Stone of Tears tsot-2

by Terry Goodkind

  “I’ll make myself available here, and the rest of you all go over there, while I’m with each man in turn. That way I’ll feel safe enough to enjoy it, and at ease enough to make sure you do, too.” She looked back to the big man and licked her lips as she smiled. “And I have one other condition. I want you first. I’ve always wanted a really big man.”

  She shivered at the look in his eyes. She told herself that she was the Mother Confessor; she had to keep her head. She licked her lips again as she wiggled herself against his hand.

  Tyler burst into laughter. The others all chuckled nervously with him. “You lofty ladies all act better than everyone else, but when it comes to it, you’re just a whore, like all the rest.”

  His smile vanished in a way that made her heart skip a beat. “I wrung the neck of the last whore what acted like she was better than me, and decided to change her mind. That wizard told us what he’d do if we were to kill you, but that don’t mean we won’t make you regret it if you go back on your word.” Kahlan could only manage a smile and a nod. “Let’s get to it.”

  A sweep of his arm scattered the others to the opposite side of the pit, while she was desperately seeking the feel of her magic. He told them they could decide among themselves who went next. And then he turned to her. He started unbuckling his pants.

  Kahlan wildly searched her mind for a stall. She needed time to figure out how to find her power. “How about a kiss, first?”

  “I don’t need no kiss,” he growled. “Open your legs, like before. I liked that.”

  “Well, it’s just that a kiss from a big, handsome man gets a woman randy to please him.”

  He paused a moment, then put his right arm around her shoulders and slammed her to the floor beside him. “You better get randy real quick, before I lose my patience.”

  “I promise. Just kiss me a bit first.”

  Tyler pressed his lips to hers. She gasped when his other hand suddenly went up between her legs, but this time with forceful insistence, instead of a gentle touch like before. He thought the gasp was cooperation, and pressed his lips harder to hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck. The smell of him almost made her sick.

  Kahlan tried to concentrate on finding the calm, as she always had before when she used her power. She could not find the place. She desperately sought the swell of magic, but found nothing.

  Failure brought tears of frustration. Tyler’s breathing was becoming emphatic. He was pressing so hard that it was hurting her lips against her teeth. She pretended to savor it.

  It was almost impossible to concentrate with the terror of what his hand was doing between her legs, but she dared not stop him. Panic rose in her throat as she forced herself to hold her legs open for him. Her heels pressed harder to the floor and her feet trembled in her boots.

  Kahlan reprimanded herself. She was the Mother Confessor. She had used her power countless times. She tried again, but nothing happened. Her memory of the young women in Ebinissia was keeping her from being able to focus.

  And then she thought of Richard. She almost wailed with longing for him. If she was ever to have a chance of seeing Richard again, she had to use her magic. She had to be strong. She had to do it for him.

  Nothing happened. She realized she was whimpering in frustration against Tyler’s mouth. He took it for passion.

  His face pulled back a few inches. “Spread your legs more, so they can all see how much a fancy lady wants Tyler.”

  She submissively drew her heels closer to herself and spread her knees wider. The men all hooted their approval. She could feel her ears burning. She remembered what Ranson had said about taking her dignity. Tyler pressed his lips back to hers. Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes.

  It wasn’t working. She couldn’t find her power—if it was even there. She had no choice. She was going to have to follow through with what she had offered the men. Failure to do so now would only bring her a beating on top of it. There was no escape.

  She thought about the poor women in Ebinissia. That was what was going to happen to her. It was hopeless. In her mind, she gave up. She surrendered to what was going to happen.

  Something her father had told her sprang to the front of her mind—If you ever give up, Kahlan, you are lost. Fight with every breath. With the last, if you must, but don’t give up. Not ever. Don’t hand them victory. Fight with what you have to the last breath. She wasn’t doing that. She was giving up.

  Tyler sat up. “Enough kissing. You’re ready.”

  She had run out of time. She wondered if Richard would hate her for this. No. He would know she had no choice. He would be disappointed only if she felt shame for being a victim. He had suffered unimaginable pain before Denna had done what she wanted. He knew what it meant to be helpless. She did not blame him for what was forced on him. He would not blame her. He would comfort her.

  If it didn’t work with this man, she told herself, then maybe it would work with the next. She would keep trying with each. She would not give up. She would keep trying to find her power with each.

  “Keep your legs open,” Tyler growled as he undid his trousers. She realized she had unconsciously put her knees together. She obediently spread them again as a tear rolled down the side of her face.

  Dear spirits, she prayed, help me.

  No. The good spirits had never helped her before. They had never come to her aid before, despite her efforts on their behalf, despite her pleas. They would not come now.

  To the Keeper with the worthless good spirits.

  Don’t cry, girl, she told herself. Fight them. With your last breath if need be.

  “Please,” she said. “Just one more kiss?”

  “You had enough kissing. Time to do as you said. Time for me, now.”

  Kahlan pulled her heels up against herself, spread her legs as wide as she could, and wiggled her bottom as he leered. “Please? Your kisses are the best I’ve ever had. Just one more? Please?” She watched his chest heave. “Then I’ll please you like no woman ever has. Just one more kiss.”

  He flopped down on her, between her legs. His weight drove the wind from her lungs. “One more, and then you deliver.”

  He crushed his whiskered face to hers. He was out of control. His lips were cutting hers against her teeth. She tried to ignore the burning heat of him pressing painfully against her.

  Kahlan slapped her hands to the sides of his muscular neck. Her lungs burned for air. This was her last chance. Her last breath. Fight with it, she told herself. Fight.

  For Richard.

  As she had done countless times, she released her restraint, although she felt no power pushing against it.

  It was like leaping into a dark, bottomless pit.

  There was thunder but no sound.

  The violent jolt to the air brought down a shower of stone dust.

  The men all cried out with the pain of being so close when her power was released.

  Kahlan almost screamed with joy. She could feel the magic in her middle again. It was weak, from having just been used, but she could feel it again. It was back. It had never left; Ranson had used magic to make her believe a lie.

  Tyler’s jaw had gone slack as he pulled back, looking down into her eyes. “Mistress!” he whispered. “Command me.”

  The other men were scrambling toward them.

  “Protect me!”

  Heads cracked against the walls, sending splashes of blood across the stone. Tyler snapped a man’s arm. Wails of pain echoed around the room. There was a furious battle for a few minutes, until Kahlan was able to direct Tyler in accomplishing what she wanted—a truce.

  She didn’t want him to fight all the men; if they succeeded in getting the better of him, then she was finished. She wanted them separated, the men keeping their distance, and Tyler guarding her. That was her best chance of surviving until she could recover her power.

  She screamed orders to the men, as well as Tyler. Six were left standing, in fighting form, and enraged.
One was writhing on the ground, screaming in pain, a shattered bone jutting from his forearm, and the other four, including the one she had kicked in the face, were not moving.

  Kahlan told the men that she would keep Tyler at bay as long as they stayed in their corner. Reluctantly, they moved to the opposite side, dragging the others with them. The screams kept them convinced that they should bide their time before taking on the big man with the wild eyes. She made them throw her her smallclothes, under threat of sending Tyler to get them.

  Kahlan sat in the corner, her back against the wall. Tyler stood before her, in a half crouch, dancing on the balls of his feet, his arms out and ready. The men watched as they rested against the other wall. Kahlan knew that this uneasy truce could not go on for days. Sooner or later, Tyler would run out of energy. Then they would have him. Then they would have her. The men knew that, too.

  Chapter 60

  The night wore on, with the men watching, and Tyler guarding her. She caught a few moments of uneasy sleep from time to time. Kahlan had no idea what time it was, but she judged it to be between the middle of the night and close to dawn.

  Though she was afraid, and knew that they were going to come to behead her sooner or later, she felt joy that her power was back, and that she had beaten them with that much of it. The good spirits hadn’t helped her; she had helped herself. She felt self-satisfaction at what she had done. She had not given up.

  And the good spirits had left her to it, as they always did. Kahlan was furious with the good spirits. Though she had lived her whole life to see their ideals upheld, they never once helped her.

  Well, no more. She was finished with the good spirits, as she was finished with trying to help the ungrateful people of the Midlands. What had it gotten her? She had learned in the council chambers what it had gotten her. It had gotten her the undying hatred of her people. The very people she fought for thought she harmed children. People didn’t like Confessors, and were afraid of them for a variety of reasons, but she had been stunned to learn what people really believed about her.

  From now on, she was going to worry about herself, her friends, and Richard, and to the Keeper with the rest of them. He could have them all. She was through with it all.

  She was the Mother Confessor no longer. She was Kahlan.

  The torch sputtered out, plunging the pit into blackness.

  “Thank you again, good spirits!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. Her words echoed around the pit. “To the Keeper with you!”

  The men set upon Tyler in the dark. Kahlan didn’t know what was happening. She could hear grunts and screams and thuds.

  She heard an echoing, banging sound. She couldn’t understand what it was. And then she heard a muffled voice calling out her title. The familiar voice was coming from above.

  “Chandalen! Chandalen! I’m down here! Open the door!”

  “Mother Confessor!” came the voice from beyond the door. “How do I open the door!”

  Kahlan let out a shriek when a hand snatched her ankle and pulled her from her feet. Chandalen called out at the sound of her scream. Tyler grabbed the fingers around her ankle and bent them back until they snapped. The man screamed in the dark.

  “Chandalen! You need a key! Use the key!”

  “Key? What is this key!”

  “Chandalen!” She shoved a head away from her middle. “Chandalen! Remember when we were in the city with the dead people? Remember the queen’s room that was locked? Remember I showed you a key to open the door? Chandalen, one of the guards up there has a ring on his belt! It has the key! Hurry!”

  Kahlan recognized Tyler’s grunt as he was slammed to the wall. She could hear the bone-jarring blows of his fist. She could hear a metallic noise from above.

  “Mother Confessor! It will not turn!”

  “Then it’s the wrong one! Try another!”

  Someone crashed into her, knocking her to the floor. She clawed at his eyes. He punched at her middle.

  A sudden shaft of light descended into the pit. Tyler saw the man on her and threw him off. A ladder dropped down.

  “Tyler! Keep them away from the ladder!”

  Kahlan threw herself onto the ladder and scrambled up. The men piled on Tyler. She heard him groan and then his neck snap. Her foot slipped through a rung when a fist punched the back of her calf. Hands grabbed at her ankles. Kahlan kicked the face of the man right behind and then clambered up. He tumbled back, taking the others with him. They charged back up in a rush.

  Kahlan stretched for the hand extended down. Chandalen clamped onto her wrist and yanked her through the doorway. He stabbed the man right behind her. As the man toppled back, Chandalen slammed the door closed. Panting, she fell into his arms.

  “Come, Mother Confessor. We must get out of this place.”

  There were dead guards everywhere, all killed silently, from behind, by Chandalen’s troga. He held her hand as they ran through the dank, dark halls and up stairs. She wondered how Chandalen had managed to find his way down here. Someone must have shown him the way.

  Around a corner, they came to the sight of a bloody battle. Bodies were sprawled everywhere. Only one man was standing. Orsk. His great battle-axe dripped with gore. Orsk nearly leapt out of his skin with joy when he saw her. She was almost thrilled to see his scarred face.

  “I made him wait,” Chandalen explained as he pulled her through the bloody mess. “I told him that I would bring you, if he waited and guarded this hall.”

  Chandalen frowned at her. Kahlan realized he was staring at her hair, or what was left of it. He said nothing, though, and she was glad for that. It felt more than strange not to feel the weight of her hair; it was heartbreaking. She had loved her hair; so had Richard.

  Kahlan bent and took a war axe from one of the dead guards. With her power not yet recovered, she felt better with a weapon in her hands.

  Chandalen, dragging Kahlan along by her hand, with Orsk protecting the rear, burst through a door. Directly outside, the captain of the guards had a woman pressed up against the wall. Her arms were wrapped around his neck as she kissed him; his hands were up her dress.

  As they charged past, and the startled captain looked up, Chandalen drove his long knife into the man’s ribs.

  “Come!” he said to the woman. “We have her!”

  The woman fell into line with the rest of them as they wound their way up through the palace. Puzzled, Kahlan looked back. The woman in the hooded cloak was the woman who had fainted—Jebra Bevinvier.

  “What’s going on?” Kahlan asked Jebra.

  “Forgive me, Mother Confessor, for fainting. I had a vision of you being beheaded. It was so horrifying that I fainted. I knew I must help, so that the vision would not come true.

  “You told me that you had a friend in the woods. I went and found him.”

  They all flattened up against a wall and waited for a patrol to pass through an adjoining room. When their echoing footsteps faded, Chandalen turned with a hot look to Jebra.

  “What were you doing with that man!”

  She blinked in surprise. “He was the captain of the guards. He was making the rounds with a whole detachment. I convinced him to send the guards away for a while. I did the only thing I could think of to keep fifty men from trapping you down there.”

  Chandalen grumbled that maybe it made sense. As they headed on, Kahlan told Jebra that she had done a brave thing, and that she understood what courage it took to do it. Jebra protested that she was no heroine, and didn’t want to be one.

  At an intersection with a vaulted corridor, Mistress Sanderholt was waiting. Letting out a cry, Kahlan threw her arms around the woman. Mistress Sanderholt held her bandaged hands out.

  “Not now, Mother Confessor. You must escape. This way is clear.”

  As the others rushed in the direction Mistress Sanderholt indicated, Kahlan went the other way. They all turned and ran after.

  “What are you doing!” Chandalen yelled. “We must escape!”r />
  “I have to get something from my room.”

  “What could be more important than escaping!”

  “Grandfather’s knife,” she said as she ran.

  When they realized they were not going to be able to change her mind, they all followed after as she led them up through the labyrinth of smaller and less frequently patrolled halls. Several times they did encounter guards. Orsk fiercely hacked them to pieces when they charged after her.

  As she came around a corner at the top of a stairway, a surprised guard spun to her. With all her strength, Kahlan buried her axe in the center of his chest. His sword skittered across the floor as he went down on his back.

  As he thrashed on the floor, Kahlan put a foot against his heaving stomach and tried to pull the axe out. Bubbles of air and blood frothed forth, but the axe was stuck tight in his breastbone, so she scooped up his Keltish sword instead. Chandalen lifted an eyebrow. Before they reached her room, she had cause to use the sword, and with similar, deadly effect.

  The others waited in the outer room, recovering their wind, while she rushed into her bedroom. She froze when she saw her blue wedding dress. She swept it up and held it to her breast. That was what she had come for. She didn’t want to leave it; she was never returning to this place. Kahlan shed a tear on the dress, rolled it into a tight bundle, and stuffed it in her pack.

  All the other clothes from her pack were cleaned, too, and laid out for her. She stuffed them in the pack after strapping the bone knife around her left arm. She threw the mantle around her shoulders. Hurriedly, she strung the bow.

  She swept through the outer room, her pack and quiver on her back, and her bow on her shoulder. She had everything she wanted. Everything that meant anything to her. She paused a moment, looking at her room for the last time as she idly turned the round bone on her necklace, and then led the others out and down a back way, headed for an outside door.

  She lost count of how many men Chandalen took out with his troga or knife. When a big guard charged out of a side hall and tried to roll them down, Kahlan ran him through with the sword. The four of them were grim death moving through the palace. The alarm bells rang frantically in the tower.