Stone of Tears tsot-2

by Terry Goodkind

  Chandalen walked slowly to the railing, idly running a finger along its polished surface. She watched each slow cloud of his breath dissipate, to be followed by another. He spoke softly. “You see me as stubborn. I see you, too, as stubborn. Maybe our fathers should have also taught us to see that sometimes people do as they do, not because they are stubborn, but because they fear for those they protect. Maybe you and I should be able to see each other not as harsh, but as doing the best we know, to keep our people safe.”

  A small smile came unexpectedly to Kahlan’s lips. “Perhaps, Chandalen is not so blind as I thought. I will try, myself, to see better, see you for the man of honor you are.”

  He gave a nod, and a small smile of his own. “Richard With The Temper is not a stupid man.” He put his hands to the railing, looking out over the first floor. “He said that if he had to pick one man to fight beside him, he would pick Chandalen.”

  “You speak the truth,” she said softly. “He is not a stupid man.”

  “Richard also sacrificed himself as your mate. He has saved our men from being chosen, as surely you would have picked one of us, because we are so strong.” His voice rose with pride. “You would probably have picked me, so that you might have the strongest mate. Richard has saved me.”

  Kahlan smiled again in spite of herself as he stared out over the railing. “I’m sorry you feel the task of being my mate is so onerous a thing.”

  Chandalen came back to her. He stood a moment, studying her eyes, and then began untying the band at his right arm. He pulled the band and bone knife free, holding it out before her.

  “Grandfather would be proud to protect you, one of his own, one of his Mud People.” He flipped her mantle back over her left shoulder.

  “Chandalen, I cannot accept this. It holds the spirit of your grandfather.”

  He ignored her words and tied the band to her left arm. “I have the spirit of my father with me, and I am strong. You fight to protect our people. Grandfather would want to be with you in your fight. You do him an honor.”

  She held her chin up as he slipped the bone knife into the band. “I’m honored, then, to have your grandfather’s spirit with me.”

  “This is good. You have the duty now to fight as my grandfather fought to protect your people. All of your people.” He lifted her right hand and placed it on the bone knife. “Swear to carry this duty in your heart.”

  “I have already sworn to protect the Mud People, and the others of the Midlands. I have already fought and will continue to fight for all of you.”

  He squeezed her hand tighter to the bone. “Swear to Chandalen.”

  She studied his grim expression a long moment. “You have my vow, Chandalen. I swear it before you.”

  He smiled as he pulled her mantle back over her shoulder, over the bone knife. “Chandalen will thank Richard With The Temper, when I see him again, for saving me from being chosen as the mate to the Mother Confessor. I will wish him no bad fortune. He fights, too, for the Mud People, as the Bird Man has told us.”

  Kahlan bent to pick up his mantle. “Here. Put this back on, I don’t want you to freeze. You must still get me to Aydindril.”

  He nodded, still wearing the small, tight smile, as he threw the mantle over his shoulders. His smile died as he glanced at the doors. “Someone has been here since this was done.”

  Kahlan frowned. “What makes you think that?”

  “Why did you close the doors after you had looked?”

  “Out of respect for the dead.”

  “When we came to them, they were closed. Those who did this rape had no respect. They would not have closed all the doors. They wanted anyone who came to see what they had done. Someone else has been here, and closed the doors.”

  Kahlan glanced to the doors, seeing the meaning of what he said. “I think you’re right.” She shook her head. “Those who did this would not have closed the door.”

  Chandalen leaned on the railing again, looking down at the wide stairs. “Why are we here?”

  “Because I had to know what happened to these people.”

  “You saw that outside. Why are we here, in this house?”

  Kahlan glanced at the steps leading up to the top floor. “Because I have to know if the queen was killed, too.”

  He looked over his shoulder toward her. “She means something to you?”

  Kahlan was suddenly aware of the pounding of her heart. “Yes. Do you remember the statues near the door we entered?”

  “A woman, and a man.”

  She nodded. “The statue of the woman is a statue of her mother. My mother was a Confessor. The statue of the man is a statue of her father. King Wyborn. He was also my father.”

  Chandalen lifted an eyebrow. “You are sister to this queen?”

  “Half sister.” Summoning courage, she started for the stairs. “Let’s see if she is here, and then we can be on our way to Aydindril.”

  Kahlan’s heart was still pounding as she stood before the door to the queen’s chambers. She couldn’t bring herself to open it. It smelled dreadful in the hall, but she hardly noticed.

  “Do you wish me to look for you?”

  “No,” she said. “I must see with my own eyes.”

  She turned the knob. The door was locked, the key still in place. She touched the icy metal plate. “This is a lock, the thing I told you of before,” she lectured as she pulled the key out and held it up. “This is a key.” Replacing the key, she twisted it with shaking fingers. “If you have a key, you can open the lock, and then the door.”

  Someone had obviously locked the door, out of respect for the queen.

  The windows were intact, as was the furniture. The room was as freezing cold as the rest of the palace, but the smell made them suddenly gag and hold their breath.

  Human excrement covered everything in the outer sitting room. The two of them stared in shock. Dark piles dotted the carpets and sat on the desk and table. The blue velvet chairs and couches were soaked with yellow, frozen urine. Someone had even squatted neatly in the fireplace.

  Holding their mantles across their noses, they stepped carefully across the room to the next closed door. The queen’s bedchamber was worse. There was hardly a place to put a foot without stepping in it. But as covered as the floor was, the worst was the bed; it was heaped with feces. Delicately painted floral scenes on the walls were smeared with it. If everything hadn’t been frozen solid, they would have been driven from the room by the stench. As it was, it was barely tolerable.

  Thankfully, there were no bodies. The queen was not here.

  The names on Kahlan’s mental roster of who could have done all this fell away, and only one nation was left. The ones who had been at the top, before.

  “Keltans,” she hissed to herself.

  Chandalen was dumbfounded. “Why would these men do this? Are they children who do not know better?”

  After a last look around, Kahlan led them back out into the hall, locking the door once more, at last taking a full breath. “It’s a message. It’s meant to show their disrespect for the people who lived here. It says that they have nothing but scorn for these people, and anything that’s theirs. They’ve soiled their foe’s honor in every way they could think of.”

  “At least your half sister is not here.”

  Kahlan snugged the thongs of her mantle tight at her neck. “At least there is that.”

  She descended the steps, pausing to look once more at the closed doors on the second floor. Chandalen watched her after he, too, glanced to the row of doors.

  She sought to fill the silence. “We must go and find Prindin and Tossidin.”

  His face was lined with ire. “Does this not make you angry?”

  She realized only then that she was wearing her Confessor’s face. “It would do no good for me to show my anger right now. When the time is right, you will know just how angry I am.”

  Chapter 30

  In a cramped daub and wattle house next to the hole
in the city’s wall, Kahlan watched as Chandalen built a small fire for her in the central pit. The two brothers were nowhere to be seen.

  “Warm yourself,” he said. “I will see if Prindin and Tossidin are close, and tell them where we wait.”

  After he had left, she drew off her mantle, even though she knew it wasn’t a good idea to get too used to the warmth because it would only make the cold seem worse later. Drawn by the lure of the fire, she squatted close, rubbing her hands together over the flames, shivering as the warmth seeped into her bones.

  The small room was one of only two that had been a large part of some family’s world. The table was broken but the crude bench sitting against the wall was not. A few pieces of clothing were scattered about, along with bent tin plates and a broken spinning wheel. Three bobbins were crushed into the dirt floor.

  Kahlan retrieved a dented pot from among the rubble, deciding it was easier to use it than to unpack one of their own. She heaped it full of snow from outside the door, placed the pot on three stones in the fire, then warmed her icy fingers again, finally pressing them against the cold flesh of her face. There was tea in a crushed canister in the corner, but she instead pulled her own from her pack while she waited for the snow to melt, and the men to return.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t get the faces of the dead young women out of her mind.

  Several times, she added snow as that in the pot melted down. As the water was just starting to bubble, Prindin came through the door. He leaned his bow against the wall and with a sigh slumped down heavily on the bench.

  Kahlan stood and glanced to the empty doorway. “Where’s your brother?”

  “He should be here soon. We took different ways back, to be able to look at more tracks.” He craned his neck, looking through the doorway into the second room. “Where is Chandalen?”

  “He went to find you and Tossidin.”

  “Then he will be back soon. My brother is not far.”

  “What did you find?”

  “More dead people.”

  He didn’t seem to want to talk about it at the moment, so she decided to wait until Chandalen returned with Tossidin before questioning him.

  “I was just warming water. We’ll have some hot tea.”

  He nodded, flashing her his handsome smile. “It would be good to have hot tea.”

  Kahlan bent over the pot, shaking tea from a leather pouch with one hand, and holding her long hair back from her face with the other.

  “You have a fine-looking bottom,” came his voice from behind.

  She straightened and turned to him. “What did you say?”

  Prindin pointed toward her middle. “I said you have a fine-looking bottom. It is a good shape.”

  Kahlan had learned not to be startled or insulted by the strange customs of different peoples of the Midlands. Among the Mud People, for example, a man complimenting a woman on her breasts was the same as saying she looked to be capable of being a fit and healthy mother, able to nurse her future children. It was a compliment that brought smiles of pride from the flattered woman’s family, and was a sure way for a suitor to make friends with her father. At the same time, asking to see a woman with the sticky mud washed from her hair was likely as not to raise drawn bows—it was tantamount to asking the young woman for improper favors.

  The Mud People treated matters of sex in an especially casual manner. Kahlan had more than once been brought to blushing by Weselan’s unexpected and cavalier descriptions of coupling with her husband. Worse, she was as likely as not to do it in his presence.

  As she stared at Prindin, the visions of the young women’s faces, too, floated before her eyes.

  Though Prindin had not complimented her on her breasts, it seemed to her that a woman’s hips could be construed to carry the same maternal compliment. She knew he meant no disrespect, but still, his beaming smile made the hairs on her arms stand on end. Maybe it was just the inappropriate timing, with the dead all about, that unnerved her. But he hadn’t seen the dead young women.

  Prindin’s smile faded only a little as a frown came to his brow. “You look surprised. Doesn’t Richard With The Temper ever tell you how fine your bottom is?”

  Kahlan fumbled for words, not sure how to bring this to an honorable halt. “He has never mentioned it, specifically.”

  “Other men must have told you this before. It is too fine for them not to notice. The shape of your body is very good to look at. It fills me with desire to . . .” He frowned in puzzlement. “I don’t know your word for . . .”

  Blood went to her face in a red rush as she took a step toward him. “Prindin!” She relaxed her fists and brought her voice back in check. “Prindin. I am the Mother Confessor.”

  He nodded, his grin returning, but not quite as confident. “Yes, but you are a woman, too, and your shape . . .”

  “Prindin!” He blinked at her as she ground her teeth. “In your land it may be proper to speak to a woman in this fashion, but in other places in the Midlands, it is not. In other places, speaking in this manner is offensive. Very offensive. More than that, I’m the Mother Confessor, and it’s not proper to speak to me in this way.”

  His smile vanished. “But you are now one of the Mud People.”

  “That may be true, but I’m still the Mother Confessor.”

  His face blanched. “I have offended you.” He leapt up from the bench and fell to his knees before her. “Forgive me, please. I meant no disrespect. I meant only to show my favor for you.”

  Her red face glowed in embarrassment. She had done it now; she had humiliated him.

  “I understand, Prindin. I know your words are harmless, but you must not speak this way outside your land. Others would not understand your ways and would be greatly offended.”

  He was nearly in tears. “I did not know. Please say you forgive Prindin.” He clutched at her pants, and gripped her upper thighs with his powerful fingers.

  “Yes . . . of course . . . I know you meant no harm.” She took hold of his wrists, pulling them gently from her legs. “I forgive you . . .”

  Chandalen came through the door, his face set in a grim cast. He took a quick glance at Prindin before looking up into her eyes.

  “What is this?”

  “Nothing.” She hastily helped Prindin to his feet as his brother entered the room. “But we’re going to have to have a talk about the proper way to speak to ladies in the Midlands. There are things you three will need to be taught, to keep you out of trouble.” She smoothed her pant legs and the lingering sting of where Prindin’s strong fingers had been, and then straightened herself. “Tell me what you’ve found.”

  Chandalen cast a withering glare at Prindin. “What have you done?”

  Prindin took a half step back, diverting his eyes. “I did not know it would be wrong. I told her she had a fine . . .”

  “I said it was nothing,” Kahlan said, cutting him off. “It’s just a small misunderstanding. Forget about it.” She turned to the fire. “I made hot tea. Get some cups—there are some we can use on the floor over there—and we will have some tea while you tell me what you found.”

  Tossidin made for the cups, thumping the back of his brother’s head along the way, adding a whispered reprimand. Chandalen shrugged off his mantle and squatted before the fire, warming his hands. The brothers brought the cups, Prindin rubbing the back of his head, and passed them around.

  In an attempt to let them all know Prindin hadn’t lost any honor in her eyes, Kahlan directed her attention and first question to him. “Tell me what you found.”

  Prindin glanced briefly at the other two before setting his face with a serious expression. “Ten, maybe twelve days ago, this killing was done. The enemy came mostly from the east, but there were many, and some came from farther to the north and south. They had war in the narrow places in the mountains with men from this city. Those men from the city not killed ran away as they were overrun and gathered their numbers here, and tried to make a stand
. While they ran to here, they were chased by their enemy, fighting and dying as they ran.

  “More and more of the invaders poured through the passes, sweeping around to the south, here, where they had a battle. After they defeated those men, and killed the ones they captured, the enemy came through the wall. When they were finished in this city, all of them, together, went east again.”

  Tossidin leaned in a little. “Before they left, they took their dead from the city. They used wagons; there are many tracks from the wheels. It took them maybe two days to take all their dead from here. Many thousands. The people here must have fought like demon spirits. The ones who did this lost more men than they killed.”

  “Where are the bodies?” she asked.

  “In a bowl in a pass to the east,” Prindin said. “The wagons took the dead along the road, and then they were thrown down into the low place. They are piled so deep we do not know how low the ground is there.”

  “What did they look like?” She took a sip of tea, holding the tin cup with both hands wrapped around it, soaking up the warmth. “How were they dressed?”

  Prindin reached under his shirt and pulled out a folded cloth. He handed her the bloodred bundle. “There were poles, with these on them. Many of the men wore clothes with the same symbols on them, but we did not want to take the clothes from the dead.”

  Kahlan unfolded the banner and stared in shock at the long red triangle draped over her hands. In the center was a black shield with an ornate silver letter on it. The letter R. It was a war banner, with the shield and symbol of the House of Rahl.

  “D’Haran soldiers,” she whispered. “How could that be?” She looked up. “Were there Keltans, too?”

  The three men looked at one another. They didn’t understand. They didn’t know the Keltans.

  “There were some with other clothes,” Prindin said. “But most had this symbol on them, or on their shields.”

  “And they went east?”

  Tossidin nodded. “I do not know the way to tell you their numbers, but there were so many that if you stood in the same spot on the wide road they took, you would be there all day watching them pass.”