Faith of the Fallen

Chapter 33

By the time Kahlan and Cara rode in among the wounded, the exhausted, and the sleeping D’Haran troops, it was only a few hours from dawn. Kahlan had thought they might have to find a safe place out in the grasslands to sleep and wait for daylight in order to find their way back, but they had been fortunate; a break in the cloud cover had allowed the stars to show them the way. In the shimmering sweep of stars alone, they had been able to see the black drape of mountains at the horizon. With that visual guide, they were able to make their way far out into the empty country so that they could safely get around the Imperial Order, and then head back north to their own troops.

A reception party awaited them. Men rushed up to form cheering rows as they passed into camp. Kahlan felt a distant sense of pride that she had given these men what they needed most right then: a measure of retribution.

From the back of Cara’s horse, Kahlan lifted a hand to wave at the men she passed. She smiled for them alone.

Near the area where the horses were picketed, General Meiffert, having heard the cheering, was waiting impatiently. He trotted over to meet them.

Beside the gate of the temporary corral, one of the soldiers took the reins to the horse as Kahlan and then Cara jumped down. Kahlan winced at the ache in her muscles from the recent days of hard riding, and the night of fighting. Her right arm socket throbbed from the blows she had landed. She mused to herself that her sword arm never hurt like that in her mock battles with Richard. For the benefit of anyone watching, she forced herself to walk as if she had just had a three-day rest.

General Meiffert, looking no worse for the battle he had seen that night, clapped a fist to his heart. “Mother Confessor, you can’t imagine how relieved I am to see you.”

“And I you, General.”

He leaned forward. “Please, Mother Confessor, you aren’t going to do anything that foolhardy again, are you?”

“It wasn’t foolhardy,” Cara said. “I was with her, watching out for her.”

He frowned over at Cara, but didn’t argue with her. Kahlan wondered how one could fight a war without doing anything foolhardy. The entire thing was foolhardy.

“How many men did we lose?” Kahlan asked instead.

General Meiffert’s face split with a grin. “None, Mother Confessor. Can you believe it? With the Creator’s help, they all came back.”

“I don’t recall the Creator wielding a sword with us,” Cara said.

Kahlan was dumbfounded. “That’s the best news I could have, General.”

“Mother Confessor, I can’t tell you what a boost that was to the men. But, please, you won’t do anything like that again, will you?”

“I’m not here to smile and wave and look pretty for the men, General. I’m here to help them send those murderous bastards into the eternal arms of the Keeper.”

He sighed in resignation. “We have a tent for you. I’m sure you’re tired.”

Kahlan nodded and let the general lead her and Cara through the now quiet camp. Men not sleeping stood and silently saluted with fists to their hearts. Kahlan tried to smile for them. She could see in their eyes how much they appreciated what she had done to turn the tide of the grim battle back a little in their favor. They probably thought she had done it for them.

That was only partly true.

Arriving at a well-guarded group of a half-dozen tents, General Meiffert gestured to the one in the center.

“This was General Reibisch’s tent, Mother Confessor. I had your things put inside. I thought you should have the best tent. If it bothers you to sleep in his tent, though, I’ll have your belongings moved to anywhere you wish.”

“It will be fine, General.” Kahlan took stock of the man’s young face, seeing the shadow of sorrow. She reminded herself that he was about the same age as she. “We all miss him.”

His expression showed only some of the pain she thought he must feel.

“I can’t replace a man like that, Mother Confessor. He was not just a great general, but a great man, too. He taught me a lot and honored me with his trust. He was the best man I ever served under. I don’t want you to have any illusions about my replacing him. I know I can’t.”

“No one asked you to. Your best effort is all we expect and will serve us well, I’m sure.”

He smiled at her generosity. “You’ll have that, Mother Confessor. I promise you, you’ll have that.” He turned to Cara and changed the subject.

“I had your things put in this tent, here, Mistress Cara.” It was the one right beside Kahlan’s tent.

Cara scanned the scene, taking note of the patrolling guards. When Kahlan told her that she was going to go right to bed, and that she should get some sleep, too, Cara agreed and bade the two of them a good night before disappearing into her tent.

“I appreciated your help, tonight, General. You should get some sleep, too.”

He bowed his head, turned to leave, but then turned back.

“You know, I always hoped to someday become a general. Ever since I was a boy, I’ve dreamed of it. I imagined . . .” He looked away from Kahlan’s eyes. “I guess I imagined it would make me proud and happy.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and gazed out over the dark camp, perhaps seeing all those dreams from his past, or maybe seeing all his new duties.

“It didn’t make me feel happy at all,” he finally said.

“I know,” she answered in sincere sympathy. “This wasn’t the way any good man would want to gain rank, but sometimes challenges arise, and we must face them.” She let out a silent sigh, and tried to envision how he must feel. “Someday, General, the pride and satisfaction will come. It comes from doing the job well and knowing that you are making a difference.”

He nodded. “I know it felt pretty good, tonight, Mother Confessor, when I saw you on the back of Cara’s horse, returning safely to camp. I look forward to the day when I see Lord Rahl ride into camp, too.” He started away. “Sleep well. Dawn is in a couple of hours. Then we’ll find out what the new day will bring. I’ll have reports ready for you.”

Inside her tent, Zedd was sitting alone, waiting. Kahlan groaned inwardly.

She was dead tired and didn’t want to face the old wizard’s questioning. Sometimes, especially if you were tired, his nettling questions could become irksome. She knew he meant well, but she was in no mood for it.

She didn’t think she could even be civil to him if he started down his road of a thousand questions. It was so late, and she was so tired, she simply wished he would let her be.

She stood just inside, saying nothing, watching him as he rose to his feet. His wavy white hair was more disorderly than usual. His heavy robes were filthy and spattered with blood. Around his knees the robes were dark with dried blood.

He gave her a long look, and then enclosed her in his skinny arms. She just wanted to sleep. He silently held her head to his shoulder. Maybe he thought she might be about to start crying, but there seemed no tears left.

She felt numb. She supposed it was the constant rage, but she just couldn’t cry anymore. She seemed only able to feel anger.

Zedd finally held her out at arm’s length, squeezing her shoulders in his surprisingly strong fingers. “I just wanted to wait until you were back, and safe, before I went to bed. I wanted to let my eyes take you in.” He smiled in a sad way. “I’m so very relieved you’re safe. Sleep well, Kahlan.”

Her bedroll, still tied up with its leather thongs, lay atop a pallet with a strawfilled mattress. Saddlebags were draped over her pack, sitting in the corner. Opposite the bed there was a small folding table and chair.

Beside them, a basket with rolls of maps. Another little folding table held a ewer and basin. A clean towel was draped over the table legs’ stretcher bar.

The tent was spacious, by army standards, but it was still cramped. The canvas looked heavy enough to keep out most any weather. Lamps, hanging at each end of the tent from a rod forming the peak of the roof, cast a warm glow inside the snug tent. Kahlan tried to imagine the burly General Reibisch pacing in such a small space, tugging his rust-colored beard, worrying over the problems of an army bigger than many cities.

Zedd looked exhausted. Creases etched an inner anguish on his bony face. She reminded herself that he had only just learned that his grandson, the only family he had left in the world, was in the cruel hands of the enemy.

Besides that, Zedd had been fighting for two days and healing soldiers at night. She had seen him, when she arrived, staggering to his feet beside the corpse of what turned out to be General Reibisch. She knew that if Zedd couldn’t save the man, he was beyond saving.

With her fingers, Kahlan combed back her hair and then gestured to the chair.

“You could sit for a minute, Zedd. Couldn’t you?”

He looked at the chair, then at her bedroll. “For a minute, I suppose, while you get your bed ready. You need some rest.”

Kahlan couldn’t argue with that. She realized her head was throbbing.

The passions of battle masked little things, like a pounding headache. The straw-filled mattress looked as good as a feather bed to her right then. She tossed her wolf-fur mantle and her cloak on the bed. They would keep her warm.

Without comment, Zedd watched as she unstrapped the Sword of Truth and pulled it off her back. He had given the weapon to Richard. Kahlan had been there, and begged Zedd not to do it, but he said he had no choice, that Richard was the one. Zedd had been right. Richard was indeed the one.

She felt her face flush when, just before she laid the sword down, she kissed the top of the hilt, where Richard’s hand had so often rested. Zedd, if he even noticed, said nothing, and she laid the gleaming scabbard and sword to rest beside her mattress.

In the awkward quiet, Kahlan took off the royal Galean sword. She saw then that there was blood running down the scabbard. She unstrapped and removed the layer of light leather armor and laid it beside her pack. When she leaned the royal sword and scabbard against the plates of leather armor, she saw then that they were splattered with blood.

She noticed, too, that the leather leg armor had bloody handprints here and there on it, and there were long gouges in the leather from mens’ fingernails. She remembered men grabbing for her, trying to unhorse her, but she didn’t recall their hands actually clawing at her. The images that started flooding back threatened to make her nauseated, so she directed her mind to other things.

“Cara and I crossed over the Rang’Shada mountains, north of Agaden Reach, and came down through Galea,” she said into the uncomfortable silence.

“I gathered,” he said.

She gestured vaguely to suggest the surrounding camp. “I thought I’d better bring some troops with me.”

“We can use them.”

Kahlan glanced up at his hazel eyes. “I brought all I could without waiting. I didn’t want to wait.”

Zedd nodded. “That was wise.”

“Prince Harold wanted to come, but I asked him to gather together a larger force and then bring them down. If we’re to defend the Midlands, we’ll need more troops. He thought that was a good idea.”

“Sounds so.”

“Prince Harold will be here to help just as soon as he can gather his army from their defensive positions.”

Zedd only nodded.

She cleared her throat. “I wish we could have gotten here sooner.”

Zedd shrugged. “You came as fast as possible. You’re here, now.”

Kahlan turned away to the bedroll. She sank down to her knees and bent to the work of undoing the leather thongs holding the bedding all rolled up together. For some reason, the knots looked blurry—she guessed it was because she was so tired.

She glanced over her shoulder briefly in the dim lamplight and then went back to picking at the knot. “I suppose you’d like to know how that Sister of the Dark managed to capture Richard.”

He was silent for a moment. His voice finally came, soft and gentle.

“There’s time enough for that later, Kahlan. There’s no need tonight.”

As she picked at the stubborn knot, her hair fell forward over her shoulder. She had to push it back in order to see what she was doing. The stupid leather thong was tightly knotted. She wanted to yell at the person who had tied it, but she had done it up herself and had no one else to blame.

“She used a maternity spell on me. It links us. She said she could—she could kill me if Richard didn’t do as she said and go with her.”

At the news, Zedd only let out a desolate sigh.

“Richard can’t kill her, or I die, too.”

She waited for his voice behind her. It finally came.

“I’ve only read about such spells, but from what I know, it sounds as if she told you the truth of it.”

“I have a cut on my mouth. I didn’t do it. It happened to me the other day—through that link. What happens to her happens to me. I hope Richard struck her. It was worth it.”

“I don’t think Richard would do that.”

She knew he wouldn’t. It was only a wish.

One of the little lamps was flickering, making shadows waver. The other was hissing softly. Kahlan wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“Richard gave up his freedom to keep me alive. I wish I could die, to free him, but he made me promise I wouldn’t do that.”

Kahlan felt a comforting hand on her shoulder. Zedd said nothing. It was the greatest kindness he could have given her at that moment—not burying her heart under an avalanche of questions.

Enjoying the calming effect of his hand, Kahlan finally managed to get the knot undone. Zedd sat back in his chair as she unfurled her bedding. The carving of Spirit was rolled up inside, for safekeeping. Its height was just right to fit crosswise in her bedroll. Kahlan lifted it out and held it to her heart a moment. She turned, then, and set Spirit on the little table.

Zedd slowly rose to his feet. He was a collection of bony angles under his maroon robes. With one arm crooked to point while he gaped at Spirit standing proudly atop the small table, his lanky body looked as stiff as a spindly tree in winter.

“Where else did you stop on your way here?” He cast a suspicious look in her direction. “Have you been looting treasures from palaces?”

She realized then that the look wasn’t so much meant to be suspicious, as teasing. Kahlan ran a finger down Spirit’s flowing robes, letting her gaze follow the strength in the lines of the woman’s strong pose. Something felt so right about the way her head was thrown back, with her fists at her sides, and her back arched, standing against the invisible power trying to subdue her.

“No.” Kahlan swallowed. “Richard carved it for me.”

Zedd’s brow drew lower. He stared at the carving for a time before reaching out a sticklike finger to touch it, as if it were some priceless antiquity.

“Dear spirits . . .”

Kahlan pretended a smile. “Almost. It’s called Spirit, he said. Richard carved it for me when I was feeling like I would never get better. It helped me . . .”

In the awful silence, Zedd finally turned from the woman with her fists at her sides and her head thrown back to peer into Kahlan’s eyes. He frowned in the oddest way.

“It’s you,” he said half to himself. “Dear spirits . . . the boy carved a statue of your spirit. I recognize it. It’s as plain as day.”

Zedd was not only Richard’s grandfather—he was now hers, too. He was not merely the First Wizard. He was also the man who had helped raise Richard. Zedd had no family left save Richard.

Other than a half sister and brother who were strangers but for blood, neither did she. She was as alone in the world as was Zedd.

Now, through Richard, Zedd was her family, but even if he wasn’t, she realized he could mean no less to her.

“We’ll get him back, dear one,” he whispered in tender compassion. His sticklike hand reverently cupped her face. “We’ll get him back.”

Everything seemed to be swimming. Kahlan fell into his protective arms and dissolved into tears.