slaughter, but it was a place no one would expect to find them, and they could be safe there for a time. From that base, they could begin pulling the Midlands back together.
She turned back to Captain Ryan. “Is there anywhere near we can set up camp for the night?”
The captain gestured up the road. “The scouts said there’s a small, upland valley not far ahead. There’s an abandoned farm there where Cyrilla will be comfortable for the night.”
She drew a strand of hair back from her face and hooked it behind an ear, noting that Cyrilla was no longer referred to as “queen.” Kahlan was queen now, and Prince Harold had made sure all knew it. “All right, send word ahead, then. Get the valley secured and set up camp. Post sentries and scout the area. If the surrounding slopes are deserted, and the valley is cut off from view, then let the men have fires, but keep them small.”
Captain Ryan smiled and tapped a fist to his heart in salute. Fires would be a luxury, and hot food would do the men good. They deserved it, after the hard march. They were almost home; tomorrow they would be there. Then the worst of the work would begin: taking care of the dead, and putting Ebinissia back to order. Kahlan would not let the Imperial Order’s victory over Ebinissia stand. The Midlands would have the city back, and it would live again to strike back.
“Did you take care of Stephens?” she asked the captain.
“Zedd helped us find a place, and the men are taking care of it. Poor Stephens. He fought all through the battles against the Order, when we started with five thousand, saw four of every five of his companions killed, and he ends up dying in an accident after it’s over. I know he would have wanted to die defending the Midlands.”
“He did,” Kahlan said. “It’s not over; we won only a battle, though an important one. We are still at war with the Imperial Order, and he was a soldier in that war. He was helping with our effort, and died in the line of duty, just as much as those men kilted in combat. There is no difference. He died a hero of the Midlands.”
Captain Ryan stuffed his hands in the pockets of his heavy, brown wool coat. “I think the men would appreciate hearing those words, and would find courage in them. Before we move on, could you say something over his grave? It would mean a lot for the men to know their queen wil
l miss him.”
Kahlan smiled. “Of course, Captain. It would be my honor.” Kahlan stared after the captain as he moved off to see to things. “I shouldn’t have been pushing on after dark.”
Zedd stroked a reassuring hand along the back of her head. “Accidents can happen in broad daylight. This very likely would have happened in the morning, had we stopped sooner, and then it would be blamed on being still half asleep.”
“I still feel to blame. It just doesn’t seem fair.”
His smile marked no humor. “Fate does not seek our consent.”
Chapter 33
If there were any bodies at the farm, the men had removed them by the time Kahlan reached it. They had started a fire in the roughly built hearth, but it hadn’t had time to thaw the iron chill from the deserted home.
Cyrilla was carefully carried to the remains of a straw mattress in a back bedroom. There was another cramped room with two pallets, probably for children, and the main room with a table and little else. By the broken bits of a cupboard and chest, and the remains of personal items, Kahlan knew the Order had been through here on their way to Ebinissia. She wondered again what the men had done with the bodies; she didn’t want to find them in the night if she had to go outside to relieve herself.
Zedd peered around at the room as he rubbed his hands on his stomach.
“How long until dinner is ready?” he asked in a cheery tone.
He wore heavy maroon robes with black sleeves and cowled shoulders. Three rows of silver brocade circled the cuffs of his sleeves. Thicker, gold brocade ran around the neck and down the front, the outfit gathered at the waist with a red satin belt set with a gold buckle. Zedd hated the flashy accoutrements that Adie had insisted he purchase as a disguise. He preferred his simple robes, but they were long gone, as was his fancy hat with the long feather that he had “lost” somewhere along the way.
Kahlan grinned in spite of herself. “I don’t know. What are you cooking?”
“Me? Cook? Well, I suppose . . .”
“Dear spirits, spare us that man’s cooking,” Adie said from the doorway. “We would be better served to eat bark and bugs.”
Adie limped into the room, followed by Jebra, the seer, and Ahern, the coach driver who had carried Zedd and Adie on their recent journeys. Chandalen, who had accompanied Kahlan from the Mud People’s village months ago, had departed after Kahlan had been with Richard one wondrous night in a place between worlds. He wanted to return to his home and people. She couldn’t blame him; she knew what it was to miss friends and loved ones.
With Zedd and Adie, she felt as if they were almost all together. When Richard caught up with them, then truly they would all be together again. Though it would probably be weeks yet, Kahlan still couldn’t help being excited by each breath, because each breath brought her one moment closer to having her arms around him.
“My bones do be too old for this weather,” Adie said as she crossed the room.
Kahlan retrieved a simple wooden chair and dragged it along as she took Adie’s arm and walked her to the fire. She put the chair close to the flames and urged the sorceress to sit and warm herself. Unlike Zedd’s original clothes, Adie’s simple, flaxen robes, with yellow and red beads sewn at the neck in ancient symbols of her profession, had survived their journey. Zedd scowled every time he saw them thinking it more than a little odd that her simple robes had managed to make the journey and his had been lost.
Adie always smiled and said it was a wonder and insisted that he looked grand in his fine clothes. Kahlan suspected she really did like him better in his new outfit. Kahlan, too, thought Zedd looked grand, though not so wizardlike as his traditional fashion made him look. Wizards of his high rank wore the simplest robes. There was no rank above Zedd: First Wizard.
“Thank you, child,” Adie said as she warmed her hands near the flames.
“Orsk,” Kahlan called.
The big man scurried forward. The scar over his missing eye was white in the firelight. “Yes, mistress?” He stood ready to carry out her instructions. What they might be was of no importance to him, his only concern being that he had a chance to please her.
“There’s no pot in here. Could you get us one, so we can make some dinner?”
His dark leather uniform creaked as he bowed and turned to hurry from the room. Orsk had been a D’Haran soldier from the Imperial Order’s camp. He had tried to kill her, and in the struggle she touched him with her power, the magic of the Confessors destroying forever who he had been and filling him with blind loyalty to her. That blind loyalty and devotion was a wearing presence to Kahlan, a constant reminder of what and who she was.
She tried not to see the man he had been: a D’Haran soldier who had joined with the Imperial Order, one of the killers who had participated in the slaughter of the helpless women and children of Ebinissia. As the Mother Confessor, she had sworn no mercy on any of the men of the Order, and there had been none. Only Orsk still lived. Though he lived, the man who had fought for the Order was dead.
Because of the death spell Zedd had cast over her to aid in their escape from Aydindril, few knew Kahlan as the Mother Confessor. Orsk only knew her as his mistress. Zedd, of course; Adie; Jebra; Ahern; Chandalen; her half brother, Prince Harold; and Captain Ryan knew her true identity, but everyone else thought the Mother Confessor was dead. The men she had fought with knew her only as their queen. Their memory of her being the Mother Confessor had been confused and muddled into remembering her as Queen Kahlan, no less their leader, but not the Mother Confessor.
After snow had been melted, Jebra and Kahlan added beans and bacon, cut up a few sweet roots to toss into the pot, and spooned in some molasses. Zedd stood rubbing his hands as he watched the ingredients being added. Kahlan grinned at his childlike eagerness and, from a pack, retrieved some hard bread for him. He was pleased, and ate the bread while the beans boiled.
While dinner cooked, Kahlan thawed leftover soup they had brought in a small pot and took it in to Cyrilla. She set a candle on a slat she stuck in a crack in the wall and sat on the edge of the bed in the quiet room. She wiped a warm cloth on her half sister’s forehead for a while, and was happy to see Cyrilla’s eyes open. A panicked gaze darted around the dim room. Kahlan grabbed Cyrilla’s jaw and forced her to look up into her eyes.
“It’s me, Kahlan, my sister. You are safe, alone with me. You are safe. Be at ease. Everything is all right.”
“Kahlan?” Cyrilla clutched at Kahlan’s white fur mantle. “You promised. You won’t go back on your word. You mustn’t.”
Kahlan smiled. “I promised, and I will keep the promise. I am the queen of Galea, and will be the queen until the day you wish the crown back.”
Cyrilla sagged back in relief, still clutching the fur mantle. “Thank you, my queen.”
Kahlan urged her to sit up. “Come on, now. I’ve brought you some warm soup.”
Cyrilla turned her face from the spoon. “I’m not hungry.”
“If you want me to be the queen, then you must treat me as queen.” A questioning frown came to Cyrilla’s face. Kahlan smiled. “This is an order from your queen. You will eat the soup.”
Only then would Cyrilla eat. When she had finished it all, and had started shaking and crying again, Kahlan hugged her tight until she slipped into a trancelike state, staring blindly up at nothing. Kahlan tucked the heavy blankets tight around her and kissed her forehead.
Zedd had scrounged up a couple barrels, a bench, a stool from the barn, and somewhere found another chair. He had asked Prince Harold and Captain Ryan to join Adie, Jebra, Ahern, Orsk, Kahlan, and himself for dinner. They were close to Ebinissia, and had to talk about their plans. Everyone crowded around the small table as Kahlan broke up hard bread and Jebra dished out steaming bowls of beans from the pot sitting in the fire. When the seer was finished, she sat down on the short bench beside Kahlan, all the while giving Zedd puzzled looks.
Prince Harold, a barrel-chested man with a head of long, thi
ck, dark hair, reminded Kahlan of her father. Harold had only that day returned with his scouts from Ebinissia.
“What news have you from your home,” she asked him.
He broke his bread with his thick fingers. “Well,” he sighed, “it was the same as you described it. It doesn’t look as if anyone else has been there, I think it’ll be safe enough for us there. With the Order’s army destroyed—”
“The one in this area,” Kahlan corrected.
He conceded the point with a wave of his bread. “I don’t think we’ll have any trouble for now. We don’t have many men yet, but they’re good men, and we have enough to protect the city from up in the passes in the mountains all around, as long as they don’t come in numbers like before. Until the Order brings more men, I think we can hold the city.” He gestured toward Zedd. “And we have a wizard.”
Zedd, busy spooning beans into his mouth, only slowed enough to grunt in agreement.
Captain Ryan swallowed a big mouthful of beans. “Prince Harold is right. We know these mountains. We can defend the city until they bring a large force. By then, maybe we’ll have more men joining with us, and we can start to move.”
Harold dunked his bread in his bowl, scooping up a chunk of bacon. “Adie, what do you judge our chances of getting help from Nicobarese?”
“My homeland be in turmoil. When Zedd and I were there, we learned that the king be dead. The Blood of the Fold has moved to seize power, but not all the people be pleased about it. The sorceresses be most displeased. If the Blood takes power, those women will be hunted down and killed. I expect them to back the forces in the army who resist the Blood.”
“With civil war,” Zedd said, interrupting his speedy spoon work, “it doesn’t bode well for sending troops to aid the Midlands.”
Adie sighed. “Zedd be right.”
“Maybe some of the sorceresses could help?” Kahlan asked.
Adie stirred her spoon in her beans. “Maybe.”
Blood of the Fold tsot-3 Page 44