Faith of the Fallen

Chapter 3

All the troubling thoughts tumbling through her mind kept Kahlan from falling back to sleep. She tried not to think about Richard’s vision of the future. As exhausted as she was by pain, his words were too troubling to contemplate, and besides, there was nothing she could do about it right then. But she was determined to help him get over the loss of Anderith and focus on stopping the Imperial Order.

It was more difficult to shake her thoughts about the men who had been outside, men Richard had grown up with. The haunting memory of their angry threats echoed in her mind. She knew that ordinary men who had never before acted violently, could, in the right circumstances, be incited to great brutality. With the way they viewed mankind as sinful, wretched, and evil, it was only a small step more to actually doing evil. After all, any evil they might do, they had already rationalized as being predestined by what they viewed as man’s inescapable nature.

It was unnerving to contemplate an attack by such men when she could do nothing but lie there waiting to be killed. Kahlan envisioned a grinning, toothless Tommy Lancaster leaning over her to cut her throat while all she could do was stare helplessly up at him. She had often been afraid in battle, but at least then she could fight with all her strength to survive.

That helped counter the fear. It was different to be helpless and have no means to fight back; it was a different sort of fear.

If she had to, she could always resort to her Confessor’s power, but in her condition that was a dubious proposition. She had never had to call upon her power when in anything like the condition in which she now found herself. She reminded herself that the three of them would be long gone before the men returned, and besides, Richard and Cara would never let them get near her.

Kahlan had a more immediate fear, though, and that one was all too real. But she wouldn’t feel it for long; she would pass out, she knew. She hoped.

She tried not to think of it, and instead put her hand gently over her belly, over their child, as she listened to the nearby splashing and burbling of a stream. The sound of the water reminded her of how much she wished she could take a bath. The bandages over the oozing wound in her side stank and needed to be changed often. The sheets were soaked with sweat. Her scalp itched. The mat of grass that was the bedding under the sheet was hard and chafed her back. Richard had probably made the pallet quickly, planning to improve it later.

As hot as the day was, the stream’s cold water would be welcome. She longed for a bath, to be clean, and to smell fresh. She longed to be better, to be able to do things for herself, to be healed. She could only hope that as time passed, Richard, too, would recover from his invisible, but real, wounds.

Cara finally returned, grumbling about the horses being stubborn today.

She looked up to see the room was empty. “I had better go look for him and make sure he’s safe.”

“He’s fine. He knows what he’s doing. Just wait, Cara, or he will then have to go out and look for you.”

Cara sighed and reluctantly agreed. Retrieving a cool, wet cloth, she set to mopping Kahlan’s forehead and temples. Kahlan didn’t like to complain when people were doing their best to care for her, so she didn’t say anything about how much it hurt her torn neck muscles when her head was shifted in that way. Cara never complained about any of it. Cara only complained when she believed her charges were in needless danger—and when Richard wouldn’t let her eliminate those she viewed as a danger.

Outside, a bird let out a high-pitched trill. The tedious repetition was becoming, grating. In the distance, Kahlan could hear a squirrel chattering an objection to something, or perhaps arguing over his territory.

He’d been doing it for what seemed an hour. The stream babbled on without letup.

This was Richard’s idea of restful.

“I hate this,” she muttered.

“You should be happy—lying about without anything to do.”

“And I bet you would be happy to trade places?”

“I am Mord-Sith. For a Mord-Sith, nothing could be worse than to die in bed.” Her blue eyes turned to Kahlan’s. “Old and toothless,” she added. “I didn’t mean that you—”

“I know what you meant.”

Cara looked relieved. “Anyway, you couldn’t die—that would be too easy. You never do anything easy.”

“I married Richard.”

“See what I mean?”

Kahlan smiled.

Cara dunked the cloth in a pail on the floor and wrung it out as she stood. “It isn’t too bad, is it? Just lying there?”

“How would you like to have to have someone push a wooden bowl under your bottom every time your bladder was full?”

Cara carefully blotted the damp cloth along Kahlan’s neck. “I don’t mind doing it for a sister of the Agiel.”

The Agiel, the weapon a Mord-Sith always carried, looked like nothing more than a short, red leather rod hanging on a fine chain from her right wrist. A Mord-Sith’s Agiel was never more than a flick away from her grip.

It somehow functioned: by means of the magic of a Mord-Sith’s bond to the Lord Rahl.

Kahlan had once felt the partial touch of an Agiel. In a blinding instant, it could inflict the kind of pain that the entire gang of men had dealt Kahlan. The touch of a Mord-Sith’s Agiel was easily capable of delivering bone-breaking torture, and just as easily, if she desired, death.

Richard had given Kahlan the Agiel that had belonged to Denna, the Mord-Sith who had captured him by order of Darken Rahl. Only Richard had ever come to understand and empathize with the pain an Agiel also gave the Mord-Sith who wielded it. Before he was forced to kill Denna in order to escape, she had given him her Agiel, asking to be remembered as simply Denna, the woman beyond the appellation of Mord-Sith, the woman no one but Richard had ever before seen and understood.

That Kahlan understood, and kept the Agiel as a symbol of that same respect for women whose young lives had been stolen and twisted to nightmare purposes and duties, was deeply meaningful to the other Mord-Sith. Because of that compassion—untainted by pity—and more, Cara had named Kahlan a sister of the Agiel. It was an informal but heartfelt accolade.

“Messengers have come to see Lord Rahl,” Cara said. “You were sleeping, and Lord Rahl saw no reason to wake you,” she added in answer to Kahlan’s questioning look. The messengers were D’Haran, and able to find Richard by their bond to him as their Lord Rahl. Kahlan, not able to duplicate the feat, had always found it unsettling.

“What did they have to say?”

Cara shrugged. “Not a lot. Jagang’s army of the Imperial Order remains in Anderith for the time being, with Reibisch’s force staying safely to the north to watch and be ready should the Order decide to threaten the rest of the Midlands. We know little of the situation inside Anderith, under the Order’s occupation. The rivers flow away from our men, toward the sea, so they have not seen bodies to indicate if there has been mass death, but there have been a few people who managed to escape. They report that there was some death due to the poison which was released, but they don’t know how widespread it was. General Reibisch has sent scouts and spies in to learn what they will.”

“What orders did Richard give them to take back?”

“None.”

“None? He sent no orders?”

Cara shook her head and then leaned over to dunk the cloth again. “He wrote letters to the general, though.”

She drew the blanket down, lifted the bandage at Kahlan’s side, and inspected its weak red charge before tossing it on the floor. With a gentle touch, she cleaned the wound.

When Kahlan was able to get her breath, she asked, “Did you see the letters?”

“Yes. They say much the same as he has told you—that he has had a vision that has caused him to come to see the nature of what he must do. He explained to the general that he could not give orders for fear of causing the end of our chances.”

“Did General Reibisch answer?”

“Lord Rahl has had a vision. D’Harans know the Lord Rahl must deal with the terrifying mysteries of magic. D’Harans do not expect to understand their Lord Rahl and would not question his behavior: he is the Lord Rahl. The general made no comment, but sent word that he would use his own judgment.”

Richard had probably told them it was a vision, rather than say it was simply a realization, for that very reason. Kahlan considered that a moment, weighing the possibilities.

“We have that much luck, then. General Reibisch is a good man, and will know what to do. Before too long, I’ll be up and about. By then, maybe Richard will be better, too.”

Cara tossed the cloth into the pail. As she leaned closer, her brow creased with frustration and concern.

“Mother Confessor, Lord Rahl said he will not act to lead us until the people prove themselves to him.”

“I’m getting better. I hope to help him get over what happened—help him to see that he must fight.”

“But this involves magic.” She picked at the frayed edge of the blue blanket. “Lord Rahl said it’s a vision. If it is magic, then it’s something he would know about and must handle in the way he sees it must be done.”

“We need to be a little understanding of what he’s been through—the loss we’ve all suffered to the Order—and remember, too, that Richard didn’t grow up around magic, much less ruling armies.”

Cara squatted and rinsed her cloth in the pail. After wringing it out, she went back to cleaning the wound in Kahlan’s side. “He is the Lord Rahl, though. Hasn’t he already proven himself to be a master of magic a number of times?”

Kahlan couldn’t dispute that much of it, but he still didn’t have much experience, and experience was valuable. Cara not only feared magic but was easily impressed by any act of wizardry. Like most people, she couldn’t distinguish between a simple conjuring and the kind of magic that could alter the very nature of the world. Kahlan realized now that this wasn’t a vision, as such, but a conclusion Richard had arrived at.

Much of what he’d said made sense, but Kahlan believed that emotion was clouding his thinking.

Cara looked up from her work. Her voice bore an undertone of uncertainty, if not despairing bewilderment. “Mother Confessor, how will the people ever be able to prove themselves to Lord Rahl?”

“I’ve no idea.”

Cara set down the cloth and looked Kahlan in the eye. It was a long, uncomfortable moment before she finally decided to speak.

“Mother Confessor, I think maybe Lord Rahl has lost his mind.”

Kahlan’s immediate thought was to wonder if General Reibisch might believe the same thing.

“I thought D’Harans do not expect to understand their Lord Rahl and would not question his behavior.”

“Lord Rahl also says he wants me to think for myself.”

Kahlan put her hand over Cara’s. “How many times have we doubted him before? Remember the chicken that-wasn’t-a-chicken? We both thought he was crazy. He wasn’t.”

“This is not some monster chasing us. This is something much bigger.”

“Care, do you always follow Richard’s orders?”

“Of course not. He must be protected and I can’t allow his foolishness to interfere with my duty. I only follow his orders if they do not endanger him, or if they tell me to do what I would have done anyway, or if it involves his male pride.”

“Did you always follow Darken Rahl’s orders?”

Cara stiffened at the unexpected encounter with the name, as if speaking it might summon him back from the world of the dead. “You followed Darken Rahl’s orders, no matter how foolish they were, or you were tortured to death.”

“Which Lord Rahl do you respect?”

“I would lay down my life for any Lord Rahl.” Cara hesitated, and then touched her fingertips to the red leather over her heart. “But I could never feel this way for any other. I . . . love Lord Rahl. Not like you love him, not like a woman loves a man, but it is still love. Sometimes I have dreams of how proud I am to serve and defend him, and sometimes I have nightmares that I will fail him.”

Cara’s brow drew down with sudden dread. “You won’t tell him that I said I love him, will you? He must not know.”

Kahlan smiled. “Cara, I think he already knows, because he has similar feelings about you, but if you don’t wish it, I won’t say anything.”

Cara let out a sigh of relief. “Good.”

“And what made you come to feel that way about him?”

“Many things. . . . He wishes us to think for ourselves. He allows us to serve him by choice. No Lord Rahl has ever done that before. I know that if I said I wished to quit him, he would let me go. He would not have me tortured to death for it. He would wish me a good life.”

“That, and more, is what you value about him: he never pretended any claim to your lives. He believes no such claim can ever rightfully exist. It’s the first time since you were captured and trained to be Mord-Sith, that you have felt the reality of freedom.

“That, Cara, is what Richard wants for everyone.”

She swished a hand, as if dismissing the seriousness of the whole thing. “He would be foolish to grant me my freedom if I asked for it. He needs me too much.”

“You wouldn’t need to ask for your freedom, Cara, and you know it. You already have your freedom, and because of him you know that, too. That’s what makes him a leader you are honored to follow. That’s why you feel the way you do about him. He has earned your loyalty.”

Cara mulled it over.

“I still think he has lost his mind.”

In the past, Richard had more than once expressed his faith that, given a chance, people would do the right thing. That was what he had done with the Mord-Sith. That was also what he had done with the people of Anderith.

Now . . .

Kahlan swallowed back her emotion. “Not his mind, Cara, but maybe his heart.”

Cara, seeing the look on Kahlan’s face, dismissed the seriousness of the matter with a shrug and a smile. “I guess we will simply have to bring him around to the way things are going to be—talk some sense into him.”

Cara dabbed away the remnant of a tear as it rolled down Kahlan’s cheek.

“Before he comes back, how about getting that stupid wooden bowl for me?”

Cara nodded and bent to retrieve it. Kahlan was already fretting, knowing how much it was going to hurt, but there was no avoiding it.

Cara came up with the shallow bowl. “Before those men came, I was planning on making a fire and warming some water. I was going to give you a bed bath—you know, with a soapy cloth and a bucket of warm water. I guess I can do it when we get where we are going.”

Kahlan half closed her eyes with the dreamy thought of being at least somewhat clean and fresh. She thought she needed a bath even more than she needed the wooden bowl to relieve herself.

“Cara, if you would do that for me, I would kiss your feet when I get better, and name you to the most important post I can think of.”

“I am Mord-Sith.” Cara looked nonplussed. She finally drew the blanket down. “That is the most important post there is—except perhaps wife to the Lord Rahl. Since he already has a wife, and I am already Mord-Sith, I will have to be content with having my feet kissed.”

Kahlan chuckled, but a stab of pain through her abdomen and ribs brought it to an abrupt halt.

Richard was a long time in returning. Cara had made Kahlan drink two cups of cold tea heavily laced with herbs to dull the pain. It wouldn’t be long before she was in a stupor, if not exactly asleep. Kahlan had been just about to yield to Cara’s desire to go look for Richard, when he called from a distance to let them know it was him.

“Did you see any of the men?” Cara asked when he appeared in the doorway.

With a straight finger, Richard swiped glistening beads of sweat off his forehead. His damp hair was plastered to his neck. “No. They’re no doubt off to Hartland to do some drinking and complaining. By the time they come back we’ll be long gone.”

“I still say we should lie in wait and end the threat,” Cara muttered.

Richard ignored her.

“I cut and stripped some stout saplings and used some canvas to make a litter.” He came closer and with a knuckle nudged Kahlan’s chin, as if to playfully buck up her courage. “From now on we’ll just let you stay on the litter, and then we can move you in and out of the carriage without . . .” He had that look in his eyes—that look that hurt her to see. He showed her a smile. “It will make it easier on Cara and me.”

Kahlan tried to face the thought with composure. “We’re ready then?”

His gaze dropped as he nodded.

“Good,” Kahlan said, cheerfully. “I’m in the mood for a nice ride. I’d like to see some of the countryside.”

He smiled, more convincingly this time, she thought. “You shall have it. And we’ll end up at a beautiful place. It’s going to take a while to get there, traveling as slow as we must, but it will be worth the journey, you’ll see.”

Kahlan tried to keep her breathing even. She said his name over and over in her head, telling herself that she would not forget it this time, that she would not forget her own name. She hated forgetting things; it made her feel a fool to learn things she should have remembered but had forgotten. She was going to remember this time.

“Well, do I have to get up and walk? Or are you going to be a gentleman and carry me?”

He bent and kissed her forehead—the one part on her face that the soft touch of his lips would not hurt. He glanced at Cara and tilted his head to signal her to get Kahlan’s legs.

“Will those men be drinking a long time?” Kahlan asked.

“It’s still midday. Don’t worry, we’ll be long gone before they ever get back here.”

“I’m sorry, Richard. I know you thought these people from your homeland—”

“They’re people, just like everyone else.”

She nodded as she fondly stroked the back of his big hand. “Cara gave me some of your herbs. I’ll sleep for a long time, so don’t go slow on my account—I won’t feel it. I don’t want you to have to fight all those men.”

“I won’t be doing any fighting—just traveling my forests.”

“That’s good.” Kahlan felt daggers twist in her ribs as her breathing started getting too fast. “I love you, you know. In case I forgot to say it, I love you.”

Despite the pain in his gray eyes, he smiled. “I love you, too. Just try to relax. Cara and I will be as gentle as we can. We’ll go easy. There’s no rush. Don’t try to help us. Just relax. You’re getting better, so it won’t be so hard.”

She had been hurt before and knew that it was always better to move yourself because you knew exactly how to do it. But she couldn’t move herself this time.

She had come to know that the worst thing when you were hurt was to have someone else move you.

As he leaned over, she slipped her right arm around his neck while he carefully slid his left arm under her shoulders. Being lifted even that much ignited a shock of pain. Kahlan tried to ignore the burning stitch and attempted to relax as she said his name over and over in her mind.

She suddenly remembered something important. It was her last chance to remind him.

“Richard,” she whispered urgently just before he pushed his right arm under her bottom to lift her. “Please . . . remember to be careful not to hurt the baby.”

She was startled to see her words stagger him. It took a moment before his eyes turned up to look into hers. What she saw there nearly stopped her heart.

“Kahlan . . . you remember, don’t you?”

“Remember?”

His eyes glistened. “That you lost the baby. When you were attacked.”

The memory slammed into her like a fist, nearly taking her breath.

“. . . Oh . . .”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I forgot for a moment. I just wasn’t thinking. I remember, now. I remember you told me about it.”

And she did. Their child, their child that had only begun to grow in her, was long since dead and gone. Those beasts who had attacked her had taken that from her, too.

The world seemed to turn gray and lifeless.

“I’m so sorry, Kahlan,” he whispered.

She caressed his hair. “No, Richard. I should have remembered. I’m sorry I forgot. I didn’t mean to . . .”

He nodded.

She felt a warm tear drop onto the hollow of her throat, close to her necklace. The necklace, with its small dark stone, had been a wedding gift from Shota, the witch woman. The gift was a proposal of truce. Shota said it would allow them to be together and share their love, as they had always wanted, without Kahlan getting pregnant. Richard and Kahlan had decided that, for the time being, they would reluctantly accept Shota’s gift, her truce. They already had worries enough on their hands.

But for a time, when the chimes had been loose in the world, the magic of the necklace, unbeknownst to Richard and Kahlan, had failed. One small but miraculous balance to the horrors the chimes had brought had been that it had given their love the opportunity to bring a child to life.

Now that life was gone.

“Please, Richard, let’s go.”

He nodded again.

“Dear spirits,” he whispered to himself so softly she could hardly hear him, “forgive me for what I am about to do.”

She clutched his neck. She now longed for what was coming—she wanted to forget.

He lifted her as gently as he could. It felt like wild stallions tied to each limb all leaped into a gallop at the same instant. Pain ripped up from the core of her, the shock of it making her eyes go wide as she sucked in a breath. And then she screamed.

The blackness hit her like a dungeon door slamming shut.