Faith of the Fallen

Chapter 17

Warren swiped back his curly blond hair. “What sort of journey have you been on, Zedd?”

Zedd pointed a bony finger. “You don’t need to keep that flattened mosquito, General.”

General Reibisch realized it was still between his finger and thumb. He tossed it away. Everyone awaited Zedd’s words. He smoothed the heavy maroon robes over his twiglike thighs as his gaze absently studied the dirt floor.

He let out a crestfallen sigh. “I was recovering from my own auspicious deliverance from grappling with remarkable magic I’d never before encountered, and, as I regained my senses, spent months searching. I was down in Anderith, and saw some of what happened after the Order swept in there. It was a dark time for the people. Not only from the rampaging soldiers, but also from one of your Sisters, Verna. Death’s Mistress they called her.”

“Do you know which one it is?” Verna asked in a bitter voice at hearing of a Sister causing harm.

“No. I only saw her once, from a goodly distance. Had I been fully recovered, I might have tried to remedy the situation, but I wasn’t myself yet and dared not confront her. She also had a few thousand soldiers with her. The sight of all the soldiers, led by a woman they had heard of and feared, had people in a panic. The Sister was young, with blond hair. She wore a black dress.”

“Dear Creator,” Verna whispered. “Not one of mine—one of the Keeper’s. There are few women born with the strength of power such as she has. She also has power acquired by nefarious means; Nicci is a Sister of the Dark.”

“I’ve gotten reports,” General Reibisch said. By his grim tone, Zedd knew the reports must have had it right. “I’ve heard, too, that it’s quieted considerably.”

Zedd nodded. “The Order was at first brutal, but now ‘Jagang the Just’—as they have taken to calling him—has spared them further harm. In most places, other than the capital of Fairfield where the most killing took place, people have turned to supporting him as a liberator come to deliver them into a better life. They’re reporting neighbors, or travelers—whoever they suspect is not an adherent to the noble ideals of the Order.

“I was all through Anderith, and spent a good deal of time behind the enemy lines searching—without success. I then journeyed up into the wilds and north to a number of towns, and even a few cities, but I can find no sign of them. I guess my abilities were a long time in recovering; I only a short time ago discovered where you all were. I have to commend you, General, you’ve kept the presence of your forces well hidden—took me forever to find your army. The boy, though, seems to have vanished without a trace.”

Zedd’s fists tightened in his lap. “I must find him.”

“You mean Richard?” Adie asked. “You be searching for your grandson?”

“Yes. For Richard and Kahlan, both.” Zedd lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “However, without any success, I must admit. I’ve talked to no one who has seen even a sign of them. I’ve used every skill I possess, but to no avail. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they no longer existed.”

Looks passed among everyone else. Zedd peered from one surprised face to another. For the first time in months, Zedd’s hopes rose. “What? What is it? You know something?”

Verna gestured under the bench. “Show him, General.”

At her urging, the general lifted out a map roll. He pulled it wide in his callused hands and laid it on the ground at his feet. The map was turned around so Zedd could read it. General Reibisch tapped the mountains to the west of Hartland.

“Right here, Zedd.”

“Right there . . . what?”

“Richard and Kahlan,” Verna said.

Zedd gaped at her face and then down at the map. General Reibisch’s finger hovered over a wild range of peaks. Zedd knew those mountains. They were an inhospitable place.

“There? Dear spirits, why would Richard and Kahlan be all the way up there in such a forbidding place? What are they doing there?”

“Kahlan be hurt,” Adie said in a consoling tone.

“Hurt?”

“She was at the brink of passing into the spirit world. From what we be told, maybe she saw the world on the other side of the veil.” Adie pointed to the map, “Richard took her there to recover.”

“But . . . why would he do that?” With a hand, Zedd flattened his wavy white hair to the top of his head. His thoughts spun in a confusing jumble while he tried to take it all in at once. “She could be healed—”

“No. She be spelled. If magic be used to try to heal her, a vile hidden spell would be unleashed and she would die.”

Understanding washed over him. “Dear spirits . . . I’m thankful the boy knew it in time.” Before the horror of memories of the screams could come roaring to the fore of his thoughts, Zedd slammed a mental door on them. He swallowed with the pain of those that slipped through. “But still, why would he go there? He’s needed here.”

“He certainly is,” Verna snapped. By her tone, it was a sore subject.

“He can’t come here,” Warren said. When Zedd only stared at him, he explained further. “We don’t understand it all, but we believe Richard is following a prophecy of some sort.”

“Prophecy!” Zedd dismissed it with a wave. “Richard doesn’t take to riddles. He hates them and won’t pay heed to them. There are times when I wish he would but he won’t.”

“Well, this one he’s paying heed to.” Warren pressed his lips tight for a moment. “It’s his own.”

“His own . . . what?”

Warren cleared his throat. “Prophecy.”

Zedd jumped to his feet. “What! Richard? Nonsense.”

“He’s a war wizard,” Verna said with quiet authority.

Zedd passed a scowl among all the suddenly circumspect expressions. He made a sour face and, with a flourish of his robes, returned to his seat beside Adie.

“What is this prophecy?”

Warren twisted a little knot of his violet robes. “He didn’t say, exactly.”

“Here.” General Reibisch pulled some folded papers from a pocket. “He wrote me letters. We’ve all read them.”

Zedd stood and snatched the letters from the general’s big fist. He went to the table and smoothed out the pages. As everyone else sat silently watching, Zedd leaned over the table and read Richard’s words lying before him.

With great authority, Richard paradoxically turned away from authority.

He said that after much reflection, he had come to an understanding that arrived with the power of a vision, and he knew then, beyond doubt, that his help would only bring about certain catastrophe.

In letters that followed, Richard said he and Kahlan were safe and she was slowly recovering. Cara was with them. In response to letters General Reibisch and others had written, Richard remained steadfast in his stand. He warned them that the cause of freedom would be forever lost if he failed to remain on his true path. He said that whatever decisions General Reibisch and the rest of them made, he would not contradict or criticize. He told them that his heart was with them, but they were on their own for the foreseeable future. He said possibly forever.

His letters basically gave no real information, other than alluding to his understanding or vision, and making it clear that they could expect no guidance from him. Nonetheless, Zedd could read some of what the words didn’t say.

Zedd stared at the letters long after he had finished reading them. The flame of the lamp wavered slowly from side to side, occasionally fluttering and sending up a coiled thread of oily smoke. He could hear muffled voices outside the tent as soldiers on patrol quietly passed along information.

Inside, everyone remained silent. They had all read the letters.

Verna’s expression was tight with anxiety. She could hold her tongue no longer. “Will you go to see him, Zedd? Convince him to return to the struggle?”

Zedd lightly trailed his fingers over the words on paper. “I can’t. This is one time I can be of no help to him.”

“But he’s our leader in this struggle.” The soft lamplight illuminated the feminine grace of her slender fingers as she pressed them to her brow in vain solace. Her hand fell back to her lap. “Without him . . .”

Zedd didn’t answer her. He could not imagine what Ann’s reaction to such a development would be. For centuries she had combed through prophecies in anticipation of the war wizard who would be born to lead them in this battle for the very existence of magic. Richard was that war wizard, born to the battle he had suddenly abandoned.

“What do you think be the problem?” Adie asked in her quiet, raspy voice.

Zedd looked back to the letters one last time. He pulled his gaze from the words and straightened. All eyes around the dimly lit tent were on him as if hoping he could somehow rescue them from a fate they couldn’t comprehend, but instinctively dreaded.

“This is a time of trial to the depth of Richard’s soul.” Zedd slipped his hands up opposite sleeves until the silver brocade at the cuffs met. “A passage, of sorts—thrust upon him because of his comprehension of something only he sees.”

Warren cleared his throat. “What sort of trial, Zedd? Can you tell us?”

Zedd gestured vaguely as memories of terrible times flashed through his mind. “A struggle . . . a reconciliation . . .”

“What sort of reconciliation?” Warren pressed.

Zedd gazed into the young man’s blue eyes, wishing he wouldn’t ask so many questions. “What is the purpose of your gift?”

“Its purpose? Well, I ability.”

“It is to help others,” Verna stated flatly. She clutched her light blue cloak more tightly around her shoulders as if it were armor to defend her from whatever Zedd might throw at her in answer.

“Ah. Then what are you doing here?”

The question caught her by surprise. “Here?”

“Yes.” Zedd waved his arm, indicating a vague, distant place. “If the gift is to help others, then why are you not out there doing it? There are sick needing to be healed, ignorant needing to be taught, and the hungry needing to be fed. Why are you just sitting there, healthy, smart, and well fed?”

Verna rearranged her cloak as she squared her shoulders into a posture of firm resolve. “In battle, if you abandon the gates to help a fallen comrade, you have given in to a weakness: your inability to steel yourself to an immediate suffering in order to prevent suffering on a much greater scale. If I run off to help the few people I could in that manner, I must leave my post here, with this army, as they try to keep the enemy from storming the gateway into the New World.”

Zedd’s estimation of the woman rose a little. She had come tantalizingly close to expressing the essence of a vital truth. He offered her a small smile of respect as he nodded. She looked more surprised by that than she had by his question.

“I can certainly see why the Sisters of the Light are widely regarded as proper servants of need.” Zedd stroked his chin. “So then, it is your conviction that we with the ability—the gift—are born into the world to be slaves to those with needs?”

“Well, no . . . but if there is a great need—”

“Then we are more tightly bound in the chains of slavery to those with every greater need,” Zedd finished for her. “Thus, anyone with a need, by right—to your mind—becomes our master? Indentured servant to one cause, or to any greater cause that might come along, but chattel all the same. Yes?”

This time, Verna chose not to dance with him over what she apparently regarded as a patch of quicksand. It didn’t prevent her from glaring at him, though.

Zedd held that there could be only one philosophically valid answer to the question; if Verna knew it, she didn’t offer it.

“Richard has apparently come to a place where he must critically examine his alternatives and determine the proper course of his life,” Zedd explained. “Perhaps circumstances have caused him to question the proper use of his abilities, and, in view of his values, his true purpose.”

Verna opened her hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t see how he could have any higher purpose than to be here, helping the army against the threat to the New World—the threat to the lives of free people.”

Zedd sank back down onto the bench. “You do not see, and I do not see, but Richard sees something.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s right,” Warren said.

Zedd studied the young man’s face for a moment. Warren had fresh features, but guess to . . . well, it just is. The gift is simply an also a knowing look in his eyes that betrayed something beyond mere youth. Zedd wondered how old Warren was.

“No, it does not mean Richard is right. He may be making a heroic mistake that destroys our chance to survive.”

“Kahlan thinks maybe it be a mistake,” Adie finally put in, as if regretting having to tell him. “She wrote a note to me—I believe without Richard’s knowledge, seeing as Cara wrote down Kahlan’s words for her—and gave it to the messenger. Kahlan says that she fears Richard be doing this in part because of what happened to her. The Mother Confessor also confided that she be afraid Richard has lost his faith in people, and, because of his rejection by the people of Anderith, Richard may view himself as a fallen leader.”

“Bah.” Zedd waved his hand dismissively. “A leader cannot follow behind people, tail between his legs, sniffing for their momentary whims and wishes, whining to follow them this way and that as they ramble through life. Those kind of people are not looking for a leader—they are looking for a master, and one will find them.

“A true leader forges a clear path through a moral wilderness so that people might see the way. Richard was a woods guide because such is his nature. Perhaps he is lost in that dark wood. If he is, he must find his way out, and it must be a correctly reasoned course, if he is to be the true leader of a free people.”

Everyone silently considered the implications. The general was a man who followed the Lord Rahl, and simply awaited his orders. The Sisters had their own ideas. Zedd and Adie knew the way ahead was not what it might seem to some.

“That’s what Richard did for me,” Warren said in a soft voice, staring off into memories of his own. “He showed me the way—made me want to follow him up out of the vaults. I had become comfortable down there, content with my books and my fate, but I was a prisoner of that darkness, living my life through the struggles and accomplishments of others. I never could understand precisely how he inspired me to want to follow him up and out.”

Warren looked up into Zedd’s eyes. “Maybe he needs that same kind of help, himself. Can you help him, Zedd?”

“He has entered a dark time for any man, and especially for a wizard. He must come out the other side of this on his own. If I take him by the hand and lead him through, so to speak, I might take him a way he would not have selected on his own, and then he would forever be crippled by what I had chosen for him . . . But worse yet, what if he’s right? If I unwittingly forced him to another course, it could doom us all and result in a world enslaved by the Imperial Order.” Zedd shook his head. “No. This much I know: Richard must be left alone to do as he must. If he truly is the one to lead us in this battle for the future of magic and of mankind, then this can only be part of his journey as it must be traveled.”

Almost everyone nodded, if reluctantly, at Zedd’s words.

Warren didn’t nod. He picked at the fabric of his violet robes.

“There’s one thing we haven’t considered.” As everyone waited, his blue eyes turned up to meet Zedd’s gaze. In those eyes, Zedd saw an uncommon wisdom that told him that this was a young man who could gaze into the depths of things when most people saw only the sparkles on the surface.

“It could be,” Warren said in a quiet but unflinching voice, “that Richard, being gifted, and being a war wizard, has been visited by a legitimate prophecy. War wizards are different from the rest of us. Their ability is not narrowly specific, but broad. Prophecy is, at least theoretically, within his purview. Moreover, Richard has Subtractive Magic as well as Additive. No wizard born in the last three thousand years has had both sides. While we can perhaps imagine, we could not possibly begin to understand his potential, though the prophecies have alluded to it.

“It could very well be that Richard has had a valid prophecy that he clearly understands. If so, then he may be doing precisely what must be done. It could even be that he clearly understands the prophecy and it is so gruesome he is doing us the only kindness he can—by not telling us.”

Verna covered his hand with hers. “You don’t really believe that, do you, Warren?” Zedd noticed that Verna put a lot of stock in what Warren said.

Ann had told Zedd that Warren was only beginning to exhibit his gift of prophecy. Such wizards—prophets—were so rare that they came along only once or twice a millennium. The potential importance of such a wizard was incalculable. Zedd didn’t know how far along that path Warren really was, yet. Warren probably didn’t, either.

“Prophecy can be a terrible burden.” Warren smoothed his robes along his thigh. “Perhaps Richard’s prophecy told him that if he is to ever have a chance to oversee victory, he must not die with the rest of us in our struggle against the army of the Imperial Order.”

General Reibisch, silent about such wizardly doings, had nevertheless been listening and watching intently. Sister Philippa’s thumb twiddled a button on her dress. Even with Verna’s comforting hand on his, Warren, at that moment, looked nothing but forlorn.

“Warren”—Zedd waited until their eyes met—“we all at times envision the most fearful turn of events, simply because it’s the most frightening thing we can imagine. Don’t invest your thoughts primarily in that which is not the most likely reason for Richard’s actions, simply because it is the reason you fear the most. I believe Richard is struggling to understand his place in all this. Remember, he grew up as a woods guide. He has to come to terms not only with his ability, but with the weight of rule.”

“Yes, but—”

Zedd lifted a finger for emphasis. “The truth of a situation most often turns out to be that one with the simplest explanation.”

The gloom on Warren’s face finally melted away under the dawning radiance of a luminous smile. “I’d forgotten that ancient bit of wisdom. Thank you, Zedd.”

General Reibisch, combing his curly beard with his fingers, pulled the hand free and made a fist. “Besides, D’Harans will not be so easily bested. We have more forces to call upon, and we have allies here in the Midlands who will come to aid in the fight. We have all heard the reports of the size of the Order, but they are just men, not evil spirits. They have gifted, but so do we. They have yet to come face-to-face with the might of D’Haran soldiers.”

Warren picked up a small rock, not quite the size of his fist, and held it in his palm as he spoke. “I mean no disrespect, General, and I do not mean to dissuade you from our just cause, but the subject of the Order has been a pastime of mine. I’ve studied them for years. I’m also from the Old World.”

“Fair enough. So what is it you have to tell us?”

“Well, say that the tabletop is the Old World—the area from which Jagang draws his troops. Now, there are places, to be sure, where there are few people spread over vast areas. But there are many places with great populations, too.”

“It’s much the same in the New World,” the general said. “D’Hara has populous places, and desolate areas.”

Warren shook his head. He passed his hand over the tabletop. “Say this is the Old World—the whole of this table.” He held up the rock to show the general and then placed it on the edge of the tabletop. “This is the New World. This is its size—this rock—compared to the Old World.”

“But, but, that doesn’t include D’Hara,” General Reibisch sputtered. “Surely . . . with D’Hara—”

“D’Hara is included in the rock.”

“I’m afraid Warren is right,” Verna said.

Sister Philippa, too, nodded grim acknowledgment. “Perhaps . . .” she said, looking down at her hands folded in her lap, “perhaps Warren is right, and Richard has seen a vision of our defeat, and knows he must remain out of it, or be lost with all the rest of us.”

“I don’t think that’s it at all,” Zedd offered in a gentle voice. “I know Richard. If Richard thought we would lose, he would say so in order to give people a chance to weigh that in their decisions.”

The general cleared his throat. “Well, actually, one of the letters is missing from that stack. It was the first—where Lord Rahl told me about his vision. In it, Lord Rahl did say that we had no chance to win.”

Zedd felt the blood drain down into his legs. He tried to keep his manner unconcerned. “Oh? Where is the letter?”

The general gave Verna a sidelong glance.

“Well, actually,” Verna said, “when I read it, I was angered and . . .”

“And she balled it up and threw it in the fire,” Warren finished for her.

Verna’s face turned red, but she offered no defense. Zedd could understand the sentiment, but he would have liked to have read it with his own eyes. He forced a smile.

“Were those his actual words—that we had no chance to win?” Zedd asked, trying not to sound alarmed. He could feel sweat running down the back of his neck.

“No . . .” General Reibisch said as he shifted his shoulders inside his uniform while giving the question careful thought. “No, Lord Rahl’s words were that we must not commit our forces to an attack directly against the army of the Imperial Order, or our side will be destroyed and any chance for winning in the future will be forever lost.”

The feeling began to return to Zedd’s fingers. He wiped a bead of sweat from the side of his forehead. He was able to draw an easier breath. “Well, that only makes sense. If they are as large a force as Warren says, then any direct attack would be foolhardy.”

It did make sense. Zedd wondered, though, why Richard would make such a point of it to a man of General Reibisch’s experience. Perhaps Richard was only being cautious. There was nothing wrong with being cautious.

Adie slipped her hand under Zedd’s and cuddled her loose fist under his palm. “If you believe you must let Richard be in this, then you will stay? Help teach the gifted here what they must know?”

Every face was etched with concern as they watched him, hanging on what he might decide. The general idly stroked a finger down the white scar on the side of his face. Sister Philippa knitted her fingers together. Verna and Warren entwined theirs.

Zedd smiled and hugged Adie’s shoulders. “Of course I’m not going to abandon you.”

The three on the bench opposite him each let out a little sigh. Their posture relaxed as if ropes around their necks had been slackened.

Zedd passed a hard look among them all. “War is nasty business. It’s about killing people before they can kill you. Magic in war is simply another weapon, if a frightening one. You must realize that it, too, in this, must be used for the end result of killing people.”

“What do we need to do?” Verna asked, clearly relieved that he had agreed to stay, but not to the obvious extent of General Reibisch, Warren, or Sister Philippa.

Zedd pulled some of his robes from each side of his legs over into the middle, between them, as he gave the question some thought. It was not the sort of lesson he relished.

“Tomorrow morning, we will begin. There is much to learn about countering magic in warfare. I will teach all the gifted some things about the awful business of using what you always hoped to use for good, for harm, instead. The lessons are not pleasing to endure, but then, neither is the alternative.”

The thought of such lessons, and worse, the use of such knowledge, could not be pleasant for any of them to contemplate. Adie, who knew a little bit about the horrific nature of such struggle, rubbed his back in sympathy. His heavy robes stuck to his skin. He wished he had his simple wizard’s robes back.

“We will all do as we must to prevent our own people from falling to the monstrous magic of the Imperial Order,” Verna said. “You have my word as Prelate.”

Zedd nodded. “Tomorrow, then, we begin.”

“I fear to think of magic added to warfare,” General Reibisch said as he stood.

Zedd shrugged. “To tell the truth, the ultimate object of magic in warfare is to counter the enemy’s magic. If we do our job properly, we will bring balance to this. That would mean that all magic would be nullified and the soldiers would then be able to fight without magic swaying the battle. You will be able to be the steel against steel, while we are the magic against magic.”

“You mean, your magic won’t be of direct help to us?”

Zedd shrugged. “We will try to use magic to visit harm on them in any way we can, but when we try to use magic as a weapon, the enemy will try to counter ours. Any attempt to use their power against us, we will try to counter. The result of magic in warfare, if properly and expertly done, is that it seems as if magic did not exist at all.

“If we fail to rise to the challenge, then the power they throw at us will be truly horrific to witness. If we can best them, then you will see such destruction of their forces as you can’t imagine. But, in my experience, magic has a way of balancing, so that you rarely see such events.”

“A deadlock, then, is our goal?” Sister Philippa asked.

Zedd turned his palms up, moving his hands up and down in opposition, as if they were scales holding great weight. “The gifted on both sides will be working harder than they have ever worked before. I can tell you that it’s exhausting. The result, except with small shifts in the advantage, is that it will seem as if we are all doing nothing to earn our dinner.”

Zedd let his hands drop. “It will be punctuated with brief moments of sheer horror and true panic when it seems beyond doubt that the world itself is about to end in one final fit of sheer madness.”

General Reibisch grinned in an odd, gentle, knowing way. “Let me tell you, war, when you’re holding a sword, looks about the same way.” He held up a hand in mock defense. “But I’d rather that, I guess, than have to swing my sword at every magic mosquito that came along. I’m a man of steel against steel. We have Lord Rahl to be the magic against the magic. I’m relieved we have Lord Rahl’s grandfather, the First Wizard, to aid us, too. Thank you, Zedd. Anything you need is yours. Just ask.”

Verna and Warren added silent nods as the general stepped to the entrance of the tent. When Zedd spoke, General Reibisch turned back, gripping the flap in one hand.

“You’re still sending messengers to Richard?”

The general confirmed that they were. “Captain Meiffert was up there, too. He might be able tell you more about Lord Rahl.”

“Have all of the messengers returned safely?”

“Most of them.” He rubbed his bearded chin. “We’ve lost two, so far. One messenger was found by chance at the bottom of a rockslide. Another never returned, but his body wasn’t found—which wouldn’t be unusual. It’s a long and difficult journey. There are any number of hazards on such a journey; we have to expect we might lose a few men.”

“I’d like you to stop sending men up there to Richard.”

“But Lord Rahl needs to be kept informed.”

“What if the enemy should capture one of those messengers and find out where Richard is? If you have no scruples, most any man can eventually be made to talk. The risk is not worth it.”

The general rubbed his palm on the hilt of his sword as he considered Zedd’s words. “The Order is far to the south of us—way down in Anderith. We control all the land between here and the mountains where Lord Rahl is staying.” He shook his head in resignation at Zedd’s unflinching gaze. “But if you think it’s a concern, I’ll not send another. Won’t Lord Rahl wonder, though, what’s going on with us?”

“What’s going on with us is not really relevant to him right now; he is doing as he must do, and he can’t allow our situation to influence him. He has told you already that he won’t be able to give you any orders, that he must stay out of it.”

Zedd tugged his sleeves straight and sighed as he thought about it.

“Perhaps when the summer is over, before the full grip of winter descends and they’re snowed in way up there, I’ll go and see how they fare.”

General Reibisch gave a departing smile. “If you could talk to Lord Rahl, it would be a relief for us all, Zedd; he would trust your word. Good night, then.”

The man had just betrayed his true feelings. No one in the tent really trusted what Richard was doing, except, perhaps, Zedd, and Zedd had his doubts, too. Kahlan had said that she believed Richard viewed himself as a fallen leader; these people who claimed not to understand how he could believe such a thing, at the same time didn’t trust his actions.

Richard was all alone with only the strength of his beliefs to support him.

After the general had gone, Warren leaned forward eagerly. “Zedd, I could go with you to see Richard. We could get him to tell us everything, and we could then determine if it really is a prophecy, or as he says, just an understanding he’s come to. If it’s not really a prophecy, we might be able to make him see things differently.

“More important, we could begin teaching him—or you could, anyway—about his gift, about using magic. He needs to know how to use his ability.”

As Zedd paced, Verna let out a little grunt to express her misgivings about Warren’s suggestion. “I tried to teach Richard to touch his Han. A number of Sisters attempted it, too. No one was able to make any progress.”

“But Zedd believes a wizard is the one to do it. Isn’t that right, Zedd?”

Zedd halted his pacing and regarded them both a moment as he considered how to put his thoughts into words. “Well, as I said before, teaching a wizard is not really the work for sorceresses, but another wizard—”

“With Richard, I don’t think you would have any better luck than we did,” Verna railed.

Warren didn’t give ground. “But Zedd believes—”

Zedd cleared his throat, bidding silence. “You’re right, my boy; it is the job of a wizard to teach another wizard born with the gift.” Verna rose an angry finger to object, but Zedd went right on. “In this case, however, I believe Verna is right.”

“She is?” Warren asked.

“I am?” Verna asked.

Zedd waved in a mollifying gesture. “Yes, I believe so, Verna. I think the Sisters can do some teaching. After all, look at Warren, here. The Sisters have managed to teach him something about using his gift, even if it was at the cost of time. You’ve taught others—if in a limited way, to my view of it—but you couldn’t manage to teach Richard the most simple of things. Is that correct?”

Verna’s mouth twisted with displeasure. “None of us could teach him the simple task of sensing his own Han. I sat with him hours at a time and tried to guide him through it.” She folded her arms and looked away from his intent gaze. “It just didn’t work the way it should have.”

Warren touched a finger to his chin while he frowned, as if recalling something. “You know, Nathan said something to me once. I told him that I wanted to learn from him—that I wanted him to teach me about being a prophet. Nathan said that a prophet could not be made, but that they were born. I realized, then, that everything I knew and understood about prophecy—really understood about it, in a whole new way—I had learned on my own, and not from anyone else. Could this, with Richard, be something like that? Is that your point, Zedd?”

“It is.” Zedd sat down once more on the hard wooden bench beside Adie.

“I would love, not only as his grandfather, but as First Wizard, to teach Richard what he needs to know about using his ability, but I’m coming to doubt that such a thing is possible. Richard is different from any other wizard in more ways than just his having the gift for Subtractive Magic in addition to the usual Additive.”

“But still,” Sister Philippa said, “you are First Wizard. Surely, you would be able to teach him a great deal.”

Zedd pulled a fold of his heavy robes from between his bony bottom and the hard bench as he considered how to explain it.

“Richard has done things even I don’t understand. Without my training, he has accomplished more than I can even fathom. On his own, Richard reached the Temple of the Winds in the underworld, accomplished the task of stopping a plague, and returned from beyond the veil to the world of life. Can any of you even grasp such a thing? Especially for an untrained wizard? He banished the chimes from the world of the living—how, I have no idea. He has worked magic I’ve never heard of, much less seen or understand.

“I’m afraid my knowledge could be more of an interference than an aid. Part of Richard’s ability, and advantage, is the way he views the world—through not just fresh eyes, but the eyes of a Seeker of Truth. He doesn’t know something is impossible, so he tries to accomplish it. I fear to tell him how to do things, how to use his magic, because such teaching also might suggest to him limits of his powers, thus creating them in reality. What could I teach a war wizard? I know nothing about the Subtractive side of magic, much less the gift of such power.”

“Lacking another war wizard with Subtractive Magic, are you suggesting it would maybe take a Sister of the Dark to teach him?” Warren asked.

“Well,” Zedd mused, “that might be a thought.” He let out a tired sigh as he turned more serious. “I have come to realize that it would not only be useless to try to teach Richard to use his ability, but it may even be dangerous—to the world.

“I would like to go see him, and offer him my encouragement, experience, and understanding, but help?” Zedd shook his head. “I don’t dare.”

No one offered any objection. Verna, for one, had firsthand experience that very likely confirmed the truth of his words. The rest of them probably knew Richard well enough to understand much the same.

“May I help you find a spare tent, Zedd?” Verna finally asked. “You look like you could use some rest. In the morning, after you get a good night’s rest, and we all think this over, we can talk more.”

Warren, who had just been about to ask another question before Verna spoke first, looked disappointed, but nodded in agreement.

Zedd stretched his legs out straight as he yawned. “That would be best.” The thought of the job ahead was daunting. He ached to see Richard, to help him, especially after searching for him for so long. Sometimes it was hard to leave people alone when that was what they most needed. “That would be best,” he repeated, “I am tired.”

“Summer be slipping away from us. The nights be turning chilly,” Adie said as she pressed against Zedd’s side. She looked up at him with her white eyes that in the lamplight had a soft amber cast. “Stay with me and warm my bones, old man?”

Zedd smiled as he embraced her. It was as much of a comfort to be with her again as he had expected. In fact, at that moment, if she had given him another hat with a feather, he would have donned it, and with a smile.

Worry, though, ached through his bones like an approaching storm.

“Zedd,” Verna said, seeming to notice in his eyes the weight of his thoughts, “Richard is a war wizard who, as you say, has in the past proven his remarkable ability. He’s a very resourceful young man. Besides that, he is none other than the Seeker himself and has the Sword of Truth with him for protection—a sword that I can testify he knows how to use. Kahlan is a Confessor—the Mother Confessor—and is experienced in the use of her power. They have a Mord-Sith with them. Mord-Sith take no chances.”

“I know,” Zedd whispered, staring off into a nightmare swirl of thoughts. “But I still fear greatly for them.”

“What is it that worries you so?” Warren asked.

“Albino mosquitoes.”