Stone of Tears

Chapter 40

Kahlan climbed atop a wagon before the assembled men. They stood in brown wool coats, packed tightly together before her in the gray morning light. Captain Ryan, with his two lieutenants flanking him, stood at the front of the men. He leaned an arm on the wagon wheel, waiting.

Kahlan looked out at all the young faces. Boys. She was about to ask boys to die. But what choice did she have?

Dear mother, she wondered, is this the reason you chose Wyborn as my father? To teach me what I am about to do?

“I’m afraid I have only one bit of good news for you,” she began in a quiet voice that carried through the cold air, out over the faces all watching her, “and so I will give you that first, to give you courage for the other things I have to tell you.”

Kahlan took a deep breath. “Your queen was not killed in Ebinissia, nor did the men who attacked the city find or capture her. Either she was away when the attack came, or she escaped.

“Queen Cyrilla lives.”

The boys seemed to take a deep breath, as if hoping she wouldn’t add anything more, and then they erupted in wild cheering. They threw their arms in the air, shaking their fists at the sky. They yelled and hooted with joy and relief.

Kahlan stood in her blood-soaked wolf mantle, her hands at her sides, letting them have their time of celebration and hope. Some of the boys, forgetting for the moment that they were soldiers, hugged each other. She watched tears of happiness run down many a cheek as men leapt and shouted.

Kahlan stood feeling small and insignificant as the mob of boys poured out their adoration for her half sister. She couldn’t bring herself to halt their rejoicing.

At last Captain Ryan climbed up onto the wagon next to her. He held his arms up, calling for silence.

“All right! All right! Hold it down! Stop acting like a bunch of children in front of the Mother Confessor! Show her what men you be!”

The cheering finally died out, to be replaced by grins and bright eyes. Captain Ryan clasped his hands together and cast her a somewhat sheepish look before taking a couple of steps away atop the wagon, to give her room.

“The people of Ebinissia,” she went on, in the same quiet tone, “were not so fortunate.”

The winter silence became brittle. Light breezes rustled icy branches on the trees ascending the slopes to either side of the flat valley pass holding their camp. The grins withered.

“Every one of you, at the least, had friends who were murdered there. Many of you had loved ones, family, who died at the hands of the men a few hours up this pass.” Kahlan cleared her throat and swallowed as her eyes found the ground. “I, too, knew people who died there.”

Her eyes came up. “Last night, I went to their camp, to discover who they were, and if they could be called upon to return to their homelands. They have no intention of doing anything but conquering all the lands and putting them under their rule. They have vowed to kill everyone who refuses to join them. Ebinissia refused.”

The boys shouted and shook their fists. They, themselves, they said, would bring an end to the threat.

She spoke over their words, bringing them to silence as she did so. “The men who slaughtered your countrymen and countrywomen are called the Imperial Order. They fight on behalf of no country or land. They fight to conquer all lands, and to rule all lands. They answer to no government, to no king, to no lord, to no council. They believe themselves to be the fountain of law.

“They are made up of mostly D’Haran men, but others have joined them. I saw among them Keltans.”

Waves of angry whispers swept back through the crowd. Kahlan let it go on for a moment. “I saw also, among them, men from other lands. And I saw Galeans.”

This time shocked and angry voices called out that it wasn’t true, and said she was wrong.

“I saw them with my own eyes!” They fell once more to silence. She quieted her tone. “I wish that it were not true, but I saw them. Men of many lands have joined with them. More men will join with them if they believe they can be part of the victory, part of the new law, if they believe they can be in on the plunder and awarded positions of authority and power.

“The city of Cellion lies hardly more than a hand of days ahead. The Imperial Order will have their surrender and allegiance, or their death.

“Other cities, towns, villages, and farms will suffer these men if they are not stopped. Eventually, all will come under their sword. I am going to Aydindril to marshal the forces of the Midlands against the Imperial Order, but that will take time. In that time, their numbers will swell with those who would think to be on the side of might. Right now, there is no one able to stop these men from killing everyone in their path who resists them.

“Except you.”

Kahlan stiffened her back as she let what she had said sink in, and in preparation for what she was going to tell them next. She let the silence settle once more over the valley.

“As the Mother Confessor of the Midlands, and absent the luxury of conferring with the Central Council, I have had to do that which no Mother Confessor for a thousand years or more has had to do. On my authority, alone, I have committed the Midlands to war. The army of the Imperial Order is to be killed to a man. No negotiation or compromise will be offered by the Midlands. Under no circumstances will the Order’s surrender be accepted.

“I have given an oath on behalf of the Midlands that no quarter shall be granted.”

Astonished faces stared at her.

“Whether I live or die, this decree is irrevocable. Any land or people who willingly join with the Imperial Order cast their lot under the shadow of this edict.

“It is not in the name of Galea that I call upon you to fight. In the office of the Mother Confessor, I call upon you to fight for the Midlands. For it is not Galea that is under threat, but all lands, and all free people.”

There was confident grumbling that they were up to the task. Some in the ranks called out their assurance that they were the men to do it, that they were in the right, and would triumph.

Kahlan nodded to them all. “You think so? I want each of you to look to the faces around you.” They mostly stared at her. “Do as I say! Look to all the faces around you! Look to your comrades!”

A little confused, they began looking around, twisting to see those to the sides and those behind, smiling and laughing among themselves, as if it were a game.

When they seemed to have finished with the task, she went on. “A few of you will remember the faces you have looked upon today. Remember, and grieve. The rest, if you take up this battle, will not be around to remember. They will die in the struggle.”

In the cold silence, Kahlan heard the distant chatter of a squirrel, and then the sound of that, too, died away.

The smiles were all gone as she finally spoke again. “These men, the Imperial Order, are led by and are mostly D’Haran troops. D’Haran soldiers are trained from the time they are half your age. They fight internal conflicts in their land, put down riots and rebellions; they do not simply practice battle tactics, they live them day in and day out. They know only a life of fighting. They have been exposed to it in every form. I have taken the confessions of many D’Harans. Most do not know the meaning of peace.

“Since spring, when Darken Rahl sent them against the Midlands, they have been at what they do best: war. They have fought in battle after battle. All who have come before them have fallen.

“They relish fighting. They delight in it. They are as close to fearless as men come. They hold contests, often lethal, to win the right to be in the van of battle, to win the right to be the first to strike a blow at the enemy, to win the right to be the first to fall.”

She surveyed the young faces. “You have confidence in your training, your battle tactics?” The faces nodded, looking to one another, smiling their knowing confidence.

Kahlan pointed to one, a sergeant by the look of his coat’s braids. “Tell me then. You are now in the field of battle, having chased down these men, and here comes the enemy, back at you. You are in charge of the pikes and archers. Here they come. Thousands of them, yelling, running, coming to rend your force in two, to break your army’s back. You see they have heavy spears, called by them argons, with long, thin barbs. If they pierce you, they are nearly impossible to remove. They cause ghastly wounds that are almost always fatal. Here they come, with their argons. Thousands of men. What is your tactic?”

The young man held his chin out, knowingly. “Form a tight rank of the pikes formed into a box or wedge to protect the archers. The pikemen face the pikes out and overlapping the shields, present the enemy with a tight, impenetrable wall. The shields protect the pikemen, who protect the archers. The archers take them down before they can get close enough to use their argons. The few who do fall on the pikes. Their drive is repelled and, in all likelihood, they have lost a good many men in the failed attempt, making another less likely.”

Kahlan nodded, as if impressed. “Well stated.” He beamed. The men around him grinned with pride in their knowledge of their business. “I have seen some of the most experienced armies of the Midlands use those very same tactics when the D’Harans first came over, last spring, when the boundary went down.”

“Well, there you have it,” the man said. “They lose their charge against the archers and on the point of our pikes.”

She gave him a small smile. “The D’Haran van, those men I told you about, the biggest, the fiercest, the ones who won the right to be the first at you? Well, they’ve developed special tactics of their own, for use against your plans. First of all, they have arrow shields, so as they run in, they’re protected from the brunt of the archers’ work.

“And I guess I forgot to tell you one other thing about those argons of theirs. These spears have iron-sheathed shafts for most of their length, and a unique purpose. As the enemy is charging in, mostly unaffected by your archers, they heave their argons at you.”

“We have shields,” the man pointed out. “Their argons expended, they will be on the point of our pikes.”

She folded her arms, nodding to him. “The van, the men who won the right to be the first wave, are big men. I doubt the smallest has arms less than twice the average of yours.

“The argons are needle sharp. Thrown by those powerful arms, they penetrate and stick in your shields. The long barbs prevent them from being withdrawn.”

The confident smiles were fading as she looked from face to face as she went on. “You now have argons stuck solidly in your shields. You drop your pikes, drawing swords to hack the heavy spears away. But the shafts are covered in iron, and don’t yield. The spears are heavy, and the butts drag the ground. D’Harans can run almost as fast as their spears fly. As they reach you now, they jump on the shafts of the spears stuck in your shields, dragging them to the ground, leaving you on your knees, and naked to their heavy axes.”

Arms still folded, she leaned toward them. “I have seen men split from scalp to navel by those axes.”

Men glanced sideways at one another, their confidence shaken.

She nodded mockingly as she unfolded her arms. “I am not giving you conjecture. I’ve seen a D’Haran force take down an experienced army nearly ten times their size in just this fashion. In the space of an hour, the battle turned from a rout of the D’Harans to a rout of their foes.

“A D’Haran charge of the argon is almost as devastating as a classic cavalry charge, except they have far greater numbers than any cavalry. And their own cavalry is anything but typical. You don’t even want to know about them.

“They lost half their number in the slaughter of Ebinissia, and they are in camp, now, singing and drinking. Would you, if you lost every other one of you, be of good cheer?

“I know you believe you can win a battle against a force ten times your size, and I know also that such a thing can be done. But it is those experienced D’Haran troops who, on a battlefield, fighting by the tactics of common war, could bring about such a feat.

“Please believe me, I mean no disrespect to your bravery, but in the field of war, you are not their equal. Not yet. You could not defeat an army half their size were the battle fought the way your enemy would fight.

“That does not mean you cannot win. It means only that you must do it in another way. I believe you can win, and I’m going to tell you what you must do, and lead you in the first strike, to start you in this. The Imperial Order is not invincible. They can be defeated.

“From this day forward, I shall never again call you ‘boys.’ From this day forward, you are men.

“You think of yourselves as soldiers of your homeland, Galea. But you are not. In this, you are not. You are soldiers, men, of the Midlands. For it is not just Galea who will be conquered, but all of the Midlands, if these men are not stopped. I call upon you to stop them.”

The tightly packed crowd of soldiers, tempered by what they had heard, shouted that they would do the job. She watched from under her eyebrows as they confidently pledged to fight to the end. There were angry whispers from some in the crowd, to her right. Men were jostling each other and arguing. Some men wanted to speak, and others were seeking to prevent it.

“If you should choose to join in this battle, you will follow orders without question,” she said. “But for this time only, you may speak your mind freely, without retribution. If you have something to say, then let all hear it now, or else hold it to your grave.”

One man pulled his arm free of another. He glowered up at her. “We’re men. We don’t follow women into battle.”

Kahlan blinked at him. “You follow Queen Cyrilla.”

“She is our queen, we fight on her behalf. She doesn’t lead us in battle. That’s left to men to do.”

Kahlan narrowed her eyes. “What is your name?”

He glanced around at his fellows, and then held his chin up. “I’m William Mosle. And we’ve been trained by Prince Harold himself.”

“And I,” Kahlan said, “was trained by his father, King Wyborn. King Wyborn was my father, too. I am half sister to Queen Cyrilla and Prince Harold.”

There were astonished murmurs throughout the crowd. Without taking her eyes from Mosle, she lifted a hand to silence them. “But that does not count for command. You are soldiers. Your duty is to follow the orders of your commanders, and they the queen, and she must follow commands of the Central Council of the Midlands. The council of the Midlands follows the orders of the Mother Confessor.

“For now, I fill that office. My family name is, like your queen’s, Amnell, but I’m of Confessor blood, first, and last. I am the Mother Confessor of the Midlands, and as such, if I say you’re to march into a lake, then it’s your duty to march until you’re breathing water and seeing fishes. Does that make it clear enough for you, soldier?”

A few other men were shoving at Mosle, urging him to go on with their grievances. “It means you can order us, it doesn’t mean you know what you’re doing.”

Kahlan let out a sigh and pulled some blood-stiffened hair back, hooking it behind an ear. “I don’t have the time, today, to tell you of all the training I’ve had, or of all the fighting against impossible odds I’ve been through, or the men I’ve had to kill in that fighting.

“I would tell you only that last night, I went alone to the camp of the Imperial Order to save your life. The men of the Order, D’Harans, fear the things of the night, spirits, and for protection from that and to assist them, they had a wizard in their company. Had you, in your confidence of battle knowledge, tried to attack those men, that wizard would have known what you were doing, and probably used magic to kill you all.”

Mosle’s defiant expression didn’t diminish, but some of the others broke into worried whispers. Fighting against steel was one thing, fighting against magic quite another.

Captain Ryan stepped forward. “The Mother Confessor killed the wizard,” he said with pride. There were relieved sighs among the men. “If it hadn’t been for her experience, we would have marched to our deaths without even having the chance to lay steel to steel. I, for one, intend to follow those I’ve sworn my life to serve: my land, my queen, the Midlands, and the Mother Confessor.

“We’re going to stop this threat against the Midlands, and we’re going to do it by following those we are sworn to follow. We go into battle under the command of the Mother Confessor.”

“I’m a soldier in the Galean army!” Mosle seemed only to get more defiant. “Not a soldier in any Midlands army! I fight for Galea, not to protect lands like Kelton!” Kahlan watched as other men shouted their agreement. “This army, the Imperial Order, or whatever they call themselves, is marching toward the border. Cellion is a border city, and most of it’s on the other side of the river, in Kelton! Most of its citizens are Keltish! Why should we die for the Keltans?”

Men in the crowd were starting to argue with one another. Captain Ryan’s face was red. “Mosle, you’re a disgrace to . . . !”

Kahlan held a hand out to silence him. “No, soldier Mosle is only speaking as he believes, as I asked him to. You men must understand me. I’m not ordering you to do this. I’m asking you to fight for the lives of innocent people of the Midlands. Tens of thousands of your fellow soldiers have already died in this battle. I would not ask you to lay down your lives for something you do not believe in. Most who go into this war will die.

“It’s your decision to stay or not. You are not commanded to stay. But if you choose to stay, it will be under my command. I want no man with us who does not believe in what we do.

“Decide now, if you will be with us or not. If not, then you are free to go, because you will be of no help to your comrades.”

Her voice turned as cold as the thin morning air. “If you decide to go with me into this war, then you will follow the orders of your superiors. In the Midlands, there is no one to outrank me. You will follow my orders without question, or your punishment will be unsparing. Too much is at stake to have to suffer men who can’t follow orders.

“If I say you will do something, then you will do it, even if you know it’s to cost you your life, because it’s to save many more lives. I give no orders without sound reason, but I won’t always have time to explain them. Your duty is to trust in your superiors and do as you’re told.”

She held out a finger and swept it slowly over their heads. “Choose, then. With us, or not. But choose this day for all time.”

Kahlan drew her hands back inside her warm fur mantle and waited in silence while men discussed and argued among themselves. Tempers flared, and angry oaths were given. Men gathered around Mosle, and others moved away from him.

“I’m leaving, then,” Mosle called out to the others. He thrust his fist in the air. “I’ll follow no woman into battle, no matter who she is! Who’s leaving with me?”

About sixty or seventy men gathered about cheered their support for him.

“Go, then,” Kahlan commanded. “Before you become caught up in a battle you do not believe in.”

Having made their choice, Mosle and the men with him cast her glares of contempt. He swaggered forward. “We’ll leave as soon as we can get our things together. We’ll not be rushed out on your word.”

The men in the crowd pushed in. Before it came to blows Kahlan held her hand up. “Stop! Let them be. They’ve made their choice. Let them get their things and be gone.”

Mosle turned and pushed his way back through the throng, his new men in tow. As they left the gathered soldiers, Kahlan carefully counted their numbers. Sixty-seven. Sixty-seven who would leave.

She looked out at all the faces. “Any more? Do any more wish to leave?” No one moved a muscle. “Then do all of you wish to join in this fight?” A united cheer went up. “So be it. I wish I did not have to call upon you men to do this, but there is no one else to ask. My heart weeps for those of you who will die. Know that none of those who live will ever forget the sacrifice you make for them and the people of the Midlands.”

From the corner of her eye, she watched the sixty-seven men moving among the wagons, taking the supplies they thought they would need. “And now, to what must be done.”

Slowly, she shook her head. “You men must understand what it is I call upon you to do. It is no glorious battle, as you think, where you move like pieces on a game board. No tactics to outwit an opponent in a grand engagement. We will not face them in the field of battle, but kill them in every other way.”

“But Mother Confessor,” someone near the front timidly called out, “it’s the code of honor for soldiers to face one another in battle, to best him in a fair fight.”

“There is nothing fair about having to fight in war. The only fair thing would be to live in peace. The purpose of war is singular: to kill.

“You must all understand this, for it’s central to your survival. There is no honor in killing, no matter the method. Dead is dead. Killing your enemy in war is done to protect the lives of those for whom you fight. Their lives are no better protected by killing your enemy sword to sword than by slaying him while he sleeps, but only put at risk by it.

“There is no glory in this task. It’s an onerous deed. We do not intend to give them a chance to engage in pitched battle, to see who is the better at the game. Our chore is simply to kill them.

“If you have difficulty seeing the right of this, then I call upon you to consider the honor of the soldiers you are up against. Consider them as they stood waiting in gangs to rape your mothers and sisters. Consider what your mothers and sisters in Ebinissia thought of honor as they were tortured and raped and slaughtered.”

The chill of her words sent visible shudders through the stone-silent men. Kahlan had to restrain herself from bringing any more horror to their eyes, but before her still floated the vision of the young women in the palace.

“If the enemy is looking the other way, so much the better, because they will not thrust a knife into you. If it is from a distance, with an arrow, so much the better, because they will not have a chance to impale you on an argon. If it is while they have food in their mouths, so much the better, because they will not be able to raise an alarm. If it is while they are sleeping, so much the better, because they will not have a chance to cleave you with their sword.

“Last night, my horse crushed the head of one of the D’Haran commanders. There was no glory in that, no honor, only the knowledge that perhaps that deed will prevent some of you from dying by his hand and wits. In that, my heart sings with joy. Joy that maybe it has saved some of your precious lives.

“What we do is done to save the lives of men and women yet alive and yet unborn. You saw what was done to the people in Ebinissia. Remember the faces of those dead. Remember the way they died, and the horror they suffered before they did. Remember those soldiers captured, and beheaded.

“It is up to us to prevent that from happening to any more people. To do that, we must kill these men. There is no glory in the doing. Only survival.”

In the back, two men gestured obscenely to those around them and walked off to join with Mosle’s men. Sixty-nine. But the rest stood in firm resolution to take up the fight.

The time had come. She had dissuaded them from their raw thoughts of glorious battle, and told them of the true nature of their task. She had brought most to an understanding of the larger temper of the battle ahead. She had told them some of what must be done. She had brought them to a more focused understanding of their importance in the scheme of this struggle.

The time had come to charge them irreversibly to the burden, to forge them into an instrument of retribution that could annihilate the threat.

Kahlan opened her arms to the men before her, her blood soaked mantle hanging limp.

“I am dead,” she called to the gray sky. Frowning, they all leaned in a little. “What has happened to my countrymen, my countrywomen—my fathers, sons, mothers, and daughters—has slain me. The agony of their slaughter has mortally wounded my heart.”

Her arms spread wider as her voice rose in wrath.

“Only vengeance can restore me! Only victory can return my life to me!”

She gazed into all the wide eyes staring back. “I am the Mother Confessor of the Midlands. I am your mothers, your sisters, your daughters yet unborn. I call upon you to die with me, and live again only by avenging me.”

Kahlan swept a hand out. “Those of you who join with me in this are dead with me. Our lives can be returned only through vengeance. As long as one of our enemy lives, we are dead. We have no life to lose in this battle, for our lives are already lost, here, today, now. Only when every one of the destroyers of Ebinissia is slain may we live once again. Until then we have no life.”

She looked out at the solemn faces of the men gathered before her, watching, waiting for her next words. On a warm breeze, the bloody wolf fur rustled against her cheek. Kahlan pulled free her knife and held it up in her fist for all to see. She laid the weapon over her heart.

“An oath then, to the good people of Ebinissia who are now with the spirits, and to the good people of the Midlands!”

Almost all the men followed her example, holding their knives over their hearts. Seven did not, but, grumbling curses, rose to join with Mosle. Seventy-six.

“Vengeance without mercy before our lives are returned to us!” she pledged.

The sober voice of every man before her repeated the oath, joining with every other in unflinching unity.

“Vengeance without mercy before our lives are returned to us!” The roar of their words drifted away on the morning air.

Kahlan watched William Mosle cast a glance over his shoulder at her before following his men away, back up the pass.

She returned her attention to those before her. “You are all sworn in oath, then. Tonight, we begin the killing of the men of the Order. Let it be without quarter. We take no prisoners.”

No cheer went up this time. The men listened in grim attention.

“We must no longer travel as you have been, with wagons to carry your needs and supplies. We must take only what we can carry. We need to be able to travel the woods, the small passes, so we can outmaneuver the men we hunt. I intend to sweep in at them from all directions and at will, like wolves at hunt. And like wolves, who hunt with coordination, we will control and direct them, as wolves control and direct their prey.

“You are men of this land. You know the woods and mountains around us. You have hunted them since you were children. We will use your knowledge. The enemy is in strange territory, and keeps to the wide passes with their wagons and great numbers. We will no longer be impeded as they. We will move through the country around them as do the wolves.

“You must divide up what you have in the wagons, and place what you can carry in your packs. Leave the heavy armor, it takes too much effort to carry, and we are not going to fight that way. Take only light armor you can wear at a forced march. Take what food you can.

“You are to take no liquor or ale. When you have avenged the people of Ebinissia, you may drink all you want. Until then, you will not. I want everyone alert at all times. We do not ever relax until our enemy is dead to a man.

“Some of the food that’s left is to be packed into a few of the smaller wagons, without any arms or armor. We will need volunteers to give it to the enemy.”

The men mumbled in surprise and confusion.

“The road divides ahead. When they are past the fork, and on their way to Cellion, the wagons with the food and all the ale are to take the other road, and then the smaller routes, to get ahead of them. You will lie in wait with these wagons until their advance guard nears, and then cross their path so they can see you. When their forward column spots you and gives chase, you are to abandon the wagons and escape. Let them have the food and drink.

“The Imperial Order is nearly out of ale, and tonight they will celebrate their luck. I expect they will get drunk. I want them to be drunk when we attack them.”

The men cheered with that news.

“Know this: we’re as a wolf pack, trying to bring down a bull. Though we are not strong enough to do it with one dispatching strike, we will harry him to exhaustion, drag him to the ground, and kill him. This will not be a single battle, but a constant nipping at his hide, taking small chunks of him at a time, wounding, weakening, and bleeding him all the while, until finally we have the advantage and can kill the beast.

“Tonight, under cover of darkness, we will slip into their camp and make a quick strike. This is to be a disciplined action, not random killing. We will have a list of objectives. Our aim is to weaken the bull. I have already partially blinded him by eliminating the wizard.

“The sentries and lookouts will be taken first. We will dress as many men as we can in their clothes. Those men will go into their camp and locate our targets.

“Our first need is to slow their ability to counterattack. I don’t want us run down by cavalry. We need to bring ruin to their horses. There’s no need to waste time killing them; breaking their legs is sufficient. We need to destroy their food. We’re an army small enough to be able to get food by hunting, foraging, and buying from surrounding farms and villages, but one that size requires much. If we destroy their food, they will be weakened.

“We need to kill their arrow makers and fletchers, bowyers and blacksmiths, all the craftsmen who can make and repair bows, arrows, and other weapons. They will have sacks of goose wings for fletching arrows. They must be stolen or burned. Every arrow not made is one that can’t kill us. Bow staves need to be destroyed. Wreck their bugles, if you find them, and the buglers. This will help take away their voice and coordination.

“Their lances, pikes, and argons will be stacked upright, together. Five seconds and a few swings with an axe or sword will destroy a great many lances and pikes. Heavy axes or hammers will at least bend the argons and render them useless. Every lance or spear broken is one that can’t kill you. Burn their tents, to expose them to the cold, burn their wagons so they will lose supplies.

“Of most importance are their officers. I would rather kill one officer tonight than a thousand men. If we can kill their officers, it will make them dull and slow, and it will be easier to take this bull to the ground.

“If any of you can think of anything else that will weaken them, bring the ideas to me or Captain Ryan, or the other officers. The object tonight is not primarily to kill soldiers; there are too many. Our object is to disable them, make them weak, slow; to make them less sure of themselves.

“Most of all, our object is to put fear into their minds. These men aren’t used to being afraid. When men are afraid, they make mistakes. Those mistakes allow us to kill them. I intend to terrify them. Later, I will tell you how.

“You have a few hours to get everything ready, and then we start moving. I want the sentries at double distance. Beyond them, I want lookouts and I want scouts to keep in contact with the Order. I want to know where they are at all times. I want constant reports. I don’t want to be surprised by anything. I want to know of anything that you see or encounter, no matter how innocent it seems. If a rabbit jumps too high, I want to know about it. Just as we intend to trick them, I don’t want them tricking us. Take nothing for granted.

“May the good spirits be with you. Now get started.”

The men all began moving, the air coming to life with the sound of feet and talking. One of the two lieutenants stood near, unbuttoning his coat, giving orders to some men around him.

“Lieutenant Sloan.” He looked up as the men he had instructed went to their tasks. “See to the sentries and lookouts at once. I want any of your men who know how to make white paint or whitewash to assemble the supplies they need. We will need large tubs of some sort. I want rocks heated, to warm the insides of tents.”

He didn’t question her strange instructions. “Yes, Mother Confessor.”

“See that the small wagons with the ale and food are prepared, but hold them until I give the order to let them go.”

He put his fist to his heart without comment and marched off to see to it.

Kahlan’s legs felt as if they would give out at any second. She was so tired from having had no sleep, and from riding the better part of the night, to say nothing of the work she had done and the heart-pounding fright, that she could hardly focus her eyes anymore. Her shoulder hurt where the lance had been couched when it was shattered. The muscles in her left leg jittered with the effort of keeping her standing.

She was also mentally exhausted. Anxiety, over not only the enormity of her decision to take it upon herself to call all the Midlands into war, but also over her impassioned plea for these men to lay down their lives on her word, eroded her strength further. Despite the unusual warmth of the day, she shivered inside her fur mantle.

Captain Ryan stepped over to her. Chandalen, Prindin, and Tossidin were standing by the rear of the wagon, watching.

Captain Ryan gave her a sly smile. “I like it.”

He jumped down and held his hand out for her. She ignored the hand and jumped down as he had done, and by luck more than anything, stayed on her feet. She could not accept his offer of help, not now, not with what she was about to do.

“And now, Captain, I must give you an order you are not going to like.” She looked to his blue eyes. “I want you to send men after Mosle and those who went with him. Send enough to be sure to accomplish the deed.”

“Deed?”

“They must be killed. Send a force with instructions that they are to pretend to join with Mosle’s men, so they don’t scatter when your men approach. Send your cavalry behind, but out of sight, in case they’re able to take to the woods. When they are surrounded, kill them. There are seventy-six. Count the bodies to make sure they are all dead. I will be very displeased if even one escapes.”

His eyes were wide. “But Mother Confessor . . .”

“I take no pleasure in this, Captain. You have your orders.” She turned to the three Mud People. “Prindin, go with the men he picks. Make sure those who departed are killed to a man.”

Prindin gave her a grim nod. He understood the unpleasant necessity of what she was doing.

Captain Ryan tensed in near panic. “Mother Confessor . . . I know those men. They’ve been with us a long time. You said they were free to go! We can’t . . .”

She laid a hand on his arm. He suddenly recognized the threat that represented. “I am doing what I must to save your lives. You have given your word to follow orders.” She leaned a little closer. “Do not add yourself to those seventy-six.”

He at last gave a nod and she removed her hand. His eyes told it all. Hate radiated from him.

“I didn’t know the killing was to start with our own men,” he whispered.

“It does not. It starts with the enemy.”

Captain Ryan pointed angrily up the pass. “They’re going in the opposite direction of the Order!”

“And did you think they would go to the enemy in plain sight of you? They intend to circle around.” She turned and started off toward a tent that had been left up for her.

Captain Ryan, trailed by Chandalen, Prindin, and Tossidin, followed her, unwilling to concede. “If you were so concerned, why did you let them go! Why didn’t you let the men kill them when they would have!”

“Because I had to give all those who would renounce us and abandon their fellows the chance to do so.”

“What makes you think all the ‘traitors’ departed? There could be spies, or assassins, among us.”

“Yes, there could be. But I have no evidence of that at the moment. If I find there are, I will have to deal with them then.”

Kahlan came to a stop before the tent. “If you think I may be making a mistake about those men, I assure you, I am not. But even if I were, it is a price that must be paid. If we let them go, and even one of them betrays us, we could all be killed in a trap tonight. If we die, there will be none to stop the Order for a long time. How many thousands would die then, Captain? If those men are innocent, I’ll have made a terrible mistake, and seventy-six innocent men will die. If I’m right, I will be saving the lives of untold thousands of innocent people.

“You have your orders. Carry them out.”

Captain Ryan shook with rage. “I hope you don’t expect me to ever forgive you for this.”

“No, I don’t. I expect only that you follow my orders. I don’t care if you hate me, Captain. I care only that you live to do so.”

He gritted his teeth in mute frustration.

Kahlan gripped the tent flap. “Captain, I’m so tired I can hardly stand. I need to get a couple of hours’ sleep. I want a guard posted around this tent while I rest.”

He glared at her. “And how can you be sure one of them might not be an enemy? They could kill you in your sleep.”

“That’s a possibility. But if that happens, one of these three men would avenge my murder.”

Captain Ryan flinched and glanced at the three Mud People. In his anger, he had forgotten they were there.

Chandalen lifted an eyebrow to him. “I will first put sticks in his eyes, to hold them open, to be sure he sees what I do.”

Lieutenant Hobson rushed up, holding a bowl out in his hands. “Mother Confessor, I brought you some stew. I thought you would like something to eat. Something hot.”

Kahlan forced herself to smile at him. “Thank you, Lieutenant, but I’m so tired I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep it down. Could you keep it warm, until after I’ve rested?”

“Of course, Mother Confessor.”

Captain Ryan’s glare slid to his grinning lieutenant. “I have a job for you, Hobson.”

“Two hours,” Kahlan said, “and then wake me. You should all have enough to keep you busy in the meantime.”

She pulled the flap aside and went into the tent, nearly collapsing onto the cot. She drew a blanket over her legs, and lifted the fur mantle over her head, shutting out the light. In her small, private darkness, she shook.

She would have given her life, right then, to have Richard hold her for just five minutes.