Stone of Tears

by Terry Goodkind

  "Those soldiers is Ebinissia were many times your number, and they were crushed by the force you chase."

  "We know. Those were men we lived with, ate with, slept with. They were our teachers. They were our brothers, our fathers. They were our friends and companions." He shifted his weight and cleared his throat in an effort to keep his voice steady. "We should have been there with them. We should have been there to stand with them."

  Kahlan turned her back to the three Galean soldiers. She put her fingers to her temples, closing her eyes as she rubbed in little circles. She had a headache from the worry of these young men all being slaughtered. She grieved for the friends of these men, friends and comrades who were killed defending their city. The faces of the young women floated before her mind's eye.

  Kahlan spun on her heels, looking into the eyes of the young Captain. Eyes, she realized, that had seen more than she had at first thought.

  "You were the one," she whispered. "You were the one who closed the doors. You closed the doors in the Palace. The doors on the rooms of the Queen and her ladies."

  He swallowed and then nodded. His blue eyes were wet. His lower lip quivered. "Why would they do that to those poor people?"

  Kahlan answered in a gentle tone. "The object of a soldier is to make his enemy do foolish things. Either by making them too frightened, or too angry, to think. They do it to strike fear into your hearts, but more than that, to make you so angry you will do something foolish so they can kill you, too."

  "Those men we chase are the ones who did that. We have no command to return to. It is upon us now."

  "That is the foolish thing they want you to do. You will not. You will go to another command. You are not going to attack that army."

  "Mother Confessor, I am a soldier sworn to serve Galea and the Midlands. In my life, young though you think it is, I have never once entertained the idea of disobeying my commanders, my Queen, or the Mother Confessor." Captain Ryan lifted her wrist with his finger and thumb and placed her hand on his shoulder. "But in this, I must disobey your orders. If you wish, you make take me with your power, but I will not otherwise do as you say."

  Lieutenant Sloan spoke up for the first time. "And then you will have to take me, because I will take his place, and lead our men to the fight."

  Lieutenant Hobson stepped forward. "And then you will have to take me."

  "After the three of us," Captain Ryan said, "You will have to move through the officers and then every one of the men. If there is one left, he will attack, and die in battle if need be."

  She drew her hand back. "I am going to the Central Council and will take care of this. What you want to do is a suicide."

  "Mother Confessor, we are going to attack."

  "For what! For glory? You want to be heroes avenging the murdered? You want to die in a glorious battle!"

  "No, Mother Confessor," he said in a quiet tone. "We saw what those men did to Ebinissia. We saw what they did to the soldiers they captured. We saw what they did to the women and children back there. Many of the men under my command had mothers and sister back there. We all saw what was done to them, and what was done to our fathers and brothers. Our people."

  He drew himself up tall and straight as he looked with resolve into her in eyes. "We are not doing this for glory, Mother Confessor. We know it is a suicide mission. But we are all single; we have no families to leave without fathers. We are doing it because those men will go on to another city and do to them what they did in Ebinissia. We are doing this to stop them, if we can.

  "Our lives are sworn to protect our people. We cannot shirk our responsibility. We must attack and try to stop these men before they kill any more innocent people. I pray to the good spirits that you succeed in Aydindril, but still, that will take too long. How many more cities will be plundered before you can bring the Midlands to bear on these men? One city is too many. We are the only ones in contact with these killers. Our lives are all that stand between them and their next victims.

  "When I took the oath to serve, I swore that no matter the choices, no matter the orders, I would always put the protection of my people first. That is why I must disobey your orders, Mother Confessor—not for glory, but to protect the defenseless. I wish to have your blessing in this, but I will try to stop those men with your blessing, or without it."

  She sank to sit on the log again, and stared off into the distance, pondering the three soldiers. The six men waited in silence. Children indeed. They were older than she had thought. And they were right.

  It would still take her some time to get to Aydindril and more time yet to raise armies to hunt down these killers. In the meantime they would go on killing. How many would have to die waiting for help from the Central Council?

  She wished she could be anyone right now, but who she was. The Mother Confessor. She disregarded her feelings and considered the problem as the Mother Confessor must; she weighed lives, those spent, and those spared.

  Kahlan stood and turned to Chandalen. "We must help these men."

  Chandalen pushed his hands farther up on his spear and leaned toward her. "Mother Confessor, these men are foolish children, and they are going to die. If we stay with them they will bring a storm of killing around us. We will be killed with them. They will die just the same, and you will not reach Aydindril."

  "Chandalen, these boys are like the Mud People. They are chasing their Jocopo. If we don't help them, then more will die like we saw back in the city."

  Prindin leaned in. "Mother Confessor, we will do whatever you wish, but there is no way to help these boys. We are only four."

  Tossidin nodded. "And then you would fail in your duty to reach Aydindril. Is that not important?"

  "Of course it is." She pulled some hair back off her face. "But what if the army who killed everyone in that city were going next to the Mud People? Would you not want me to help if it were your people they would murder next?"

  The three men straightened. They twisted their spears while they thought, glancing over her shoulder occasionally, to the three soldiers who also stood silently.

  "What would you do to defeat this enemy," she asked as she moved her gaze among the three, "if you had to?"

  At last Tossidin leaned in again. "There are too many. It cannot be done."

  Chandalen angrily backhanded Tossidin's shoulder. "We are Mud People fighters! We are smarter that these men who ride in wagons and murder women. Do you think them better fighters than us?"

  The two brother shuffled their feet as they averted their eyes. "Well," Prindin said, "we know that the way they want to do it will only get them killed. There are better ways."

  Chandalen smiled. "Of course there are. The spirits taught my grandfather how to do such things. He taught my father and my father taught me. The numbers may be larger, but it is the same problem. We know better than these men what to do." He looked Kahlan in the eye. "You, too, know better than these men what to do. You know you must not fight the way the enemy wants. That is what these men are about to do."

  Kahlan smiled at him and nodded. "Maybe we can help these men protect other innocent people."

  She turned to Captain Ryan. He had been watching her speak in a foreign tongue with the three strange men.

  "All right, Captain. We are going to go after this army."

  He gripped her shoulders. "Thank you, Mother Confessor!" He jerked his hands back, realizing with a fright that he had actually touched her. He instead rubbed his hands together. "It will work. You'll see. We'll have the jump on them. We'll surprise them and have them all on a pike."

  She leaned toward him. He backed away. "Surprise them? Surprise them!" She grabbed him by his collar and pulled his face close. "They have a wizard, you idiot!"

  The Captain's face paled. "A wizard?" he whispered.

  She released his collar with an angry shove. "You were at Ebinissia, didn't you see the hole melted through the wall?"

  "Well... I guess I didn't pay attention. I only saw the
dead." His eyes darted about, as if seeing them now. "They were everywhere."

  She cooled at the pained expression on his face. "I understand. They were your friends and family. I can understand why you wouldn't have noticed. But that is no excuse for a soldier. A soldier must notice everything. Missing details can get you killed, Captain. This is a good example of a little detail that would have done you in."

  He swallowed and then nodded. "Yes, Mother Confessor."

  "Do you want to kill the men that destroyed Ebinissia?" The three soldiers spoke up that they did. "Then I am taking command of this legion. If you want to stop the men who are up there, then you will do as I say. And as Chandalen, Prindin and Tossidin say.

  "You may know about battle tactics, but we know about killing people. This is not a battle, Captain, this is killing people. We are only going to help you if you really want to stop those men. If you are interested in having a battle, then we will leave you right now so you can get yourselves slaughtered."

  Captain Ryan fell to a knee. The two lieutenants followed his example. "Mother Confessor, it would be my greatest honor to serve under you. You have my life, and the lives of every one of my men. If you know how to stop those men from murdering any more people, we will do whatever you ask."

  She nodded down to the three men. "This is no war game, Captain. For us to win, every man must do as he is ordered. Anyone who doesn't do as we order is aiding the enemy. That is treason. If you want to stop those men, then you all are going to have to turn command over to me, and you can't change your mind if the task becomes grim. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Mother Confessor. I understand."

  She looked to the other two. "And you?"

  "I am honored to serve under you, Mother Confessor."

  "As am I, Mother Confessor."

  Kahlan motioned them up and then drew her fur mantle closed. "I must get to Aydindril. It is of the utmost importance, but I will help you begin this. We will tell you what must be done. I can give you only a day or two; we will help you begin the killing, and then we must be on our way."

  "Mother Confessor, what of the wizard?"

  Kahlan looked at him from under her eyebrows. "You leave the wizard to me. Do you understand? He is mine. I will handle it."

  "All right. What do you want us to do first?"

  Kahlan walked between the Captain and one of the lieutenants. "The first thing you have to do is get me a horse."

  Chandalen leapt forward and gripped her arm, slowing her as he put his head close to hers. His tone was angry with suspicion. "Why do you want a horse? Where are you going?"

  She came to a halt, pulling her arm free. She took in all six men. "Do you have any idea what it is I am about to do? I am about to choose sides. I am the Mother Confessor. If I choose sides, I choose sides for all the Midlands. I commit all the Midlands to war." She met Chandalen's eyes. "I cannot do that on the word of these men."

  Chandalen erupted in fury. "What more proof do you need! You saw what they did back at that city!"

  "What I saw does not matter. I must know why. I cannot simply declare war. I must know who these men are, for whom they fight." She had another reason to go, a more important reason, but she didn't speak it.

  "They are killers!"

  "You have killed people. Would you not want others to know the reason before they sought vengeance?"

  "You foolish women!" Prindin put a cautionary hand on Chandalen's arm, attempting to bring a little prudence to Chandalen's words. Chandalen angrily wrenched his arm away. "You say these men are foolish, and they have thousands. You are one! You have no chance to escape if they decide to kill you!"

  "I am the Mother Confessor. None may lay a weapon to me."

  She knew it was an absurd pretext, but she had to do this, and could think of no other justification to allay his fears. Chandalen was too angry to speak. He finally turned away with a growl. She knew that in the past he would have been angry because if she were killed he couldn't return home; she thought that perhaps now he was genuinely afraid for her.

  She didn't like the idea either, but had no choice. She was the Mother Confessor. She had a duty to the Midlands.

  "Lieutenant Hobson, please get me a horse. A white or gray if you have one." He nodded and ran off to do as asked. "Captain, I want you to get all your men together and tell them what is happening."

  Chandalen stood with his back to her. She stroked a hand down the white fur over his shoulder, over his father's bone knife. "You are fighting for the Midlands now, not just the Mud People." He let out an angry grunt. "While I'm gone, I want you three to start explaining to these men what must be done. I hope to be back before dawn."

  When she saw Hobson returning with the horse, her knees tried to buckle. Dears spirits, what had she gotten herself into?

  She turned to face Captain Ryan. "If I'm... If anything..." She took a breath and started again. "If I get lost and can't find my way back, you are to take your orders from Chandalen. Do you understand? You are to do as he says."

  "Yes, Mother Confessor," he said in a quiet tone as he put his fist to his heart in salute. "May the good spirits be with you."

  "From my experience, I'll take a fast horse instead."

  "Then you have your wish," Lieutenant Hobson said. "Nick is fast, and he's fierce. He won't let you down."

  The Captain cupped his hands, giving her a boost up onto the big warhorse. She looked down at the men as she gave the gray an introductory pat on his neck. Nick snorted and tossed his head. Before she lost her nerve, she pulled the big stallion around and urged him toward the slopes, toward a trail that would circle her around to come into the enemy camp from the other side.

  38

  The snow crusted trees loomed all about her in the eerie light. The moon would be down soon, but for the time being it gave the snow a luminescence that made the way easy to see. As she trotted her horse into the open valley, she was almost glad to be free of the pressing trees that could hide anyone intent on ambush. She made no attempt to conceal her approach, and the sentries saw her, but they made no move to stop a lone rider.

  Ahead, the army's camp was alive with fires, men and noise. As large as a small city, it could be spotted easily and heard from miles away. Confident in their numbers, they feared no attack.

  With the hood of her fur mantle pulled up and drawn close around her face, Kahlan walked Nick among the confusion of men, wagons, horses, mules, tents, gear and roaring fires. She sat tall on her horse, and above the din she could almost hear her heart thumping. The strong aroma of roasting meat and wood smoke filled the still air. The snow had been trampled and packed flat by tens of thousands of feet, both man and beast, and by wagons of every sort.

  Men were gathered around fires, drinking and eating and singing. Pikes were stacked upright in circles, leaning in, with their heads all resting together in bristling cones. Lances were everywhere, sticking up from snowbanks, looking like forests of stripped saplings. Tents sprouted all about without any order to their layout.

  Men roamed far and near, stumbling from one fire to another to try the food, to join in song around men with flutes, to gamble at dice, or to share the drink. Sharing the drink seemed to be what occupied most of them.

  No one paid any attention to her. They seemed too preoccupied to notice her. She kept her horse at a trot, and passed the ones who did stare up before they had a chance to wonder at, or confirm, what they had seen. The whole place seemed to be in an uproar of activity. Her warhorse didn't so much as flinch at the pandemonium all about.

  From some of the tents in the distance she heard the screams of women, followed by the raucous laughter of men. Despite her attempt to stop it, a shiver ran down her spine.

  Kahlan knew that armies like this one were accompanied by prostitutes who rode along in the supply wagons with other camp followers. She also knew that armies like this one took women as part of their plunder, considering them a simple privilege of victory, much as taking a ring fro
m a dead man, and worth little more. Whatever the reasons for the screams, feigned delight or true terror, she knew she could do nothing about it, and so tried not to hear them, turning her attention instead to the men she passed.

  At first she saw only D'Haran troops. She knew their leather and mail and armored uniforms all too well. Each of the breastplates bore an ornate, embossed letter R, for the house of Rahl. Soon though, she was able to pick out Keltans among the D'Harans. She saw one group of a dozen men from Westland, each with an arm around the next fellow's shoulders as they danced in a circle and at the same time drank from mugs. She saw men of other lands, too; a few from Nicobarese, some Sandarians, and to her horror, a handful of Galeans. Maybe, she thought, they were simply D'Harans in the uniforms of men they had killed. Somehow, she didn't believe that.

  Sporadic quarrels were going on throughout the camp. Men argued over a lay of the dice, food, casks, or even bottles, of drink. Some of the disputes erupted into fights with fists and knives. She saw one man stabbed in the gut, to the uproarious laughter of onlookers.

  At last she spotted what she was looking for: the tents belonging to the commanders. Though they hadn't bothered to put up their flags, she knew by their size what they were. Outside the largest, a small table had been set up next to a roaring fire with spitted meat over it. Lanterns on poles surrounded the group of men gathered there.

  As she approached, a huge man who sat with his feet up on the table was yelling, "... and I mean right now, or I'll have your head! A full one! You bring be a full cask or I'll have your head on a pike!" When the soldier scurried off, the table of men erupted in laughter.

  Kahlan brought her huge warhorse right up to the edge of the table. She sat tall and still as she appraised the half dozen men sitting around the table. Four were D'Haran officers; the one with his boots resting on the table had been the man who had been yelling, one was a Keltish commander in an ornate uniform unbuttoned to reveal a filthy shirt soaked with wine and meat drippings, and one man wore plain, tan robes.