Faith of the Fallen

Chapter 23

Kahlan was aware of Cara, wearing her bloodred leather, standing in the doorway to their bedroom watching Richard cram his things into his pack.

Kahlan nodded as she and Richard exchanged brief, stilted instructions. They had already come to terms with the life-and-death issues. It seemed they both feared to say anything of consequence for fear of disturbing the delicate, desperate, difficult agreements they had reached.

The meager light coming in the small window did little to brighten the gloom. Cara, over in the doorway, blocked some of the light. The room had the feel of a dungeon. Richard, dressed in dark clothes, looked like a shadow. So many times, as she lay in bed recovering, Kahlan had thought of it that way—as her dungeon. Now it had the palpable sense of a dungeon, but with the clean aroma of pine walls instead of the stench of a stone cell from where trembling, sweating prisoners were taken to their death.

Cara looked forlorn one moment and the next like lightning seeking ground. Kahlan knew that the Mord-Sith’s emotions had to be as torn as her own, balancing on a knife’s edge with despair and grief on one side and rage on the other. Mord-Sith were not used to being in such a position, but then, Cara was now more than simply Mord-Sith.

Kahlan watched Richard pack the black trousers, black undershirt, black and gold tunic, silver wristbands, over-belt with its pouches, and golden cloak into his pack, where they took up a good portion of the available space. He was wearing his dark forest garb; he didn’t have time to change.

Kahlan hoped a time would soon come when he would escape and again wear the clothes of a war wizard to toad them against the Order. They all needed him to lead the D’Haran Empire against the invading horde from the Old World.

For reasons that weren’t always entirely clear, Richard had become the linchpin of their struggle. Kahlan knew his feelings about that—that people must be willing to fight for themselves and not only for him—were valid. If an idea was sound, it had to have a life beyond a leader, or the leader had failed.

As he threw other clothes and small items into his pack, Richard told Kahlan that maybe she could find Zedd, that he might have some ideas. She nodded and said she would, knowing Zedd wouldn’t be able to do anything.

This terrible triangle was not liable to be susceptible to influence by outsiders—Nicci had seen to that. It was just a hope Richard was giving her, the only bouquet he could offer in the desolate void of reality.

Kahlan didn’t know what to do with her hands. She stood twining her fingers together as tears dripped off her chin. There must be something to say, something important, some last words while she had the chance, but she couldn’t think of them.

She supposed he knew what she felt, what was in her heart, and words couldn’t add anything to that. She pressed her fist against the aching knot of anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

A sense of doom crowded in the room like a fourth person, a grim guard waiting to take Richard away. This was the heart of terror, being controlled by what you couldn’t see, couldn’t reason with, couldn’t persuade or battle.

The doom waited, implacable, immune, indifferent.

As Cara vanished from the doorway, Richard pulled a fistful of gold and silver from an inside pocket in his leather pack. He hastily dropped roughly half back in the pack and then held out the rest.

“Take this. You might need it.”

“I’m the Mother Confessor. I don’t need gold.”

He tossed it on the bed for her anyway, apparently not wanting to argue with her in their last moments together.

“Do you want any of the carvings?” she asked. It was a stupid question and she knew it, but she had to fill the awful silence and it was the only thing to come into her head, other than a hopeless plea.

“No. I’ve no need for them. When you look at them, think of me, and remember I love you.” He rolled a blanket tight, wrapped it with a small patch of oiled canvas, and tied it with leather thongs to the bottom of his pack. “I guess if I were to want any, I could always carve some.”

Kahlan handed him a cake of soap.

“I don’t need your carving to remind me of your love. I’ll remember. Carve something to make Nicci see that you should be free.”

Richard glanced up with a grim smile. “I plan on seeing to it that she knows I won’t ever give in to her and the Order. Carvings won’t be necessary. She thinks she has this all planned out, but she’s going to find out I’m bad company.” Richard jammed a fist in his pack, making more room. “Very bad company.”

Cara rushed back in, carrying small bundles with the corners tied in knots at the top. She plopped them down one at a time onto the bed.

“I put together some food for you, Lord Rahl. Things that will keep for traveling—dried meat and fish and such. Some rice and beans. I . . . I put a loaf of bread that I made on top, so eat it first, while it’s still good.”

He thanked her as he put the small bundles into his pack. He put the bread to his nose for a deep whiff before packing it away. He gave Cara a smile of appreciation.

Richard straightened. His smile evaporated in a way that for some reason made Kahlan’s blood go cold. Looking like he was in the throes of committing himself to some last, grim deed, Richard pulled the baldric off over his head. He held the gold-and-silver wrought scabbard in his left hand and drew the Sword of Truth in his white-knuckled right fist.

The blade rang out with its unique metallic sound, announcing its freedom.

Richard drew his sleeve up his arm and wiped the sword across his forearm. Kahlan winced as she watched. She didn’t know if he cut deeply accidentally, or on purpose. With an icy sensation she recalled that Richard cut very precisely with any sharp steel edge.

He turned the blade and wiped both sides in gouts of vivid red blood.

He bathed the blade in it, giving it a voluptuous taste, wetting its appetite for more. Kahlan didn’t know what he was doing or why he was doing it now, but it was a frightening ritual to witness. She wished he had drawn it before and cut down Nicci. Her blood, Kahlan would not fear seeing.

Richard picked up the scabbard and slammed the Sword of Truth home.

Blood running over his hand left greasy red smears across the scabbard as he slid his hand down the length of it, to the tip, and then seized the sheathed weapon at its center point in his fist. His head bowed, his eyes on the dull silver and gold reflections lustrous even through his own blood, he loomed closer to her.

Richard looked up, and Kahlan saw the lethal rage of magic dancing in his eyes. He had invoked the sword’s terrible wrath, called it forth, and then put it away. She’d never seen him do such a thing before.

He lifted the sword in its scabbard to her. The tendons in the back of his fist stood out in the strain. The white of his knuckles showed through the blood.

“Take it,” he said in a hoarse voice that betrayed the struggle within.

Spellbound, Kahlan lifted the scabbard in her palms. For that instant, until he pulled away his bloody hand, she felt a jolting shock as if she were suddenly welded to the weapon by hot fury unlike anything she had ever experienced. She half expected to see a burst of sparks. She could feel such rage emanating from the cold steel that it nearly dropped her to her knees.

She might have dropped the weapon itself in that first instant, had she been able to let go of it. She could not.

Once Richard removed his hand, the sheathed sword lost the passionate rage and felt no different from any other weapon.

Richard lifted a finger in caution. The dangerous magic still glazed his eyes. The muscles of his jaw tightened until she could see it standing out all the way up through his temples.

“Don’t draw this sword,” he warned in that awful hoarse whisper, “unless it’s a matter of your life. You know the ghastly things this weapon can do to a person. Not only the one under the power of the blade, but the one under the power of the hilt.”

Kahlan, arrested by the intensity of his gaze, could only nod. She clearly recalled the first time Richard had used the sword to kill a man.

The first time he came to learn the horror of killing had been to protect her.

Using the weapon that first time, unleashing the magic the first time, had nearly killed Richard as well. It had been a struggle for him to learn how to control such a storm of magic as the Sword of Truth freed.

Without the rage of the sword’s magic, Richard’s eyes were capable of conveying menace. Kahlan could recall several times when his raptor’s glare, by itself, had brought a roomful of people to silence. There were few things worse than the need to escape the look in those eyes. Now, those eyes hungered to deliver death.

“Be angry if you must use this,” he growled. “Be very angry. That will be your only salvation.”

Kahlan swallowed. “I understand.” She nodded. “I remember.”

Righteous rage was the only defense against the crippling pain the sword exacted as payment for its service.

“Life or death. No other reason. I don’t know what will happen, and I’d just as soon you not find out. But I’d prefer that, to you being without this terrible defense if you need it. I’ve given it a taste of blood, it will come out voracious. When it comes out, it will be in a blood rage.”

“I understand.”

His eyes cooled at last. “I’m sorry to give you the terrible responsibility of this weapon, especially in this way, but it’s the only protection I can offer.”

With a hand on his arm to gently reassure him, Kahlan said, “I won’t have to use it.”

“Dear spirits, I hope not.” He glanced over his shoulder, taking a last look at their room, and then at Cara. “I have to get going.”

She ignored his words. “Give me your arm, first.”

He saw she had bandages left over from when Kahlan was still recovering. Without objection, he held out his blood-soaked arm. Cara used a wet cloth to quickly swab his arm before she wound it in clean bandages.

Richard thanked her as she was finishing. Cara split the end, put the tails around his wrists, and tied a quick knot. “We will come part of the way with you.”

“No. You will stay here.” Richard pulled down his sleeve. “I don’t want to risk it.”

“But—”

“Cara, I want you to protect Kahlan. I’m leaving her in your hands. I know you won’t let me down.”

Cara’s big beautiful blue eyes, glistening with tears, reflected the kind of pain Kahlan was sure Cara never allowed anyone to see.

“I swear to protect her as I would protect you, Lord Rahl, if you swear to get away and return.”

Richard flashed her a brief smile, trying to ease her misery. “I’m Lord Rahl—I don’t need to remind you that I’ve wiggled out of tighter spots than this.” He kissed her cheek. “Cara, I swear I’ll never give up trying to get away—you have my word.”

Kahlan realized he hadn’t really sworn to Cara’s words. He wouldn’t, she knew, want to make a promise he might not be able to keep.

Bending to the bed, he pulled his pack close. “I have to go.” He held the strap in a stranglehold. “I can’t be late.”

Kahlan’s fingers tightened on his arm, Cara laid a hand on his shoulder. Richard turned back and gripped Kahlan’s shoulders.

“Listen to me, now. I wish you would stay here, in this house in these mountains where it’s safe for you, but I don’t think anything short of my dying request could convince you to do that. At least stay for four or five days, in case I’m able to figure out what’s going on and can escape Nicci. She may be a Sister of the Dark, but I’m no longer exactly a stranger to magic. I’ve escaped powerful people before. I’ve sent Darken Rahl back to the underworld. I’ve gone to the Temple of the Winds in another world in order to stop the plague. I’ve escaped worse than this. Who knows—this might be simpler than it seems. If I do escape her, I’ll come back here, so wait for a while, at least.

“If I can’t get away from Nicci for now, try to find Zedd. He might have some idea of what to do. Ann was with him the last time we saw him. She’s the Prelate of the Sisters of the Light and knew Nicci for a very long time. Perhaps she knows something that, along with what Zedd might be able to come up with, could help.”

“Richard, don’t worry about me. Just take care of yourself. I’ll be waiting for you when you get away, so just be at ease about that much of it and put all your effort into escaping from her. We’ll wait here for a while—I promise.”

“I will watch over her, Lord Rahl. Don’t worry about the Mother Confessor.”

Richard nodded. He turned back to Kahlan. His fingers on her arms tightened. His brow drew down.

“I know you and I know the way you feel, but you have to listen to me. The time has not yet come. It may never come. You may think I’m wrong in this, but if you close your eyes to the reality of what is, in favor of what you would wish just because you’re the Mother Confessor and feel responsible for the people of the Midlands, then there is no reason for us to bother hoping we’ll be together again because we won’t. We will be dead, and the cause of freedom will be dead.”

His face loomed closer. “Above all else, our forces must not attack the heart of the Order’s army. It’s too soon. If they—if you—carry an assault directly into the heart of the Order thinking you can win, it will be the end of our forces, and the end of our chances. All hope for the cause of freedom, and all hope to defeat the Order, will be lost for generations to come.

“It’s the same way we must use our heads with Nicci, and not fight her in a direct attack, or we will both die. You promised you would not kill yourself to free me. Don’t throw that promise away by going against what I’m telling you now.”

It all seemed so unimportant at the moment. The only thing that mattered was that she was losing him. She would have cast the rest of the world to the wolves if she could just keep him.

“All right, Richard.”

“Promise me.” His fingers were hurting her arms. He shook her. “I mean it. You could throw it all away if you don’t heed my warning. You could destroy the hope of people for the next fifty generations. You could be the one who destroys freedom and brings a dark age upon the world. Promise me you won’t.”

A thousand thoughts swirled in chaotic turmoil through her mind. Kahlan stared up into his eyes. She heard herself say, “I promise, Richard. Until you say so, we’ll make no direct attack.”

He looked like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. A smile spread on his face as he pulled her into an embrace. His fingers combed into her hair and cradled her head as she rose to his kiss. Her hands slipped up the backs of his shoulders as she held him. It only lasted a moment, but in that moment of stolen bliss, they shared a world of emotions.

All too soon the kiss, the embrace, was over. His warm presence swirled away from her, allowing the awful weight of doom to settle firmly down atop her. Richard briefly hugged Cara before he hefted his pack onto a shoulder.

He turned back at the bedroom doorway.

“I love you, Kahlan. Never anyone before you, nor ever after. Only you.” His eyes said it even better.

“You’re everything to me, Richard. You know that.”

“I love you, too, Cara.” He winked at her. “Take good care of the both of you until I’m back.”

“I will, Lord Rahl. You have my word as Mord-Sith.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “I have your word as Cara.”

And then he was gone.

“I love you, too, Lord Rahl,” Cara whispered to the empty doorway.

Kahlan and Cara ran into the main room and stood in the doorway watching him running across the meadow.

Cara cupped her hands around her mouth. “I love you too, Lord Rahl,” she shouted.

Richard turned as he ran and acknowledged her words with a wave.

Together, they watched Richard’s dark figure flying through the dead brown grass, his fluid gait swiftly carrying him away. Just before he disappeared into the trees, he stopped and turned. Kahlan shared a last look with him, a look that said everything. He turned and vanished into the woods, his clothes making him impossible to distinguish from the trees and undergrowth.

Kahlan collapsed to her knees, sitting back on her heels as she lost control of her emotions. She wept helplessly, her head in her hands, at what seemed the end of the world.

Cara squatted beside her to put an arm around her shoulders. Kahlan hated to have Cara see her cry that way, cry in such weakness. She felt a distant gratitude when Cara held her head to her shoulder and didn’t say anything.

Kahlan didn’t know how long she sat on the dirt floor in her white Confessor’s dress, sobbing, but after a time, she was able to make herself stop. Her heart continued to spiral down into hopeless gloom. Each passing moment seemed unendurable. The bleak future stretched out before her, a wasteland of agony.

She finally looked up and gazed about at the house. Without Richard it was empty. He had given it life. Now it was a dead place.

“What do you wish to do, Mother Confessor?”

It was getting dark. Whether it was the sunset, or the clouds getting thicker, Kahlan didn’t know. She wiped at her eyes.

“Let’s begin to get our things together. We’ll stay here a few days, like Richard asked. After that, anything the horses can’t carry that will spoil, we’d better bury. We should board up the windows. We’ll close up the house good and tight.”

“For when we return to paradise, someday?”

Kahlan nodded as she looked about, trying desperately to focus her mind on a task and not on that which would crush her. The worst part, she knew, was going to be night. When she was alone in bed. When he wasn’t with her.

Now, the valley seemed more like paradise lost. She had trouble believing that Richard was really gone. It seemed as if he were just off to catch some fish, or hunt berries, or scout the hills. It seemed as if, surely, he would be coming back soon.

“Yes, for when we return. Then it will be paradise again. I guess when Richard returns, wherever we are will be paradise.”

Kahlan noticed that Cara didn’t hear her answer. The Mord-Sith was staring out through the doorway.

“Cara, what is it?”

“Lord Rahl is gone.”

Kahlan rested a comforting hand on Cara’s shoulder. “I know it hurts, but we must put our minds to—”

“No.” Cara turned back. Her blue eyes were strangely troubled. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean that I can’t sense him. I can’t feel the bond to Lord Rahl. I know where he is—he’s going up the trail up to that pass—but I can’t feel it.” She looked panicked. “Dear spirits, it’s like going blind. I don’t know how to find him. I can’t find Lord Rahl.”

Kahlan’s first flash of fear was that he fell and was killed, or that Nicci had executed him. She used reason to force the fear aside.

“Nicci knows about the bond. She probably used her magic to cloak it, or to sever it.”

“Cloaked it, somehow.” Cara rolled her Agiel in her fingers. “That’s what it has to be. I can still feel my Agiel, so I know that Lord Rahl has to be alive. The bond is still there . . . but I cannot feel it to sense where he is.”

Kahlan sighed with relief. “That has to be it, then. Nicci doesn’t want to be followed, so she cloaked his bond with magic.”

Kahlan realized that to be protected from the dream walker by the bond to Richard, people would now have to believe in him without the reassurance of feeling the bond. Their link would have to remain true in their hearts if they were to survive.

Could they do that? Could they believe in that way?

Cara stared out the doorway, across the meadow to the mountains where Richard had disappeared. The blue-violet sky behind the blue-gray mountains was slashed with blazing orange gashes. The snowcaps were lower than they had been. Winter was racing toward them. If Richard didn’t soon escape and return, Kahlan and Cara would have to be gone before it arrived.

Bouts of dizzying grief threatened to drown her in a flood of tears.

Needing to do something, she went to her room to take off her Confessor’s dress. She would set to work with the task of closing up the house and preparing to leave.

As Kahlan pulled her dress off, Cara appeared in the doorway.

“Where are we going to go, Mother Confessor? You said we were going to leave, but you never said where we were going to go.”

Kahlan saw Spirit standing in the window, fists at her sides as she looked out at the world. She lifted the carving off the sill and trailed her fingers over the flowing form.

Seeing the statue, touching it, feeling the power of it, made Kahlan want to reach deep inside for resolve. Once before, she had been hopeless, and Richard carved this for her. Her other hand fell to her side, and her fingers found Richard’s sword lying across their bed. Kahlan focused her mind, ordering the turbulent swirl of despair thickening into wrath.

“To destroy the Order.”

“Destroy the Order?”

“Those beasts took my unborn child, and now they’ve taken Richard. I will make them regret it a thousand times over and then another thousand. I once swore an oath of death without mercy to the Order. The time has come. If killing every last one of them is the only way to get Richard back, then that’s what I will do.”

“You swore an oath to Lord Rahl.”

“Richard said nothing about not killing them, just about how. My oath was not to try to drive a sword through their heart. He said nothing about bleeding them to death with a thousand cuts. I won’t break my oath, but I intend to kill every last one of them.”

“Mother Confessor, you must not do that.”

“Why?”

Cara’s blue eyes gleamed with menace. “You must leave half for me.”