Stone of Tears

by Terry Goodkind

  "There is no glory in this task. It is 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. Remembered 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 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.

  She returned her attention to those before her. "You are all sworn in oath, then. Tonight, we begin the killing of the men of the Order. Let it be without quarter. We take no prisoners."

  No cheer went up this time. The men listened in grim attention.

  "We must no longer travel as you have been, with wagons to carry your needs and supplies. We must take only what we can carry. We need to be able to travel the woods, the small passes, so we can outmaneuver the men we hunt. I intend to sweep in at them from all directions and at will, like wolves at hunt. And like wolves, who hunt with coordination, we will control and direct them, as wolves control and direct their prey.

  "You are men of this land. You know the woods and mountains around us. You have hunted them since you were children. We will use your knowledge. The enemy is in strange territory, and keeps to the wide passes with their wagons and great numbers. We will no longer be impeded as they. We will move through the country around them as do the wolves.

  "You must divide up what you have in the wagons, and place what you can carry in your packs. Leave the heavy armor, it takes too much effort to carry, and we are not going to fight that way. Take only light armor you can wear at a forced march. Take what food you can.

  "You are to take no liquor or ale. When you have avenged the people of Ebinissia, you may drink all you want. Until then, you will not. I want everyone alert at all times. We do not ever relax until our enemy is dead to a man.

  "Some of the food that is left is to be packed into a few of the smaller wagons, without any arms or armor. We will need volunteers to give it to the enemy."

  The men mumbled in surprise and confusion.

  "The road divides ahead. When they are past the fork, and on their way to Cellion, the wagons with the food and all the ale are to take the other road, and then the smaller routes, to get ahead of them. You will lie in wait with these wagons until their advance guard nears, and then cross their path so they can see you. When their forward column spots you and gives chase, you are to abandon the wagons and escape. Let them have the food and drink.

  "The Imperial Order is nearly out of ale, and tonight they will celebrate their luck. I expect they will get drunk. I want them to be drunk when we attack them."

  The men cheered with that news.

  "Know this: we are as a wolf pack, trying to bring down a bull. Though we are not strong enough to do it with one dispatching strike, we will harry him to exhaustion, drag him to the ground, and kill him. This will not be a single battle, but a constant nipping at his hide, taking small chunks of him at a time, wounding, weakening and bleeding him all the while, until finally we have the advantage and can kill the beast.

  "Tonight, under cover of darkness, we will slip into their camp and make a quick strike. This is to be a disciplined action, not random killing. We will have a list of objectives. Our aim is to weaken the bull. I have already partially blinded him by eliminating the wizard.

  "The sentries and lookouts will be taken first. We will dress as many men as we can in their clothes. Those men will go into their camp and locate our targets.

  "Our first need is to slow their ability to counterattack. I don't want us run down by cavalry. We need to bring ruin to their horses. There is no need to waste time killing them; breaking their legs is sufficient. We need to destroy their food. We are an army small enough to be able to get food by hunting, foraging, and bought from surrounding farms and villages, but one
that size requires much. If we destroy their food, they will be weakened.

  "We need to kill their arrow makers and fletchers, bowyers and blacksmiths, all the craftsmen who can make and repair bows, arrows and other weapons. They will have sacks of goose wings for fletching arrows. They must be stolen or burned. Every arrow not made is one that can't kill us. Bow staves need to be destroyed. Wreck their bugles, if you find them, and the buglers. This will help take away their voice and coordination.

  "Their lances, pikes and argons will be stacked upright, together. Five seconds and a few swings with an axe or sword will destroy a great many. Heavy axes or hammers will at least bend the argons and render them useless. Every lance or spear broken is one that can't kill you. We want to burn their tents, to expose them to the cold, burn their wagons so they will lose supplies of every kind.

  "Of most importance are their officers. I would rather kill one officer tonight than a thousand men. If we can kill their officers, it will make them dull and slow, and it will be easier to take this bull to the ground.

  "If any of you can think of anything else that will weaken them, bring the ideas to me or Captain Ryan, or the other officers. The object tonight is not primarily to kill soldiers, there are too many; our object is to disable them, make them weak, slow; to make them less sure of themselves.

  "Most of all, our object is to put fear into their minds. These men aren't used to being afraid. When men are afraid, they make mistakes. Those mistakes allow us to kill them. I intend to terrify them. Later, I will tell you how.

  "You have a few hours to get everything ready, and then we start moving. I want the sentries at double distance. Beyond them, I want lookouts and I want scouts to keep in contact with the Order. I want to know where they are at all times. I want constant reports. I don't want to be surprised by anything. I want to know of anything that you see or encounter, no matter how innocent it seems. If a rabbit jumps too high, I want to know about it. Just as we intend to trick them, I don't want them tricking us. Take nothing for granted.

  "May the good spirits be with you. Now get started."

  The men all began moving, the air coming to life with the sound of feet and talking. One of the two lieutenants stood near, unbuttoning his coat, giving orders to some men around him.

  "Lieutenant Sloan." He looked up as the men he had instructed went to their tasks. "See to the sentries and lookouts at once. I want any of your men who know how to make white paint or whitewash to assemble the supplies they need. We will need large tubs of some sort. I want rocks heated, to warm the the insides of tents."

  He didn't question her strange instructions. "Yes, Mother Confessor."

  "See that the small wagons with the ale and food are prepared, but hold them until I give the order to let them go."

  He put his fist to his heart without comment and marched off to see to it.

  Kahlan's legs felt as if they would give out at any second. She was so tired from having had no sleep, and from riding the better part of the night, to say nothing of the work she had done and the heart pounding fright, that she could hardly focus her eyes anymore. Her shoulder hurt where the lance had been couched when it was shattered. The muscles in her left leg jittered with the effort of keeping her standing.

  She was also mentally exhausted. Angst, over not only the enormity of her decision to take it upon herself to call all the Midlands into war, but also over her impassioned plea for these men to lay down their lives on her word, eroded her strength further. Despite the unusual warmth of the day, she shivered inside her fur mantle.

  Captain Ryan stepped over to her. Chandalen, Prindin and Tossidin were standing by the rear of the wagon, watching.

  Captain Ryan gave her a sly smile. "I like it."

  He jumped down and held his hand out for her. She ignored the hand and jumped down as he had done, and by luck more than anything, stayed on her feet. She could not accept his offer of help, not now, not with what she was about to do.

  "And now, Captain, I must give you an order you are not going to like." She looked to his blue eye. "I want you to send men after Mosle and those who went with him. Send enough to be sure to accomplish the deed."

  "Deed?"

  "They must be killed. Send a force with instructions that they are to pretend to join with Mosle's men, so they don't scatter when your men approach. Send your cavalry behind, but out of sight, in case they are able to take to the woods. When they are surrounded, kill them. There are seventy six. Count the bodies to make sure they are all dead. I will be very displeased if even one escapes."

  His eyes were wide. "But Mother Confessor..."

  "I take no pleasure in this, Captain. You have your orders." She turned to the three Mud People. "Prindin, go with the men he picks. Make sure those who departed are killed to a man."

  Prindin gave her a grim nod. He understood the unpleasant necessity of what she was doing.

  Captain Ryan tensed in near panic. "Mother Confessor... I know those men. They've been with us a long time. You said they were free to go! We can't..."

  She laid a hand on his arm. He suddenly recognized the threat that represented. "I am doing what I must to save your lives. You have given your word to follow orders." She leaned a little closer. "Do not add yourself to those seventy six."

  He at last gave a nod and she removed her hand. His eyes told it all. Hate radiated from him.

  "I did not know the killing was to start with our my own men," he whispered.

  "It does not. It starts with the enemy."

  Captain Ryan pointed angrily up the pass. "They're going in the opposite direction of the Order!"

  "And did you think they would go to the enemy in plain sight of you? They intend to circle around." She turned and started off toward a tent that had been left up for her.

  Captain Ryan, trailed by Chandalen, Prindin and Tossidin, followed her, unwilling to concede. "If you were so concerned, why did you let them go! Why didn't you let the men kill them when they would have!"

  "Because I had to give all those who would renounce us and abandon their fellows the chance to do so."

  "What makes you think all the 'traitors' departed? There could be spies, or assassins, among us."

  "Yes, there could be. But I have no evidence of that at the moment. If I find there are, I will have to deal with them then."

  Kahlan came to a stop before the tent. "If you think I may be making a mistake about those men, I assure you, I am not. But even if I were, it is a price that must be paid. If we let them go, and even one of them betrays us, we could all be killed in a trap tonight. If we die, there will be none to stop the Order for a long time. How many thousands would die then, Captain? If those men are innocent, I will have made a terrible mistake, and seventy-six innocent men will die. If I am right, I will be saving the lives of untold thousands of innocent people.

  "You have your orders. Carry them out."

  Captain Ryan shook with rage. "I hope you don't expect me to ever forgive you of this."

  "No, I don't. I expect only that you follow my orders. I don't care if you hate me, Captain. I care only that you live to do so."

  He gritted his teeth in mute frustration.

  Kahlan gripped the tent flap. "Captain, I am so tired I can hardly stand. I need to get a couple hours sleep. I want a guard posted around this tent while I rest."

  He glared at her. "And how can you be sure one of them might not be an enemy? They could kill you in your sleep."

  "That is a possibility. But if that happens, one of these three men would avenge my murder."

  Captain Ryan flinched and glanced at the three Mud People. In his anger, he had forgotten they were there.

  Chandalen lifted an eyebrow to him. "I will first put sticks in his eyes, to hold them open, to be sure he sees what I do."

  Lieutenant Hobson rushed up holding a bowl out in his hands. "Mother Confessor, I brought you some stew. I thought you would like something to eat. Something hot."

  Kahla
n forced herself to smile at him. "Thank you, lieutenant, but I am so tired I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to keep it down. Could you keep it warm, until after I have rested?"

  "Of course, Mother Confessor."

  Captain Ryan's eyes slid to his grinning lieutenant. "I have a job for you, Hobson."

  "Two hours," Kahlan said, "and then wake me. You should all have enough to keep you busy in the meantime."

  She pulled the flap aside and went into the tent, nearly collapsing onto the cot. She drew a blanket over her legs, and lifted the fur mantle over her head, shutting out the light. In her small, private darkness, she shook.

  She would have given her life, right then, to have Richard hold her for just five minutes.

  41

  She was kissing Richard, holding him tightly in her arms, her mind filled with no thought but peace and joy, when she started at the sound of shouting. Richard was gone. Her heavy arms were empty.

  She sat up, pushing the blanket away, frantic for an instant, not knowing where she was, and then she remembered. She felt as if she might vomit.

  She wished she could have a hot bath. She couldn't remember her last bath. She rubbed her eyes as Captain Ryan stuck his head inside the tent.

  "How long?" Kahlan mumbled. "How long have I slept?" She threw the blanket aside.

  "A couple hours, just about. There is someone out here for you."

  Directly outside her tent waited a group of men, an ashen faced Lieutenant Hobson among them. In their midst stood Mosle, bound and gagged and held at each arm by soldiers. His eyes darted about in panic. He tried to shout through the gag, but couldn't make himself understood.

  Kahlan glowered over at Captain Ryan.

  He stood with one thumb hooked in his belt. "I thought, Mother Confessor, that you would want to execute this man yourself. Since he seems to have personally offended you so." He held his knife out toward her, handle first.

  Kahlan ignored the knife and turned instead to the men holding Mosle. "Release him, and stand away."