2 - Stone of Tears

by Goodkind, Terry

  The young man held his chin out, knowingly. 'Form a tight rank of the pikes formed into a box or wedge to protect the archers. The pikemen face the pikes out and overlapping the shields, present the enemy with a tight, impenetrable wall. The shields protect the pikemen, who protect the archers. The archers take them down before they can get close enough to use their argons. The few who do fall on the pikes. Their drive is repelled and, in all likelihood, they have lost a good many men in the failed attempt, making another less likely.'

  Kahlan nodded, as if impressed. 'Well stated.' He beamed. The men around him grinned with pride in their knowledge of their business. 'I have seen some of the most experienced armies of the Midlands use those very same tactics when the D'Harans first came over, last spring, when the boundary went down.'

  'Well, there you have it,' the man said. 'They lose their charge against the archers and on the point of our pikes.'

  She gave him a small smile. The D'Haran van, those men I told you about, the biggest, the fiercest, the ones who won the right to be the first at you? Well, they've developed special tactics of their own, for use against your plans. First of all, they have arrow shields, so as they run in, they're protected from the brunt of the archers' work.

  'And I guess I forgot to tell you one other thing about those argons of theirs. These spears have iron-sheathed shafts for most of their length, and a unique purpose. As the enemy is charging in, mostly unaffected by your archers, they heave their argons at you.'

  'We have shields,' the man pointed out. 'Their argons expended, they will be on the point of our pikes.'

  She folded her arms, nodding to him. 'The van, the men who won the right to be the first wave, are big men. I doubt the smallest has arms less than twice the average of yours.

  The argons are needle sharp. Thrown by those powerful arms, they penetrate and stick in your shields. The long barbs prevent them from being withdrawn.'

  The confident smiles were fading as she looked from face to face as she went on. 'You now have argons stuck solidly in your shields. You drop your pikes, drawing swords to hack the heavy spears away. But the shafts are covered in iron, and don't yield. The spears are heavy, and the butts drag the ground. D'Harans can run almost as fast as their spears fly. As they reach you now, they jump on the shafts of the spears stuck in your shields, dragging them to the ground, leaving you on your knees, and naked to their heavy axes.'

  Arms still folded, she leaned toward them. 'I have seen men split from scalp to navel by those axes.'

  Men glanced sideways at one another, their confidence shaken.

  She nodded mockingly as she unfolded her arms. 'I am not giving you conjecture. I've seen a D'Haran force take down an experienced army nearly ten times their size in just this fashion. In the space of an hour, the battle turned from a rout of the D'Harans to a rout of their foes.

  'A D'Haran charge of the argon is almost as devastating as a classic cavalry charge, except they have far greater numbers than any cavalry. And their own cavalry is anything but typical. You don't even want to know about them.

  'They lost half their number in the slaughter of Ebinissia, and they are in camp, now, singing and drinking. Would you, if you lost every other one of you, be of good cheer? 'I know you believe you can win a battle against a force ten times your size, and I know also that such a thing can be done. But it is those experienced D'Haran troops who, on a battlefield, fighting by the tactics of common war, could bring about such a feat.

  'Please believe me, I mean no disrespect to your bravery, but in the field of war, you are not their equal. Not yet. You could not defeat an army half their size were the battle fought the way your enemy would fight.

  'That does not mean you cannot win. It means only that you must do it in another way. I believe you can win, and I'm going to tell you what you must do, and lead you in the first strike, to start you in this. The Imperial Order is not invincible. They can be defeated.

  'From this day forward, I shall never again call you "boys." From this day forward, you are men.

  'You think of yourselves as soldiers of your homeland, Galea. But you are not. In this, you are not. You are soldiers, men, of the Midlands. For it is not just Galea who will be conquered, but all of the Midlands, if these men are not stopped. I call upon you to stop them.'

  The tightly packed crowd of soldiers, tempered by what they had heard, shouted that they would do the job. She watched from under her eyebrows as they confidently pledged to fight to the end. There were angry whispers from some in the crowd, to her right. Men were jostling each other and arguing. Some men wanted to speak, and others were seeking to prevent it.

  'If you should choose to join in this battle, you will follow orders without question,' she said. 'But for this time only, you may speak your mind freely, without retribution. If you have something to say, then let all hear it now, or else hold it to your grave.'

  One man pulled his arm free of another. He glowered up at her. 'We're men. We don't follow women into battle.'

  Kahlan blinked at him. 'You follow Queen Cyrilla.'

  'She is our queen, we fight on her behalf. She doesn't lead us in battle. That's left to men to do.'

  Kahlan narrowed her eyes. 'What is your name?'

  He glanced around at his fellows, and then held his chin up. 'I'm William Mosle. And we've been trained by Prince Harold himself.'

  'And I,' Kahlan said, 'was trained by his father, King Wyborn. King Wyborn was my father, too. I am half sister to Queen Cyrilla and Prince Harold.'

  There were astonished murmurs throughout the crowd. Without taking her eyes from Mosle, she lifted a hand to silence them. 'But that does not count for command. You are soldiers. Your duty is to follow the orders of your commanders, and they the queen, and she must follow commands of the Central Council of the Midlands. The council of the Midlands follows the orders of the Mother Confessor.

  'For now, I fill that office. My family name is, like your queen's, Amnell, but I'm of Confessor blood, first, and last. I am the Mother Confessor of the Midlands, and as such, if I say you're to march into a lake, then it's your duty to march until you're breathing water and seeing fishes. Does that make it clear enough for you, soldier?'

  A few other men were shoving at Mosle, urging him to go on with their grievances. 'It means you can order us, it doesn't mean you know what you're doing.'

  Kahlan let out a sigh and pulled some blood-stiffened hair back, hooking it behind an ear. 'I don't have the time, today, to tell you of all the training I've had, or of all the fighting against impossible odds I've been through, or the men I've had to kill in that fighting.

  'I would tell you only that last night, I went alone to the camp of the Imperial Order to save your life. The men of the Order, D'Harans, fear the things of the night, spirits, and for protection from that and to assist them, they had a wizard in their company. Had you, in your confidence of battle knowledge, tried to attack those men, that wizard would have known what you were doing, and probably used magic to kill you all.'

  Mosle's defiant expression didn't diminish, but some of the others broke into worried whispers. Fighting against steel was one thing, fighting against magic quite another.

  Captain Ryan stepped forward. 'The Mother Confessor killed the wizard,' he said with pride. There were relieved sighs among the men. 'If it hadn't been for her experience, we would have marched to our deaths without even having the chance to lay steel to steel. I, for one, intend to follow those I've sworn my life to serve: my land, my queen, the Midlands, and the Mother Confessor.

  'We're going to stop this threat against the Midlands, and we're going to do it by following those we are sworn to follow. We go into battle under the command of the Mother Confessor.'

  'I'm a soldier in the Galean army!' Mosle seemed only to get more defiant. 'Not a soldier in any Midlands army! I fight for Galea, not to protect lands like Kelton!' Kahlan watched as other men shouted their agreement. 'This army, the Imperial Order, or whatever they call
themselves, is marching toward the border. Cellion is a border city, and most of it's on the other side of the river, in Kelton! Most of its citizens are Keltish! Why should we die for the Keltans?'

  Men in the crowd were starting to argue with one another. Captain Ryan's face was red. 'Mosle, you're a disgrace to ...!'

  Kahlan held a hand out to silence him. 'No, soldier Mosle is only speaking as he believes, as I asked him to. You men must understand me. I'm not ordering you to do this. I'm asking you to fight for the lives of innocent people of the Midlands. Tens of thousands of your fellow soldiers have already died in this battle. I would not ask you to lay down your lives for something you do not believe in. Most who go into this war will die.

  'It's your decision to stay or not. You are not commanded to stay. But if you choose to stay, it will be under my command. I want no man with us who does not believe in what we do.

  'Decide now, if you will be with us or not. If not, then you are free to go, because you will be of no help to your comrades.'

  Her voice turned as cold as the thin morning air. 'If you decide to go with me into this war, then you will follow the orders of your superiors. In the Midlands, there is no one to outrank me. You will follow my orders without question, or your punishment will be unsparing. Too much is at stake to have to suffer men who can't follow orders.

  'If I say you will do something, then you will do it, even if you know it's to cost you your life, because it's to save many more lives. I give no orders without sound reason, but I won't always have time to explain them. Your duty is to trust in your superiors and do as you're told.'

  She held out a finger and swept it slowly over their heads. 'Choose, then. With us, or not. But choose this day for all time.'

  Kahlan drew her hands back inside her warm fur mantle and waited in silence while men discussed and argued among themselves. Tempers flared, and angry oaths were given. Men gathered around Mosle, and others moved away from him.

  'I'm leaving, then,' Mosle called out to the others. He thrust his fist in the air. 'I'll follow no woman into battle, no matter who she is! Who's leaving with me!'

  About sixty or seventy men gathered about cheered their support for him.

  'Go, then,' Kahlan commanded. 'Before you become caught up in a battle you do not believe in.'

  Having made their choice, Mosle and the men with him cast her glares of contempt. He swaggered forward. 'We'll leave as soon as we can get our things together. We'll not be rushed out on your word.'

  The men in the crowd pushed in. Before it came to blows Kahlan held her hand up. 'Stop! Let them be. They've made their choice. Let them get their things and be gone.'

  Mosle turned and pushed his way back through the throng, his new men in tow. As they left the gathered soldiers, Kahlan carefully counted their numbers. Sixty-seven. Sixty-seven who would leave.

  She looked out at all the faces. Any more? Do any more wish to leave?' No one moved a muscle. Then do all of you wish to join in this fight?' A united cheer went up. 'So be it. I wish I did not have to call upon you men to do this, but there is no one else to ask. My heart weeps for those of you who will die. Know that none of those who live will ever forget the sacrifice you make for them and the people of the Midlands.'

  From the corner of her eye, she watched the sixty-seven men moving among the wagons, taking the supplies they thought they would need. And now, to what must be done.'

  Slowly, she shook her head. 'You men must understand what it is I call upon you to do. It is no glorious battle, as you think, where you move like pieces on a game board. No tactics to outwit an opponent in a grand engagement. We will not face them in the field of battle, but kill them in every other way.'

  'But Mother Confessor,' someone near the front timidly called out, 'it's the code of honor for soldiers to face one another in battle, to best him in a fair fight.'

  There is nothing fair about having to fight in war. The only fair thing would be to live in peace. The purpose of war is singular: to kill.

  'You must all understand this, for it's central to your survival. There is no honor in killing, no matter the method. Dead is dead. Killing your enemy in war is done to protect the lives of those for whom you fight. Their lives are no better protected by killing your enemy sword to sword than by slaying him while he sleeps, but only put at risk by it.

  There is no glory in this task. It's an onerous deed. We do not intend to give them a chance to engage in pitched battle, to see who is the better at the game. Our chore is simply to kill them.

  'If you have difficulty seeing the right of this, then I call upon you to consider the honor of the soldiers you are up against. Consider them as they stood waiting in gangs to rape your mothers and sisters. Consider what your mothers and sisters in Ebinissia thought of honor as they were tortured and raped and slaughtered.'

  The chill of her words sent visible shudders through the stone-silent men. Kahlan had to restrain herself from bringing any more horror to their eyes, but before her still floated the vision of the young women in the palace.

  'If the enemy is looking the other way, so much the better, because they will not thrust a knife into you. If it is from a distance, with an arrow, so much the better, because they will not have a chance to impale you on an argon. If it is while they have food in their mouths, so much the better, because they will not be able to raise an alarm. If it is while they are sleeping, so much the better, because they will not have a chance to cleave you with their sword.

  'Last night, my horse crushed the head of one of the D'Haran commanders. There was no glory in that, no honor, only the knowledge that perhaps that deed will prevent some of you from dying by his hand and wits. In that, my heart sings with joy. Joy that maybe it has saved some of your precious lives.

  'What we do is done to save the lives of men and women yet alive and yet unborn. You saw what was done to the people in Ebinissia. Remember the faces of those dead. Remember the way they died, and the horror they suffered before they did. Remember those soldiers captured, and beheaded.

  'It is up to us to prevent that from happening to any more people. To do that, we must kill these men. There is no glory in the doing. Only survival.'

  In the back, two men gestured obscenely to those around them and walked off to join with Mosle's men. Sixty-nine. But the rest stood in firm resolution to take up the fight.

  The time had come. She had dissuaded them from their raw thoughts of glorious battle, and told them of the true nature of their task. She had brought most to an understanding of the larger temper of the battle ahead. She had told them some of what must be done. She had brought them to a more focused understanding of their importance in the scheme of this struggle.

  The time had come to charge them irreversibly to the burden, to forge them into an instrument of retribution that could annihilate the threat.

  Kahlan opened her arms to the men before her, her blood soaked mantle hanging limp.

  'I am dead,' she called to the gray sky. Frowning, they all leaned in a little. 'What has happened to my countrymen, my countrywomen - my fathers, sons, mothers, and daughters -has slain me. The agony of their slaughter has mortally wounded my heart.'

  Her arms spread wider as her voice rose in wrath.

  'Only vengeance can restore me! Only victory can return my life to me!'

  She gazed into all the wide eyes staring back. 'I am the Mother Confessor of the Midlands. I am your mothers, your sisters, your daughters yet unborn. I call upon you to die with me, and live again only by avenging me.'

  Kahlan swept a hand out. Those of you who join with me in this are dead with me. Our lives can be returned only through vengeance. As long as one of our enemy lives, we are dead. We have no life to lose in this battle, for our lives are already lost, here, today, now. Only when every one of the destroyers of Ebinissia is slain may we live once again. Until then we have no life.'

  She looked out at the solemn faces of the men gathered before her, watching, waiting for her
next words. On a warm breeze, the bloody wolf fur rustled against her cheek. Kahlan pulled free her knife and held it up in her fist for all to see. She laid the weapon over her heart.

  'An oath then, to the good people of Ebinissia who are now with the spirits, and to the good people of the Midlands!'

  Almost all the men followed her example, holding their knives over their hearts. Seven did not, but, grumbling curses, rose to join with Mosle. Seventy-six.

  'Vengeance without mercy before our lives are returned to us!'she pledged.

  The sober voice of every man before her repeated the oath, joining with every other in unflinching unity.

  'Vengeance without mercy before our lives are returned to us!' The roar of their words drifted away on the morning air.

  Kahlan watched William Mosle cast a glance over his shoulder at her before following his men away, back up the pass.