Stone of Tears

Chapter 6

The wind ripped at her, tugging at her clothes and snapping the loose ends. After yesterday’s tangled mess, Kahlan was at least glad she had thought to tie back her hair. She clung to Richard for dear life, pressing the side of her face against his back as she squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

It was happening again—the thick feeling of growing heavy that made the knot in the pit of her stomach sink lower of its own accord. She thought she might be sick. She was afraid to open her eyes; she knew what always happened when she felt heavy like this. Richard called back for her to look.

She opened her eyes just a little, peeking through narrow, squinting slits. As she suspected, the world was tilted at a crazy angle. Her head spun sickeningly. Why did the dragon have to tip over whenever it made a turn? She could feel herself being pressed against the red scales. She couldn’t understand why she wasn’t falling off.

Richard had told her he had figured out that it was just like when you swung a bucket of water around over your head and the water didn’t fall out. She had never swung a bucket of water over her head and wasn’t entirely sure he was telling the truth about the water not falling out. She looked longingly at the ground and saw what Richard was pointing at—the Mud People’s village.

Siddin squealed with glee from his place in Richard’s lap as Scarlet’s huge, leathery wings caught the air and pulled them into a tight spiral. As the red dragon plummeted earthward, the knot of Kahlan’s stomach felt as if it were coming up in her throat. She didn’t understand how they could like doing this. They enjoyed it. They actually enjoyed it! Arms stuck up in the air, they were both laughing with delight, acting like little boys. Well, one was a little boy, and she guessed he had a right.

She suddenly smiled and then laughed herself. Not at flying on a dragon, but at seeing how happy Richard was. She would fly on a dragon every day just to see him laughing and happy. She stretched up and kissed the back of his neck. He brought his hands down and rubbed one on each of her legs. She clasped them tighter around him and forgot a little about feeling sick.

Richard called forward for Scarlet to land in the open field in the center of the village. The sun was almost down, making the tan, plastered, mud-bricked buildings in the circle of the village stand out brightly in the slanting light. Kahlan could smell the sweet smoke from the cooking fires. The long shadows trailed the people running for cover. Women ran from the cooking shelters and men from their weapons making, all shouting and calling out.

She hoped they wouldn’t be too frightened. The last time Scarlet had come here she had carried Darken Rahl, and when he didn’t find Richard he had killed people. These people didn’t know Rahl had forced Scarlet to fly him around after he had stolen her egg. Of course, even without Darken Rahl riding her, no one ever thought of a red dragon as anything but a deadly threat. She herself would have run for her life at seeing a red dragon. The red were the most fearsome of all the dragons, and no one would ever imagine doing anything with a red dragon except trying to kill it, or running for his life.

No one but Richard, that is. Who else but Richard would think to befriend one? He had risked his life to get her egg free from Rahl’s control so she would help him, and in the process had made a friend for life, although Scarlet still professed her intent to eat him someday. Kahlan suspected it was some private joke between the two, as Richard laughed whenever she said it. At least Kahlan hoped it was only a joke—she wasn’t entirely sure. Kahlan looked down at the village and hoped the hunters didn’t start shooting poison arrows before they saw who was riding the red dragon.

Siddin suddenly recognized his home. He pointed excitedly, and jabbered to Richard in the Mud People’s language. Richard couldn’t understand a word of it but smiled and nodded and ruffled Siddin’s hair. They both gripped the spikes on Scarlet’s back as she pulled out of the steep descent. Dust swept up around them, lifted by the fluttering of Scarlet’s huge wings as she settled on the ground.

Richard grabbed hold of Siddin and sat the little boy up on his broad shoulders, then stood up on Scarlet’s back. The stiff, cold breeze carried the dust away to reveal a ragged ring of hunters, their bows drawn, poison arrows pointing up at the three of them. Kahlan held her breath.

Grinning, Siddin waved both hands over his head, as Richard had told him to. Scarlet held her head down so the Mud People could get a clear view of who was riding her. The hunters, astonished, cautiously lowered their bows. Kahlan exhaled when she saw the tension come off the bowstrings.

A figure in buckskin pants and tunic stepped through the ring of hunters. Long silver hair hung down, spreading over his shoulders. It was the Bird Man, his sun-browned face a picture of shock.

“It’s me, Richard! I have returned! With your help, we have defeated Darken Rahl. And, we have brought Savidlin and Weselan’s son back.”

The Bird Man looked to Kahlan as she translated. A beaming grin spread on his face. “We welcome you both back to your people with open arms.”

Women and children were gathering among the ring of hunters, their dark, mud-slicked hair framing amazed faces. Scarlet lowered her bulky body to the ground and Richard slid off her shoulder, landing on his boots with a thump. He held Siddin in one arm as he reached up with the other and helped Kahlan down. She was quietly joyful to have her feet on the earth again.

Weselan pushed through the throng, running to them, Savidlin right at her heels. She wailed her son’s name. Siddin held his arms out gleefully and practically leapt into her arms. Weselan alternated between crying and laughing as she tried to hug her son and Richard and Kahlan all at once. Savidlin rubbed his boy’s back and looked to her and Richard with wet eyes.

“He was brave as any hunter,” Kahlan told him.

He gave a single, firm, pride-filled nod. He appraised her for a moment and then stepped closer, giving her a gentle slap. “Strength to Confessor Kahlan.”

Kahlan returned the slap and greeting, and then he threw his arms around her and squeezed nearly all the breath out of her. When finished with hugging her, he straightened his elder’s coyote hide on his shoulders and looked up at Richard. He shook his head in wonderment. And then he gave Richard a powerfully hard whack across the jaw, a demonstration of his heartfelt respect for Richard’s strength.

“Strength to Richard With The Temper.”

Kahlan wished he hadn’t done that. She could tell by Richard’s eyes that he had a headache. He had had it since yesterday, and she had hoped it would be better after a good sleep the night before in Scarlet’s cave. Siddin had played with the little red dragon until he was dead tired, and then had cuddled between them and gone to sleep.

Having not slept for days, she thought she would have no trouble sleeping, but she found she didn’t want to stop looking at Richard. She had finally put her head on his shoulder, held his hand in both of hers, and fallen asleep smiling. They had all needed the rest. Bad dreams had caused Richard to jerk awake several times in a cold sweat, and even though he had said nothing, she could see in his eyes that he still had the headache. Richard didn’t let it bother him, though, and returned Savidlin’s slap in kind.

“Strength to Savidlin. My friend.”

Properly greeted, souls protected, Savidlin let his grins and backslaps fly. After they had exchanged greetings with the Bird Man, Richard addressed the crowd.

“This brave and noble dragon, Scarlet,” he called out in a voice for all to hear, even though they couldn’t understand the words, “has helped me kill Darken Rahl and avenge our murdered people. She has brought us here so Siddin could be returned before his parents could fear for him another night. She is my friend, a friend to the Mud People.”

Everyone was dumbfounded as Kahlan translated. The hunters, at least, puffed up at hearing that an enemy of the Mud People had been killed by one of their own—even if he was one of their own by proclamation and not by birth. The Mud People honored strength, and to them killing one who harmed their people meant strength.

Scarlet’s head swung down, her ears twitching. One yellow eye frowned at Richard. “Friend! Red dragons are friends to no people! We are feared by all!”

“You’re my friend.” Richard smiled. “I’m a person.”

Scarlet snorted a puff of smoke at him. “Paah. I will eat you yet.”

Richard’s grin widened. He pointed at the Bird Man. “You see this man? He gave me the whistle that I used to save your egg. If not for that whistle, the gars might have eaten your little one.” He stroked a hand on the bright red snout. “And a wonderful little one it is.”

Scarlet tilted her head, blinking a big yellow eye at the Bird Man. “I guess he would make a meager snack.” She peered back at Richard, a chuckle rumbling in her throat. “The whole of the village wouldn’t make a decent meal. More trouble than it would be worth.” She brought her head closer to him. “If they are your friends, Richard Cypher, they are my friends, too.”

“And Scarlet, this one is called the Bird Man because he loves creatures that fly.”

Scarlet’s scaly eyebrows lifted. “Really?” She swung her head close to the Bird Man, inspecting him anew. The proximity of Scarlet’s big head caused a few close to him to back away a step or two. The Bird Man held his ground. “Thank you, Bird Man, for helping Richard. He has saved my young one. The Mud People have nothing to fear from me. On my dragon’s honor.”

The Bird Man looked to Kahlan as she translated, smiled to Scarlet, and then turned to his people. “As Richard With The Temper says, this noble dragon, Scarlet, is a friend to the Mud People. She may hunt our land, and we will bring no harm to her, nor her to us.”

Cheering erupted from the crowd. For a people to have a dragon as a friend was taken as an honor to their strength. Everyone seemed to be shouting with excitement. They waved their arms in the air and stamped around in little dances. Scarlet joined in the merriment by throwing her head back and sending a roaring column of flame skyward. The people cheered louder.

Kahlan noticed Richard glancing off to the side. She followed the direction of his gaze to a small band of hunters standing together. None of them were cheering. She recognized their leader. He was the one who had blamed Richard for bringing trouble to their village—blamed Richard for the deaths of Mud People at the hands of Darken Rahl.

As the hooting and hollering went on, Richard motioned Scarlet toward him. When she lowered her head, he put his face right in her ear. She listened to whatever he was saying and then pulled her head back, regarding him with a big yellow eye. She nodded.

Richard held out the carved bone whistle hanging from a leather thong at his neck as he turned to the Bird Man. “You gave me this as a gift, but told me it would never aid me because I could only call all the birds at once. I think maybe the good spirits wanted it that way. This gift helped me save everyone from Darken Rahl. It helped me save Kahlan. Thank you.”

The Bird Man smiled at the translation. Richard whispered in Kahlan’s ear that he would be back in a short time, and then climbed up on Scarlet.

“Honored elder, Scarlet and I would like to give you a small gift. We would like to take you up in the air, so you may see where your beloved birds fly.” He extended a hand to the Bird Man.

The elder, upon hearing the translation, looked apprehensively at Scarlet. Her vibrant red scales were glossy in the late-afternoon sun, undulating with her breathing. Her tail reached nearly to the mud-brick homes across the field. The dragon unfolded her wings and lazily stretched them. He looked at Richard, who was still offering his hand to him. A little-boy grin lit the elder’s face. It made Kahlan laugh. He clasped Richard’s arm and hoisted himself up.

Savidlin strode over and stood by Kahlan as the dragon rose into the air. The people cheered their approval as they watched the dragon lifting their honored elder into the air. Kahlan wasn’t seeing the dragon. She saw only Richard. She could hear the Bird Man laughing as Scarlet carried them up and away. She hoped he was still laughing after Scarlet made a turn.

Savidlin glanced at her. “He is a rare person, Richard With The Temper.”

She smiled and nodded. Her gaze went across the way, to the man who wasn’t cheering or happy. “Savidlin, who is that man?”

“Chandalen. He blames Richard for Darken Rahl coming here and killing people.”

The Wizard’s First Rule came to her mind: People will believe anything. “If it wasn’t for Richard, Darken Rahl would rule us all now, the same Darken Rahl who killed those people.”

Savidlin shrugged. “Not everyone who has eyes can see. Remember the elder you killed? Toffalar? That was his uncle.”

She nodded absently. “Wait here.”

Kahlan walked across the field, pulling the tie from her hair as she went. She was still dazed by the knowledge that Richard loved her and that he couldn’t be harmed by her magic. It was hardly possible to believe she, a Confessor, could ever experience love. It went against everything she had ever been taught. She just wanted to take Richard somewhere alone and kiss him and hug him until they were old.

There was no way she was going to allow this man, Chandalen, to bring any harm to Richard. Now that she and the man she loved could somehow, magically, be together, she wasn’t going to allow anything to jeopardize that.

The mere thought of anyone harming Richard brought the Blood Rage, the Con Dar, boiling up inside her. She had never known about the Con Dar before, had never known it was part of her magic, until she brought it forth when she thought Richard had been killed. Since then, she felt it within her, just as she always felt the rest of the Confessor’s magic.

With his arms folded across his chest, Chandalen watched her come. His hunters stood behind him, leaning on spears planted butt-first in the ground. Apparently, they had just returned from a hunt; their lean bodies were still smeared with sticky mud. They stood easy but alert. Bows were slung over their shoulders and quivers hung at one side of their belts, long knives at the other. There were smears of blood on some of the men. Grass tied in bands at their upper arms and around their heads helped make them invisible in the surrounding grassland when they chose to be. Kahlan stopped in front of Chandalen, looking into his dark eyes. She slapped him. “Strength to Chandalen.” He pulled his glare from her, arms still folded, turned his head, and spat. His fierce eyes came back to hers. “What do you want, Confessor?”

The hunters’ mud-streaked faces all took on small, tight smiles. The Mud People’s land was probably the only place where it was an insult not to be slapped. “Richard With The Temper has sacrificed more than you could ever know to save our people from Darken Rahl. Why do you hate him?”

“The two of you have brought trouble to my people. You will bring it again.”

“Our people,” she corrected. Kahlan unbuttoned the cuff of her shirt and drew the sleeve up to her shoulder. She pushed her arm up in front of his face. “Toffalar cut me. This is the scar he left as he tried to kill me. That was before I killed him. Not after. He killed himself by attacking me. I did not go after him.”

Without emotion Chandalen’s gaze rose from the scar to her eyes. “Uncle never was very good with a knife. Pity.”

Kahlan’s jaw clenched rigid. She couldn’t back down now.

She kissed the end of her fingers as she held his gaze. Reaching out, she touched the kissed fingers to his cheek where she had slapped him. The hunters broke into angry whispers, yanking their spears from the ground. Chandalen’s face twisted into a hateful glare.

This was the worst insult you could give a hunter. He had given a disrespectful slight by not slapping her. It did not admit to having no respect for her strength, only that he didn’t wish to show it if he did. By placing a kiss where she had offered a slap of respect, she had withdrawn her respect for his strength. The touch of the kiss said she had no respect for his strength and considered him no more than a foolish child. She had as much as spat on his honor publicly.

While this was a dangerous thing to do, it was more dangerous among the Mud People to show weakness to an enemy. That would be an invitation to be murdered in your sleep. Showing weakness denied you the right to face an adversary in the light. Honor required that strength be challenged openly. Since she had done this to him in the view of others, honor required any challenge from him be the same.

“From now on,” she said, “if you want my respect, you must earn it.”

Chandalen’s white-knuckled fist jerked back to his ear, preparing to strike her.

Kahlan held her chin out for him. “So you have decided to show your respect for my strength?”

His glare flicked to something behind her. His hunters flinched and reluctantly thrust the butts of their spears into the ground. Kahlan turned and saw about fifty men with drawn bows. Every arrow was leveled at Chandalen or one of his nine men.

“So,” Chandalen sneered, “you are not so strong. You must ask others to back you.”

“Lower your weapons,” she called back to the men. “No one is to raise a weapon to these men for me. No one. This is between Chandalen and me only.”

Reluctantly, all the bows lowered, and the arrows rattled back into quivers.

Chandalen folded his arms once more. “You are not so strong. You will hide behind the Seeker’s sword, too.”

Kahlan slapped her hand onto his forearm and gripped it tightly. Chandalen’s eyes widened a little as he froze. For a Confessor to place her hand on someone in this manner was an overt threat, and he recognized it as such. Defiant or not, he knew better than to move a muscle; he couldn’t move as fast as her thought, and that was all she needed.

Her voice was a low hiss. “In the last year, I have killed more men than you have falsely boasted to have killed in the whole of your life. If you ever try to harm Richard, I will kill you.” She leaned closer. “If you even dare to express the thought out loud, and it reaches my ears—I will kill you.”

She took in the hunters with a deliberate sweep of her gaze. “My hand will always be extended to each of you in friendship. If any hand extends to me with a knife, I will kill you as I killed Toffalar. I am the Mother Confessor—don’t think I can’t. Or won’t.”

She held the gaze of each hunter in turn until they nodded in acknowledgment. Her hard eyes came at last to Chandalen. Her grip tightened. He swallowed. At last he, too, nodded.

“This is a matter between us I will not speak to the Bird Man of it.” She took her hand from his arm. In the distance, the dragon roared its return. “We are on the same side, Chandalen. We both fight for the Mud People to live. That part of you, I respect.”

She gave him a very small slap. She offered him no opportunity to return it, or to fail to, and instead turned her back to him. The slap had given him back a small amount of his respect in the eyes of his men, and would make him look foolish and weak if he chose to press an attack now. It was a small offering, but it had shown she acted honorably. She would leave it up to his men to decide if he had. Bullying a woman brought no honor.

But then, she was no mere woman; she was a Confessor. Kahlan let out a deep breath as she returned to Savidlin and turned to watch the dragon land. Weselan stood next to him, still hugging Siddin tightly. For his part, Siddin didn’t look to want anything else in the world but to be rocked in his mother’s arms. Kahlan gave a mental shudder at the thought of what might have happened to him.

Savidlin turned to her and lifted an eyebrow. “You would make a good elder, Mother Confessor. You could give lessons in honor, and leadership.”

“I would prefer the lessons weren’t necessary.” Savidlin grunted his agreement. Dust and wind kicked up by the dragon’s wings fluttered past in fits that billowed her cloak. Kahlan was buttoning her cuff when the two men slid off Scarlet.

The Bird Man looked a little green, but he was grinning from ear to ear. He stroked a red scale respectfully and beamed at the yellow eye that watched him. Kahlan approached, and the Bird Man asked her to translate a message to Scarlet.

She smiled and looked up at the dragon’s huge head, at its ears, which were now turning toward her. “The Bird Man would like you to know that this has been one of the greatest honors of his life. He says you have given him the gift of a new vision. He says that from this day forward, if you or your young one ever need refuge, you will always be welcome and safe in this land.”

Scarlet’s snout twisted into a sort of dragon grin. “Thank you, Bird Man. I am pleased.” She lowered her head to speak to Richard. “I must leave now. My young one has been alone long enough, and will be hungry.”

Richard smiled as he stroked a red scale. “Thank you, Scarlet. For everything. Thank you for showing us your little one. It is even more beautiful than you. Take care of the both of you. Live free.”

Scarlet spread her jaws wide and reached into the back of her mouth. There was a snap, and she brought a tooth point out, held in her black-tipped talons. It was only a point, but a good six inches long.

“Dragons have magic,” she told him. “Hold out your hand.” She dropped the tooth point in Richard’s palm. “You seem to have a knack for getting yourself in trouble. Keep this safe. If you ever have great need, call me with it, and I will come. Be certain, as it will only work once.”

“But how can I call you with it?”

Her head floated closer to him. “You have the gift, Richard Cypher. Just hold it in your hand and call to me. I will hear. Remember, great need.”

“Thank you, Scarlet, but I don’t have the gift.”

Scarlet threw her head back and rumbled in laughter. The ground shook. The scales on her throat vibrated. When her fit of laughter died out in spurts, she tilted her head to look at him with one yellow eye. “If you don’t have the gift, then no one does. Live free, Richard Cypher.”

Everyone in the village watched in silence as the red dragon grew smaller in the golden sky. Richard put his arm around Kahlan’s waist, pulling her close against him.

“I hope that I’ve finally heard the last of this nonsense about me having the gift,” he muttered half to himself. “I saw you from up in the air.” He pointed with his chin across the clearing. “You want to tell me what that was all about with our friend over there?”

Chandalen was making a point of not looking at her. “No. It’s not important.”

“Are we ever going to get to be alone?” Kahlan asked with a coy smile. “Pretty soon I’m going to have to start kissing you in front of all of these people.”

Dusk was bringing a cozy, fading light to the impromptu feast. Richard glanced around the grass-roofed shelter at the elders in their coyote hides. They were all smiles and chatter. Their wives and a few children had joined the group. People were stopping by the shelter to welcome the two of them back, smiling and exchanging gentle slaps.

Little children across the way were chasing brown chickens that wanted nothing more than to find a place to roost for the night. The chickens squawked as they made flapping escapes. She couldn’t understand how the children could stand to be naked, as cold as it was. Women in bright dresses were bringing woven trays of tava bread and glazed pottery bowls of roasted peppers, rice cakes, long boiled beans, cheese, and roasted meats.

“You really think they’re going to let us get away before we tell them the whole story of our great adventure?”

“What great adventure? All I remember is being scared to death all the time and being in more trouble than I knew how to get out of.” Her insides twisted in pain at the memory of learning he had been captured by a Mord-Sith. “And thinking you were dead.”

He smiled. “Didn’t you know? That’s what an adventure is: being in trouble.”

“I’ve had enough of adventure to last me the rest of my life.”

Richard’s gray eyes looked distant. “Me, too.” Her gaze went to the red leather rod, the Agiel, which hung on a gold chain around his neck. She reached back and took a piece of cheese from a platter. Her face brightened. She put the cheese to his mouth. “Maybe we can just make up a story that sounds like a proper adventure. A short adventure.”

“Suits me,” he said, and then bit off a chunk of the cheese as she held it to his mouth.

Immediately, he spit the cheese into his hand and made a sour face. “This is awful!” he whispered.

“Really?” She sniffed the piece she still held. She took a tiny bite. “Well, I don’t like cheese, but it doesn’t taste any worse than usual to me. I don’t think it has gone bad.”

He was still making the face. “Tastes like it has to me.”

Kahlan thought a minute, and then frowned. “Yesterday at the People’s Palace, you didn’t like the cheese there either. And Zedd said there was nothing wrong with it.”

“Nothing wrong with it! It tasted rotten! I ought to know, I love cheese. I eat it all the time. I know bad cheese when I eat it.”

“Well, I hate cheese. Maybe you’re just picking up my habits.”

He rolled a roasted pepper in a piece of tava bread and grinned. “I could think of a worse fate.”

As she returned the smile, she saw two hunters approaching. Her back stiffened. Richard noticed her reaction and sat up straighter. “These are two of Chandalen’s men. I don’t know what they want.” She gave him a wink. “Be a good boy? Let’s not have an adventure.”

Without smiling or answering, he turned and watched the two come. The hunters stopped in front of her at the edge of the platform. They planted the butts of their spears firmly in the ground, leaning on them with both hands. They both assessed her with slightly narrowed eyes and small, tight smiles that weren’t entirely unfriendly. The one closest pushed his bow a little farther up on his shoulder and then extended an open hand to her, palm up.

She looked down at the hand. She knew what it meant—an open hand offered without a weapon in it. She glanced up at him in confusion. “Does Chandalen approve of this?”

“We are Chandalen’s men. Not his children.” He kept the hand out.

Kahlan looked at it a moment and then stroked her palm over his. His smile widened a little and he gave her a gentle slap.

“Strength to Confessor Kahlan. I am Prindin. This is my brother, Tossidin.”

She gave Prindin a slap and wished him strength. Tossidin held his palm open to her. She stroked it with hers. He gave her a slap and added his wish of strength. He had a handsome smile that matched his brother’s. Surprised by his friendliness, she returned his slap and greeting. Kahlan glanced to Richard. The brothers noticed the look, and in response both gave Richard a slap and greeting.

“We wanted to tell you that you spoke with strength and honor today,” Prindin said. “Chandalen is a hard man, and a hard man to get to know, but he is not a bad man. He cares deeply for our people and wants only to protect them from harm. That is what we do—protect our people.”

Kahlan nodded. “Richard and I are Mud People, too.” The brothers smiled. “The elders have proclaimed it for all to know. We will protect you both, the same as any other of our people.”

“Will Chandalen?”

Both grinned, but neither answered. They pulled their spears up, readying to leave.

“Tell them I said they have fine bows,” Richard said. She glanced sideways to see him watching the two. She told his words to Prindin.

They smiled as they nodded. “We are very good with them.”

Richard’s expressionless gaze stayed on the two brothers. “Tell them I think their arrows look to be well made. Ask if I may see one.”

Kahlan frowned at him before translating for the hunters. The brothers beamed with pride. Prindin pulled an arrow from his quiver and handed it to Richard. Kahlan noticed that the elders were all quiet. Richard rolled the arrow in his fingers. Betraying no emotion, he looked at the nock and then turned it around and looked at the flat, metal point. He handed the arrow back. “Very fine work.” As Prindin replaced the arrow in his quiver, Kahlan told him what Richard had said. He slid a hand partway up his spear and leaned a little of his weight on it. “If you know how to shoot a bow, we would invite you to come with us tomorrow.” Before she could translate, Savidlin spoke to her. “Richard told me before, when you were here last, that he had to leave his bow behind in Westland, and that he missed it. As a surprise, I made him one, for when you both came back. It is a gift to him for teaching me how to make roofs that do not leak. It is at my home. I was going to give it to him tomorrow. Tell him, and tell him that if he agrees, I would like to take some of my hunters and go with him tomorrow.” He smiled. “We will see if he is as good a shot as our hunters.”

The brothers grinned and nodded their enthusiasm. They looked to be confident of the results of the contest. Kahlan told Richard what Savidlin had said.

Richard was surprised, and seemed to be moved by what Savidlin had done. “The Mud People make some of the finest bows I have ever seen. I am honored, Savidlin. That is generous of you. I would like very much to have you there with me.” He grinned. “We can show those two how to shoot.”

The brothers laughed at the last part of the translation.

“Tomorrow then,” Prindin said as they left.

Richard had a dark look on his face as he watched the two walking away.

“What was that all about with the arows?” she asked.

He finally looked over at her. “Ask Savidlin if I could have a look at his arrows, and I’ll show you.”

Savidlin handed over his quiver. Richard pulled out a handful of arrows, sorting through the ones with thin, hardened wooden points. Kahlan knew them to be poisoned. Richard took an arrow with a flat, metal point and put the rest back.

He handed the arrow to her. “Tell me what you see.”

She rolled it in her fingers as he had done with the other. She didn’t know what that was supposed to tell her, so she looked at the point and the nock.

She shrugged. “It looks just like an ordinary arrow to me. Just like any other.”

Richard smiled. “Just like any other?” He plucked an arrow out of the quiver by the nock end, holding the small round point up for her to see. He raised an eyebrow. “Does it look like this one?”

“Well, no. That point is small, long, thin, and round. But this one has a metal point. It’s just like the one Prindin had.”

Richard slowly shook his head. “No. It’s not.” He put the wodden pointed arrow back and took the one she had, holding the nock toward her. “See here? Where the string goes? It goes on the string like this, with the notch up and down. Does that tell you anything?” She frowned and shook her head. “Some arrows have spiraled feathers so the arrows rotate. Some people believe that increases their power. I don’t know if that is true or not, but it’s beside the point. All the Mud People’s arrows are fletched with straight feathers. That keeps them steady in flight. They hit in the same attitude as they are fired.”

“But I still don’t see how this arrow is diffeent from Prindin’s.”

Richard put his thumbnail in the nock. “This is the way the arrow goes on the string. With the notch up and down like this. When the arrow is in the bow, and when it hits, it is just like this. Now, look at the blade. See how it’s up and down, too? Just like the notch. The blade and the string are in the same plane. Savidlin’s bladed arrows are all like this.

“The reason for it is that he uses these bladed arrows to hunt large animals, like wild boar, and deer. The rib bones in animals go up and down, just like the blade does. That gives the arrow a better chance of passing between the rubs, rather than being stopped by them.”

He leaned a little closer to her. “Prindin’s arrows are different. The blades are turned ninety degrees. When his arrows are knocked, the blade is horizontal. His arrows aren’t made to pass through the ribs of animals. The blades are horizontal because he hunts something different. Something with ribs that are horizontal. People.”

Kahlan felt bumps ripple up her arms. “Why would they do that?”

“The Mud People are very protective of their land; they don’t often allow outsiders in. I would guess that Chandalen and his men are the ones who guard their borders from encroachment. They are probably the fiercest hunters among the Mud People, and the best shots. Ask Savidlin if they are good with their bows.”

She conveyed his question.

Savidlin chuckled. “None of us ever beats Chandalen’s men. Even if Richard With The Temper is good, he is going to lose. But they are careful not to humiliate us too badly. They will be gracious winners. Richard should not worry, he will enjoy the day. They will teach him to shoot better. That is why I wish to take my men: Chandalen’s men always teach us to be better. Among the Mud People, being the best, winning, means you have a responsibility to those you have beaten. You must teach them to be better. Tell him he cannot back out, now that he has accepted the challenge.”

“I always thought it did people good to learn something,” Richard said. “I won’t back out.”

Richard’s intense gaze made her smile until her jaws hurt. Smiling himself, he turned, pulled his pack across the plank floor, and took out an apple. He cut the apple in half, removed the seeds, and handed half to her.

The elders fidgeted nervously. In the Midlands, red fruit was poison, the result of an evil magic. They didn’t know that in Westland, where Richard was from, you could eat red things like apples. They had seen him eat an apple once before, when he had tricked them into not making him take a wife from their village by convincing them that his eating it might make his seed poisonous to his bride, but they sweated as they watched the two of them doing it again.

“What are you doing?” Kahlan asked him.

“Just eat your apple and then translate for me.”

When they finished, Richard stood, motioning her up next to him. “Honored elders, I have returned from stopping the threat against our people. Now that it is over, I would like to ask your permission for something. I hope you find me worthy. I would like to ask your permission to have a Mud Woman as my wife. As you can see, I have taught Kahlan to eat these things as I do. She will not be harmed by it, or by me, and in the same way, though she is a Confessor, I will not be harmed by her. We would like to be together, and we would like to be wedded by our people.”

Kahlan could hardly get the last of the words out past the tightness in her throat, and she could hardly keep from throwing her arms around him. She could feel her eyes burning and filling with tears, and had to clear her throat to finish the words. She put her arm around Richard’s waist to steady herself.

The elders suddenly beamed with surprise. The Bird Man wore a wide grin. “I think you are finally learning to be Mud People,” he said. “Nothing could please us more than for you two to be wed.”

Richard didn’t wait for the translation, but gave her a kiss that took her breath away. The elders and their wives applauded.

It was all the more special to her that they would be wedded before the Mud People. Kahlan felt at home here. When they had come before, seeking help in their struggle to stop Rahl, Richard had shown the Mud People how to make roofs that didn’t leak. They had made friends, had fought battles together, with lives saved, and lost. In the process, the two of them had bonded with these people. In honor of their sacrifices, the Bird Man had proclaimed them Mud People.

The Bird Man stood and gave Kahlan a fatherly hug that felt as if he were saying that he understood everything she had been through and was happy she had at last found happiness. She shed a few tears against his shoulder as he held her in his strong arms. Their adventure, a long ordeal, had taken her from the depths of pain and despair to the heights of joy. The fight had ended only yesterday. It didn’t seem possible it could be over at last.

As they went on with the feast, Kahlan wished more than ever that it could end soon so she could be alone with Richard. He had been held prisoner for over a month, and had only rejoined her the day before. She hadn’t even really had a chance to talk with him. Or hug him nearly enough.

Children danced and played around the small fire while the adults gathered around torches, eating and talking and laughing. Weselan scooted down next to her, hugged her, and said she would make her a proper wedding dress. Savidlin kissed her cheek and slapped Richard’s back. She found it difficult to look away from Richard’s gray eyes. She didn’t want to. Ever.

The hunters who had been out on the plain the day the Bird Man had tried to teach Richard how to call specific birds with the special whistle he had given Richard as a gift, wandered by the elders’ platform. All Richard could do that day was make a sound that called all the birds at once, but not different species individually. The hunters had laughed endlessly that day.

As they listened now, Savidlin made Richard show the whistle and tell again how he had used it to call all the birds that roosted in the valley filled with gars. The thousands of hungry birds had eaten the gars’ blood flies, creating a panic. The diversion had enabled Richard to rescue Scarlet’s egg.

The Bird Man laughed, even though he had already heard the story three times by now. Savidlin laughed and slapped Richard’s back. The hunters laughed and slapped their thighs. Richard laughed as he watched them react to Kahlan’s translation.

Kahlan laughed at seeing Richard laugh. “I think we have found an adventure that satisfies them.” She thought about it and frowned. “How did Scarlet land you close enough to the egg without being seen by the gars?”

Richard looked away and was silent a moment. “She landed me on the valley on the other side of the hills around Fire Spring. I went through the cave.”

He didn’t look at her. Kahlan hooked some hair behind an ear. “And was there really a beast in the cave? A Shadrin?”

He let out a deep breath as he looked across the open area. “That there was. And more.” As she put her hand on his shoulder, he took it and kissed the back of it, still staring off. “I thought I was going to die there, alone. I thought I would never see you again.” He seemed to shake off the memory and leaned back on an elbow, gazing at her with a lop-sided smile on his face.

“The Shadrin left some scars that aren’t healed yet. But I would have to take off my pants to show them to you.”

“Really?” Kahlan gave a throaty laugh. “I think I better have a look . . . to see if everything is all right.”

As she looked deep into his eyes, she abruptly realized most of the elders were watching them. Suddenly she felt her face warm. She snatched up a rice cake and took a quick bite, relieved to know they couldn’t understand their words. She hoped others couldn’t understand the look in their eyes. She chided herself to pay more attention to where she was. Richard sat up again. Kahlan reached over to a small bowl of roasted ribs that looked to be wild boar, and set it down in his lap.

“Here. Have some of these.”

She looked over at a group of the wives. She held up the rice cake and smiled. “These are very good.” They nodded their satisfaction. She looked back to Richard. He was staring down at the bowl of meat. His face was white.

“Take it away,” he whispered.

Kahlan frowned and lifted the bowl from his lap, setting it behind her. She scooted closer to him. “Richard, what’s wrong?”

He was still staring at his lap, as if the bowl were still there. “I don’t know. I looked down at the meat, and then I could smell it. It made me feel sick. It just seemed like a dead animal to me. Like I was about to eat some dead animal lying there in front of me. How could anyone eat some dead animal that was just lying there?”

Kahlan didn’t know what to say. He didn’t look well. “I think I know what you mean. I was sick once and they fed me some cheese. I threw it all back up. They thought it would be good for me, and every day fed me more, and I would throw it up, until I was well again. That is why, to this day, I don’t like cheese. Maybe it’s something like that, because you have a headache.”

“Maybe,” he said in a weak voice. “I spent a long time at the People’s Palace. They don’t eat meat there. Darken Rahl doesn’t—didn’t—eat meat, so none was served at the palace. Maybe I just got used to not eating meat.”

She rubbed his back as he put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair. First cheese, and now meat. His eating habits were becoming as peculiar as . . . a wizard’s.

“Kahlan . . . I’m sorry, but I need to go somewhere where it’s quiet. My head really hurts.”

She put her hand on his forehead. His skin was cold and clammy. He looked about ready to fall over. Her insides fluttered with worry.

Kahlan squatted in front of the Bird Man. “Richard doesn’t feel well. He needs to go somewhere quiet. Is that all right?”

At first he thought he knew why they wanted to leave. His smile faded when he saw the anxiety on her face. “Take him to the spirit house. It is quiet there. No one will bother him. Get Nissel if you think there be need.” A little of his smile came back. “Maybe he has spent too much time on the dragon. I thank the spirits my gift of flight was short.”

She nodded, unable to manage much of a smile, and said a quick good night to the others. Picking up both their packs, she put a hand under Richard’s arm and helped him to his feet. His eyes were squeezed shut, his eyebrows wrinkled together in pain. The pain seemed to pass a little, and he opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and started off with her across the open area.

The shadows were thick among the buildings, but the moon was up, giving them enough light to see their way. The sounds of the feast faded into the background, leaving only the slow scrape of Richard’s boots scuffing on the dry ground.

He straightened a little. “I think some of it has passed.”

“Do you get headaches often?”

He smiled over to her in the moonlight. “I’m famous for my headaches. My father told me that my mother used to get headaches like the ones I get, where you feel sick to your stomach because your head hurts so much. But this one is different. I’ve never had ones like this before. It’s like something inside my head is trying to get out.” He took his pack from her and hoisted it to his shoulder. “It hurts more than my other headaches.”

They passed from the narrow passageways to the wide space around the spirit house. It sat by itself, moonlight reflecting off the tile roof Richard had helped the Mud People build. Wisps of smoke rose from the chimney.

Around the side, by the door, a row of chickens roosted on a low wall. They watched as she pulled the door open for him, starting a little at the squeak of the hinges, and settled down as the two of them passed inside.

Richard flopped down in front of the fireplace. Kahlan pulled out a blanket and made him lie back, bunching the blanket under his head. He rested the back of his wrist over his eyes as she sat, cross-legged, next to him.

Kahlan felt helpless. “I think I should go get Nissel. Maybe a healer can do something for you.”

He shook his head. “I’ll be all right. I just need to be away from all the noise.” He smiled, his arm still over his eyes. “Have you ever noticed how badly we do at parties? Every time we are at a party something happens.”

Kahlan thought back to every gathering they had been at together. “I think you’re right.” She rubbed a hand on his chest. “I think the only solution is for us to be alone.”

Richard kissed her hand. “I would like that.”

She enfolded his big hand in both of hers, wanting to feel the warmth of him as she watched him rest. It was dead quiet in the spirit house, except for the slow crackling of the fire. She listened to his slow, steady breathing.

After a while, he slid his hand away, and looked up at her. Firelight reflected in his eyes. There was something about his face, his eyes; something her mind was trying to tell her. He looked like someone else she had met, but who? A name whispered in the back of her thoughts, but she couldn’t quite hear it. She stroked his hair back off his forehead. His skin didn’t feel quite so cold.

He sat up. “I just thought of something. I asked the elders for permission to marry you, but I haven’t really asked you.”

Kahlan smiled. “No, you haven’t.”

Suddenly he looked embarrassed and unsure of himself.

His eyes wandered a little. “That was really stupid. I’m sorry. That wasn’t the right way to do it. I hope you’re not angry. I guess I’m not very good at this. I’ve never done it before.”

“Me neither.”

“And I guess this isn’t the most romantic place to do it. It should be someplace beautiful.”

“Wherever you are is the most romantic place in the world to me.”

“And I guess I must look pretty silly asking you something like this when I’m lying here with a headache.”

“If you don’t ask me pretty soon, Richard Cypher,” she whispered, “I’m going to choke it out of you.”

His eyes finally found hers, found hers so intently it nearly took her breath away. “Kahlan Amnell, will you marry me?”

Quite unexpectedly, she found she couldn’t speak. She closed her eyes and kissed his soft lips as a tear rolled down her cheek. His arms closed around her, hugging her tight against the heat of him. She pulled back breathlessly. Her voice at last returned. “Yes.” She kissed him again. “Please, yes.”

Kahlan laid her head against his shoulder. Richard gently stroked her hair as she listened to his breathing and the crackle of the fire. He held her tenderly and kissed the top of her head, there being no need for words. She felt safe in his arms.

Kahlan let loose her pain: the pain of loving him more than life itself and thinking he had been tortured to death by the Mord-Sith before she could tell him how much she loved him; the pain of having thought she could never have him because she was a Confessor and her power would destroy him; the hurt of how much she needed him, how uncontrollably she loved him.

As her anguish expended itself, it was replaced by her joy in what lay ahead: a lifetime, together. The breathless excitement of it seeped into her. She clutched at him, wanting to melt into him, wanting to be one with him.

Kahlan smiled. That was what being married to him would be: being one with him, as Zedd had told her once—like finding the other half of herself.

When she finally looked up, there was a tear on his face. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, and he did the same. She hoped his tears meant he had let his demons go, too.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Richard pulled her tight against him. His fingers traced a trail down the bumps of her spine.

“I feel so frustrated that there aren’t any better words than ‘I love you,’ ” he said. “It doesn’t seem enough for the way I feel about you. I’m sorry there aren’t any better words to tell you.”

“They are words enough for me.”

“Then, I love you, Kahlan. A thousand times, a million times, I love you. Forever.”

She listened to the snap and pop of the fire, and to his heart beating. To her own heartbeat. He rocked her gently. She wanted to stay there in his arms forever. Suddenly the world seemed a wonderful place.

Richard grasped her shoulders and held her away to better see her. A wonderful smile spread across his face. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are. I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you.” He ran a hand down her hair. “I’m so glad I didn’t cut your hair that time. You have beautiful hair. Don’t ever change it.”

“I’m a Confessor, remember? My hair is a symbol of my power. Besides, I can’t cut it. Only another can do that.”

“Good. I would never cut it. I love you the way you are, power and all. Don’t ever let anyone cut it. I’ve liked your long hair ever since the first day I saw you, in the Hartland Woods.”

She smiled as she remembered that day. Richard had offered her help in escaping from the quads. He had saved her life. “It seems so long ago. Will you miss that life? Being a simple, carefree woods guide?” She smiled coquettishly. “And single?”

Richard grinned. “Single? Not with you as my wife. But a woods guide? Maybe a little.” He stared off at the fire. “I guess that for better or worse, I am the true Seeker. I hold the Sword of Truth, and the responsibilities that go with it, whatever they are. Do you think you can be happy being the wife of the Seeker?”

“I would be happy living in a tree stump, if you were there with me. But Richard, I’m afraid I’m still the Mother Confessor. I have responsibilities, too.”

“Well, you told me what it meant to be a Confessor, how when you touch someone with your power it forever destroys who they were, replacing it with absolute, magical devotion to you, to your wishes, and in that way you can have them confess the truth of their crimes, or for that matter you can make them do anything you would wish, but what other responsibilities do you have?”

“I guess I never told you about everything else that it means to be the Mother Confessor. It wasn’t important at the time; I didn’t think we could ever be together. I thought we would die, or even if we somehow won, you would go home to Westland and I would never see you again.”

“You mean the part about it meaning that you are more than a queen?”

She nodded. “The Central Council of the Midlands in Aydindril is made up of representatives of the more important lands of the Midlands. Together, the Central Council more or less rules the Midlands. Even though the lands are independent, they still bow to the word of the Central Council. In that way, through the Confederation of Lands, common goals are protected and peace is maintained. It keeps people talking instead of fighting. If one land were to attack another, it would be viewed as an attack against unity, against all, and all would put the aggression down. Kings, queens, rulers, officials, merchants, and others come to the Central Council to petition for what they want: trade agreements, boundary treaties, accords dealing with magic—an endless list of wants and wishes.”

“I understand. It’s something like that in Westland. The council rules in much the same way. Although Westland isn’t nearly big enough to have kingdoms, there are districts that govern themselves, but are represented by councilors in Hartland.

“Since my brother was a councilor, and then First Councilor, I was around the dealings of government. I saw the councilors coming from different places to ask for things. Being a guide, I was always leading them to and from Hartland. I learned a lot about it from talking to them.”

Richard folded his arms. “So what is the Mother Confessor’s part in it?”

“Well, the Central Council rules the Midlands . . .” She cleared her throat as she looked down at her hands in her lap. “. . . and the Mother Confessor rules the Central Council.”

His arms came unfolded. “You mean to say that you rule all the kings and queens? All the lands? You rule the Midlands?”

“Well . . . yes, in a way, I guess. You see, not all the lands are represented on the Central Council. Some are too small, like Queen Milena’s Tamarang, and the Mud People, and a few others are lands of magic, the land of the night wisps, for example. The Mother Confessor is the advocate for these lesser lands. Left to their own wishes, the council would decide to carve up these smaller lands. And they have the armies to do it easily. Only the Mother Confessor stands for those who have no voice.

“The other problem is that these lands are often in disagreement. Some have been bitter adversaries for as long as anyone can remember. The council is often deadlocked as rulers or their representatives each stubbornly demands his own way, to the detriment of the greater interests of the Midlands. The Mother Confessor has no interest but the good of the Midlands.

“Without leadership the different lands, through the Central Council, would only be interested in vying for power. The Mother Confessor counters these parochial interests with a larger view, with direction and leadership.

“Just as the Mother Confessor is the final arbiter of truth through her magic, she is also the final arbiter of power. The word of the Mother Confessor is law.”

“So it is you who tells all the kings and queens, all the lands, what to do?”

She took one of his hands and held it. “I, and most of the Mother Confessors before me, let the Central Council decide for themselves what they wish, how they want the Midlands ruled. But when they fail to come to agreement, or to a just agreement, it is to the disadvantage of those not represented. Only then do I step in and tell them how it shall be.”

“And they always do as you say?”

“Always.”

“Why?”

She took a deep breath. “Well, they know that if they don’t bow to the Mother Confessor’s leadership, they will be alone and vulnerable to any stronger neighbor who craves power. There would be war until the strongest among them crushed all the rest, as Darken Rahl’s father, Panis Rahl, did in D’Hara. They know that ultimately it is in their own interest to have an independent council leader, who sides with no land.”

“But it’s not in the best interest of the strongest. Something other than a good heart or common sense must keep the strongest of these lands in line.”

She nodded with a smile. “You understand the games of power well. You are right. They know that if they were bold enough to allow their ambitions a free rein, I, or any of the Confessors, could take their ruler with our magic. But there is more. The wizards back the Mother Confessor.”

“I thought wizards didn’t want anything to do with power.”

“They don’t, exactly. The threat of their intervention makes it unnecessary. Wizards call it the paradox of power: if you have power, and are ready, able, and willing to use it, you don’t need to exercise your power. The lands know that if they don’t work together, and use the impartial leadership of the Mother Confessor, then the wizards are always in the background, ready to teach the disadvantages of being unreasonable or greedy.

“The whole thing is a very complex, interwoven relationship, but what it all comes down to is that I rule the Central Council, and if I’m not there to do so, the weak, the defenseless, and the peaceful will eventually be overrun, and the rest will be drawn into a war until all but the strongest are crushed.”

Richard sank back to contemplate this with a slight frown on his face. She watched the firelight play on his features. She could feel what he was thinking about: he was remembering the way she had, with only a gesture of her hand, demanded that Queen Milena fall to her knees, kiss the Mother Confessor’s hand, and swear loyalty. She wished she hadn’t had to show him the power she wielded, and how much she was feared, but what she had done had been necessary. Some deferred only to power. When necessary, a leader had to show that power, or be cut down.

When he looked up at last, his face held a serious cast. “There is going to be trouble. The wizards are all dead; they killed themselves before they sent you looking for Zedd. The threat backing the Mother Confessor is gone. The other Confessors are all dead, killed by Darken Rahl. You are the last. You have no allies. There is no one to take your place if anything happens to you. Zedd told us to meet him in Aydindril, he must know this too.

“From what I have seen of powerful people, from councilors in my homeland, even my own brother, to queens here, to Darken Rahl, they will view you as a lone obstacle in their way. If the Midlands is to be kept from being torn apart, the Mother Confessor must rule, and you are going to need help. You and I both must serve the truth. I’m going to help you.”

A sly smile parted his lips. “If those councilors were afraid to plot against the Mother Confessor, or give her trouble, because of the wizards, wait until they meet the Seeker.”

Kahlan touched her fingers to his face. “You are a rare person, Richard Cypher. You are with the most powerful person in the Midlands. Yet you make me feel as if I am riding your coattails to greatness.”

“I’m nothing more than the one who loves you with all my heart. That is the only greatness I wish to live up to.” Richard sighed. “It seemed a lot simpler when it was just you and me all by ourselves in the woods, and I cooked you dinner on a stick over an open fire.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “You are still going to let me cook you dinner, aren’t you, Mother Confessor?”

“I don’t think Mistress Sanderholt would like that. She doesn’t like anyone in her kitchens.”

“You have a cook?”

“Well, I’ve never seen her cook anything, come to think of it. Mostly she just whisks all about, ruling her domain with a wooden spoon she wields like a scepter, tasting food and scolding cooks, assistants, and scullions. She is the head cook.

“She frets something awful when I come down to the kitchens to cook. Mistress Sanderholt begs me to take up another interest. She says I scare her people. She says they shake for the rest of the day whenever I come to the kitchens and ask for pots. So I try not to do it too often. But I do so like to cook.”

Kahlan smiled at the memory of Mistress Sanderholt. It was long months since she had been home.

“Cooks,” Richard muttered to himself. “I’ve never had anyone cook for me. I always cooked for myself.” His smile returned. “Well, I guess this Mistress Sanderholt will be able to make a little room for me if I want to cook you something special.”

“I would wager that you will soon have her doing whatever it is you wish.”

He squeezed her hand. “Will you promise me one thing? Promise me that one day you will let me take you back to Westland and show you some of the beautiful places in the Hartland woods, places that only I know of. I’ve dreamed of taking you to them.”

“I would like that,” Kahlan whispered. Richard leaned forward to kiss her. Before his lips touched hers, before his arms could embrace her, he winced in pain. His head sagged forward against her shoulder as he moaned. Kahlan clasped him to her in fear, then laid him back down as he clamped his arms to his head, unable to breathe. Panic gripped her. He pulled his knees up to his chest as he rolled onto his side.

She braced her hand on his shoulder as she leaned over him. “I’m going to get Nissel. I’ll go fast as I can.”

He could only nod as he shook.

Kahlan ran to the door, pushing it open, out into the still night. She could see her ragged breaths in the frigid air as she pushed the door closed. Her eyes flicked over the short wall. Moonlight washed the top of it with a silver cast.

The chickens were gone.

A dark shape hunched, still, behind the wall.

It moved a little in the moonlight, and there was a quick flash of shiny, golden eyes.