Stone of Tears

by Terry Goodkind

  "Is everything else in order? The archers, the cavalry? We must make the best use of our opportunity while they are drunk and sick with the poison. We must make the most of this weather, too. We can't let up for a moment. One lightning strike after another. No engagement. Glancing attacks, always from a different place."

  "They all know their jobs, and are waiting their turn. The archers should be finished soon, then the cavalry, they the pikemen. We're ready for their sentries, when they send them out. Our men will sleep in turns, but from now on, the Imperial Order will get no sleep."

  "Good. These men need rest. In the morning, it will be their turn again." She lifted a finger to the Captain. "Remember the most important thing." She quoted her father, "'The weapon which most readily conquers reason is terror and violence.' Don't forget that. It is the tool they use, and now we must turn it on them."

  Prindin came back into the firelight. "Mother Confessor. My brother and I made you a shelter, while we waited for your return. We have your clothes there, and hot water, so you may wash yourself if you wish."

  She tried not to show how eager she was to wash off the reek of war. "Thank you, Prindin."

  He held his arm out, showing her the way to the small clearing. The brothers had built a roomy shelter of balsam boughs covered over with snow. She crawled through the low opening to find candles inside. The snowy ground was covered with a mat of boughs, too, giving the shelter the pleasant aroma of balsam. A steaming bucket of water had just been set next to hot rocks placed in the center. She warmed her fingers over the rocks.

  The brothers had made her a warm and snug home for the night. She could have wept at their thoughtfulness.

  Her pack was there, and her clothes folded in a neat pile. Kahlan took off her necklace, the one Adie had given her, the one with the round bone. It was the only thing she had worn into battle. She clutched it to her cheek a moment before she washed it. It reminded her of the one her mother had given her.

  She dunked her whole head in the bucket, washed her hair, and then methodically washed the rest of herself. It was only a sponge bath, but it still felt wonderful to wash off the blood, and the feel of the hands. She had to force herself to think of other things as she washed, to keep from being sick. She thought of Richard, thought of his boyish smile that never failed to make her grin, thought of his gray eyes that could look right into her. When she finished washing, she laid down, drying her hair on the rocks.

  She desperately needed sleep. She still hadn't recovered her Confessor's power since using it on the one-eyed man, Orsk. She could feel the emptiness in the pit of her stomach, a hollow where the power belonged. It would be a while longer, until it was restored. She wouldn't be able to shake the sick, dizzy exhaustion, though, until she had sleep.

  She longed to lay down in her bedroll and sleep. It had been so long, and she was so sleepy. But she couldn't. Not yet.

  She put the necklace back over her head and then laboriously pulled on her clothes. From her pack she recovered an unguent and spread it on her cut lip. When she replaced it, she saw the bone knife Chandalen had given her, and tied it around her arm again.

  She was so tired she could hardly force herself up, but she had something to do before she slept; she had to be with her men. She wouldn't let them think she didn't hold their interest highest in her heart. They had offered their lives, the least she could do was show her appreciation, on behalf of the Midlands.

  Clean, her long hair full and shiny once more, and dressed at last in layers of warm clothes and her mantle, she wound her way among the campfires. She listened with serious attention to the babbling stories of some, and the quiet, brief words of others. She spoke with all who had questions, gave smiles of reassurance, and she let them all know how proud she was of what they had done. She knelt by the wounded, checking to see if they were warm enough, and laid a hand to their cheeks, giving comfort, and wishing them good health and quick healing. She, too, felt relief when they were calmed by her touch.

  At a fire surrounded by ten silent soldiers, one young man was trembling, but she didn't think it was from the cold.

  "How are you doing? Are you all right? Are you getting warm?"

  Her presence surprised and brightened him. "Yes, Mother Confessor." A racking shiver rattled his teeth. "I never thought it would be like that." He composed himself, and indicated the others. "These are my friends. Six didn't come back."

  She held her mantle closed with one hand and brushed the hair back off his forehead with the other. "I'm sorry. I, too, grieve for them. I just wanted you men to know that you made me proud. You were as brave as any soldiers I've ever seen."

  He gave a nervous chuckle. "We'd all be dead if it wasn't for you. We were being driven back, hacked to pieces, and then you charged right into the enemy, all by yourself. They all turned their attention to you, and then, while they were confused, we counterattacked. What you did saved us."

  He shook his head. "I wish I had killed half as many men tonight as I saw you kill." They all nodded their earnest agreement. He brushed trembling fingers across his face. "Thank you, Mother Confessor. If it wouldn't have been for what you did, we would all be dead, too." He gave her a twitch of a smile. "If I had the choice, I'd choose to follow you into battle over Prince Harold himself."

  "Pretty good with a sword, is she?"

  She started at the voice. The soldier turned to see Captain Ryan standing behind her.

  "I think she could teach us swordsmen a thing or two. You wouldn't believe what she..."

  Kahlan patted his shoulder. "Have you had something to eat?"

  He pointed to the pot of beans on the fire. "Would you share some with us, Mother Confessor?"

  She almost lost control of her queasy stomach. "You men eat. You need the strength. Thank you for the offer, but I must first see to the others."

  Captain Ryan followed her away. "I had thought you might have some trouble handling a sword. The men who unsaddled your horse told me they found dismembered hands and fingers caught in the girth strap, and a few other places."

  Kahlan smiled at men she passed. They lifted a hand or bowed their heads in greeting. "Have you forgotten who my father was? He taught me the use of a sword."

  "Mother Confessor, that doesn't mean..."

  "Lieutenant Sloan was killed."

  He fell silent a moment. "I know. They told me." He put a hand under her arm when she stumbled. "You don't look so good. Some of those men who were poisoned looked better than you."

  "It's just that I haven't slept for so long." She didn't tell him that she had also used her power again. "I'm dead tired."

  Back outside her shelter, Tossidin offered her a bowl of beans. Her fingers covered her mouth as her eyes winced closed. She thought she might faint at the sight and smell of food. Tossidin seemed to understand and took it away.

  Prindin put a hand under her other arm. "Mother Confessor, you must eat, but you need rest even more." She nodded her agreement. "I made you some tea; I thought it might be a comfort." He pointed with his chin to the shelter. "It is inside."

  "Yes, tea might help settle my stomach." She gave the Captain's arm a squeeze. "Wake me in the morning, when it is time for the next attack. I will go with the men."

  "If you are rested enough. Only if..." She cut him off with a look. "Yes, Mother Confessor. I will wake you myself."

  Inside the cozy shelter, she sipped the hot tea, and shook. Her head was spinning. She could only take a few swallows before she fell into the bedroll. She would be better, she told herself, when she was rested. She could feel her power coming to life at last, swelling with its familiar force within her chest.

  She curled up under her fur mantle, thinking of the thousand things that needed to be tended to. She worried about the men who were at that moment attacking, and the ones who would go next. She fretted for them all. They were so young.

  She worried about what she had started. War.

  But she hadn't started it. She had only
refused to abandon the lives of innocent people to a sure death. She'd had no choice. As the Mother Confessor, she had a responsibility to the people of the Midlands. If the Imperial Order wasn't stopped, untold thousands would die at their hands, and those who lived would live as slaves to the Order.

  She thought about the young women at the Palace in Ebinissia. Their faces floated and spun through her mind's eye. She was too weary to weep for them. When they were avenged, there would be time enough to weep.

  She seethed with a lust for vengeance. She resolved that she would hound the army of the Imperial Order to their graves. In the morning, she would once more lead her men against the enemy. She would see it through. She would see those girls, and all the others, avenged.

  If the Imperial Order wasn't stopped, not only would innocent people be slaughtered, but all magic, good and bad, all the creatures of magic, would perish.

  Richard had magic.

  Her mind drifted to Richard. And then she did weep, weep in the hope that he would not hate her for what she had done. She prayed that he would be able to understand and forgive her. She had done the best for him, to save him, to save the living. Her tears slowed, finally sobbing to a stop.

  Her thoughts of Richard swept the jumbled, tangled, flashing images from her head. Her mind focused, for the first time in days, it seemed, on things other than fighting and killing.

  Focused on who she was, who Richard was. Focused on important matters floating in the fog at the back of her awareness.

  Thinking about Richard brought back to her the things that were important, but which she seemed to have forgotten. There were things other than the Order that were important. Very important. It seemed as if this war had distracted her from higher imperatives, from those important matters.

  She thought about Darken Rahl. Darken Rahl had marked Richard. The Sisters of the Light had taken him. She was supposed to be going to Aydindril, to help Richard, to get Zedd to help Richard...

  Richard had to stop the Keeper.

  Kahlan frowned in the darkness under her mantle. The veil to the underworld was still torn. She shouldn't be running around, swinging a sword at D'Haran troops.

  She remembered Darken Rahl's laughter.

  She touched her neck, and felt the swollen, broken skin. It had been real. He had laughed at how foolish she was.

  Kahlan sat up. What was she doing? She had to help stop the Keeper. Shota had said the veil was torn, so had Darken Rahl and Denna. Kahlan had seen a screeling, a creature straight from the underworld. She had spoken with Denna. Denna had taken Richard's place with the Keeper so that he could live to repair the tear in the veil.

  Kahlan was supposed to be going to Zedd. She shouldn't be running around playing at soldier.

  But if the Imperial Order wasn't stopped...

  But if the veil was torn...

  She had to get to Aydindril. She had to get to Zedd. These men could fight a war without her. That was their job. She was the Mother Confessor. She shouldn't be running around foolishly risking her life, when the Midlands—

  The world of the living—was in danger.

  That was what Darken Rahl was laughing at: her foolishness.

  She picked up the cup of tea Prindin had made for her and held it in her hands, letting it warm her fingers. She was the leader of the Midlands and had to act like a leader, and tend to the most important things above all else, to the things that she, and only she, could do. She downed the rest of the tea, making a face at the bitter taste.

  Kahlan lay down again, holding the teacup on her stomach. The faces of the dead women again floated before her eyes. The weapon which most readily conquers reason is terror and violence; that was what the enemy had done to her—the horror of what they had done had conquered her reason.

  That very day, she and her men could have been lost if the scouts had all been killed. Without those guides, they would have been lost, and vincible to the enemy.

  That was what she was: a guide. She was a guide to the Midlands. She belonged in Aydindril, guiding the Council, pulling everyone together against the threat. Without that guidance, they would be ignorant, and lost in the fog of what was happening.

  She was also Richard's guide, for the help he needed. It was up to her to get Zedd's help. Without that guidance, Richard, and all the living were lost.

  She sat up, staring into the candle flame.

  No wonder Darken Rahl had been laughing at her. She had been letting the enemy conquer her reason. She had almost been diverted from her duties, and given the Keeper time to work his plans.

  She knew now what she had to do. She had done enough to get these men started, had shown them their responsibility, and how to carry it out. Now they had the knowledge they needed to conquer the enemy. What she had done was right, but now they had their jobs, and she had hers.

  This army knew what to do, now. She had to get to Aydindril.

  Having decided, it felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her, but at the same time she felt infused with purpose. Richard, even though he hasn't with her, had helped her find the truth in all the confusion, and helped her to see her true duty.

  She looked in the teacup, but she had drunk the tea, and the cup was empty. Her head felt fuzzy. Her eyes wouldn't stay opened. She was so tired she could no longer sit up.

  As she flopped back down, she wondered what Richard was doing, where he was. Probably with the Sisters, learning how to control the gift. She prayed to the good spirits that they would help him realize how much she loved him.

  Her arm, suddenly too heavy to hold up, fell to the side, and the cup rolled away.

  Sleep was as dreamless as death.

  46

  She plunged into a void, a wasteland of brutal blackness bereft of all sense of time or awareness of place. She was lost to the world. The dark deprivation was beyond understanding, or comfort.

  Drifting in the depths of that void, she felt something. That there was something to feel sparked hope in her, hope of escape from this forsaken nowhere. With that tingling of sense, she snatched desperately at substance, as if clutching a rock in a vast, dark river. Trying to fight back from the suffocating darkness brought sensation to her body.

  She floated back, her head throbbing with a dull ache, and numbly she tried to understand what it was that was happening to her. Someone called to her. Mother Confessor, they called. No, that wasn't her name.

  It came to her. Kahlan. That was her name. Hands shook her. Someone was calling to her, and shaking her.

  She returned from a great distance.

  Kahlan's eyes opened, and the world spun. Captain Ryan was gripping her shoulders, shaking her, calling to her.

  She drew a deep breath of cold air into her lungs. She twisted her arms away from him, but then had to put her hands back on the ground for support. Concern creased his features.

  "Mother Confessor, are you all right?"

  "I... I..." She looked about. Tossidin was there, too. She sat up the rest of the way and put her cold fingers to her forehead. "My head... What time is it?"

  "It will be light soon." With a look of concern, he glanced back over his shoulder at Tossidin. "We came to wake you, as you told me to. The swordsmen are ready to go."

  Kahlan pushed her mantle off. "I'll be ready in a moment, and we can..."

  She remembered her decision to get to Aydindril. She had to get to Zedd. She had to get help for Richard. If it were true that the veil was torn...

  "Mother Confessor, you don't look well. You've been through a lot, you hadn't slept in days, and you've only just gotten a few hours of sleep. I think you need more."

  Yes, she did. Though she could feel that her power was back, she definitely did not feel recovered. She put a hand on his arm.

  "Captain, I must leave for Aydindril. I must . .."

  He gave her a little smile. "You rest. You're not rested enough to travel. Stay here and rest. When we get back, you will be rested and you can leave."

&nb
sp; She nodded, still clutching his sleeve for support. "Yes. And then, I must leave. I thought about it last night. I must get to Aydindril. I'll rest until you get back, but then I must leave." She looked about. Only Tossidin was there with the Captain. "Where's Chandalen, and Prindin?"

  "My brother went to check on their sentries, to make sure that they didn't place any," Tossidin said, "so that our attack will be without warning."

  "Chandalen is attacking with the pikemen," Captain Ryan said, "I am to meet him with the swordsmen for the next attack."

  Kahlan comforted her sore lip. "Tossidin, tell Chandalen that when your attack is finished, we must leave. You three be careful. You must get me to Aydindril." She could hardly keep her eyes opened. She could hardly bring forth the energy to speak. She knew she wasn't able to travel, yet. "I'll rest until you return."

  Captain Ryan sighed with relief that she wasn't going with them, that she would be safe, here. "I'll leave some men to stand guard while you rest."

  She gestured with her hand. "This camp is well hidden. I'm safe up here."

  He leaned forward insistently. "Ten or twelve men are not going to make any difference to us, and I would be better able to put my mind to our task if I'm not worrying about you all alone back here."

  She didn't have the energy to argue. "All right..."

  She flopped back down. With a troubled frown, Tossidin pulled the mantle up over her. She was sinking back into the blackness as the two of them crawled out the opening. She tried to keep herself from going into that unfeeling place, but she was helplessly swept away.

  The crushing weight of the void closed in around her. She tried to escape its grasp, tried to come back up, but the darkness was too thick, like being encased in mud. She was trapped, still being sucked deeper. She felt surge of panic.

  She tried to think, but could not form thoughts into coherent concepts. She had the sense that something was wrong, but could not bring her mind to bear on the solution.

  This time, instead of surrendering, she focused all her strength on thoughts of Richard, on her need to help him, and the darkness then was not a total void. She had an inkling of time, sensing its incremental passing. She felt as if she was sleeping her whole lifetime away as she tenaciously kept Richard in her thoughts.