Stone of Tears

Chapter 8

When she woke, her back was against the warmth of him. Light was seeping in around the edges of the door. She sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and looked down at Richard.

He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, taking slow, shallow breaths. She smiled at the familiar pleasure of his face. He was so handsome it made her ache.

Suddenly she realized with a jolt what it was about him that looked so familiar to her. Richard looked like Darken Rahl. Not the same kind of impossible perfection—the flawlessly smooth, uninterrupted sweep of features that were too exactly right, like some precisely perfect statue—but more rugged, rougher; more real.

Before they’d defeated Rahl, when Shota, the witch woman, had appeared to them as Richard’s mother, Kahlan had seen her looks in Richard’s nose and mouth. It was as if Richard had Darken Rahl’s face with some of his mother’s features making it better than Rahl’s cruel perfection. Rahl’s hair was fine, straight, and blond, while Richard’s was coarser and darker. And Richard’s eyes were gray instead of Rahl’s blue, but they both possessed the same penetrating intensity—the same kind of raptor’s gaze that seemed as if it could cut steel.

Though she didn’t know how it could be possible, she knew Richard had Rahl blood. But Darken Rahl was from D’Hara, and Richard from Westland; that was about as far apart as you could get. It must be, she finally decided, a connection in the distant past.

Richard was still staring at the ceiling. She put her hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “How is your head?”

Richard jumped hard. He looked around and blinked at her. He rubbed his eyes. “What? . . . I was asleep. What did you say?”

Kahlan frowned. “You weren’t asleep.”

“Yes I was. Sound asleep.”

Kahlan felt a flutter of apprehension. “Your eyes were wide open. I was watching you.” She left unsaid that as far as she knew, only wizards slept with their eyes open.

“Really?” He looked around. “Where are those leaves?”

“Here. Does it still hurt bad?”

“Yes.” He sat up. “But it’s been worse.” He put some of the leaves in his mouth and ran his fingers through his hair. “At least I can talk.” He smiled at her. “And I can smile without my face feeling like it’s going to break.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go shoot arrows today if you don’t feel well enough.”

“Savidlin said I couldn’t back out. I’m not going to let him down. Besides, I really want to see this bow he made for me. It’s been . . . well, I don’t even remember how long it’s been since I shot a bow.”

After he chewed some of Nissel’s leaves for a while, they folded up the blankets and went looking for Savidlin. They found him at his home, listening to Siddin telling stories of what it was like to ride a dragon. Savidlin liked listening to stories. Even though it was a little boy telling them, he listened with the same interest he would accord a hunter returning from a journey. Kahlan noted with pride that the little boy was giving a remarkably accurate rendition, without fanciful embellishment.

Siddin wanted to know if he could have a dragon for a pet. Savidlin told him the red dragon was not a pet, but a friend to their people. He told him to find a red chicken, and he could have that.

Weselan was cooking a pot of some sort of porridge with eggs mixed in. She asked Richard and Kahlan to join them and passed each a bowl as they sat on a skin on the floor. She gave them flat tava bread to fold and use as a scoop for the porridge.

Richard had her ask Savidlin if he had a drill of any kind. Savidlin leaned way back, and with a finger and thumb pulled a thin rod from a pouch beneath a bench. He handed the rod to Richard, who had the dragon’s tooth out. Richard turned the rod around with a puzzled look, put it at the base of the tooth, and twisted it experimentally.

Savidlin laughed. “You want a hole in that?” Richard nodded. Savidlin held out his hand. “Give it to me. I will show you how it is done.”

Savidlin used his knifepoint to start a small hole and then held the tooth between his feet as he sat on the floor. He placed a few grains of sand in the hole, followed by the rod. He spat in his palms and then spun the rod back and forth rapidly between his hands, stopping occasionally to drop a few more grains of sand down the hole and wipe a little spittle into the opening. In a little while, he had drilled all the way through the tooth. He used his knife to clean the burrs from where the drill went through the other side of the tooth, and then held it up, grinning, showing off the hole. Richard laughed and thanked him as he strung a leather thong to the tooth. He hung it around his neck with the Bird Man’s whistle and the Mord-Sith’s Agiel.

He was getting quite a collection. Some of it she didn’t like.

Wiping out his porridge bowl with a piece of tava bread, Savidlin asked, “Is your head better?”

“It’s better, but still hurts something fierce. Nissel’s leaves help. I’m embarrassed I had to be carried back last night.”

Savidlin laughed. “One time, I had a bad hurt, here.” He pointed at a round scar in his side. “I was carried home by women.” He leaned closer and lifted an eyebrow. “Women!” Weselan cast a disapproving eye toward him. He made a point of not noticing. “When my men found out I was carried home by women, they had a good laugh over it.” He put the last of the tava bread in his mouth and chewed for a few minutes. “Then I told them which women carried me home, and they stopped laughing and wanted to know how to get a hurt like mine so they too could be carried home by those women.”

“Savidlin!” Weselan scolded in a scandalized tone. She turned to them. “If he didn’t already have a hurt, I would have given him one. A good one.”

“So how did you get this hurt?” Richard asked.

Savidlin shrugged. “Like I told my men: it was easy. You just stand there like a surprised rabbit while a trespasser puts a spear through you.”

“And why didn’t he finish you?”

“Because I put a few ten-step arrows in him.” He pointed at his throat. “Here.”

“What’s a ten-step arrow?”

Savidlin reached to the side and pulled a barbed, fine-pointed arrow from his quiver. “One of these. See the dark stain? Poison. Ten-step poison. When it sticks you, you get only ten steps, and then you are dead.” He laughed. “My men decided to think of a different way to get those women to carry them.”

Weselan leaned over and stuffed the rest of her tava bread in her husband’s mouth. She turned to Kahlan. “Men enjoy telling the most awful stories.” She broke into a shy smile. “But I worried for him until he was well. I knew he was well when he came to me and made Siddin. Then I did not worry anymore.”

Kahlan realized she had translated before she had paid attention to the meaning of the words. She felt her ears burn. Instead of looking at Richard, she paid close attention to eating her porridge. She was glad her hair covered her ears, at least.

Savidlin gave Richard a look of a put-upon male. “You will find that women, too, like to tell stories.”

Kahlan tried desperately to think of a new direction for the conversation. She couldn’t. Thankfully, Savidlin did. He leaned back, looking out the door.

“It will soon be the time to go.”

“How do you know what time we are to go?”

Savidlin shrugged. “I am here, you are here, some of the men are here. When they are all here, that is the time to go.”

Savidlin went to the corner and retrieved a bow that was taller than the one Kahlan had seen him use before. Taller for Richard. With the aid of his foot, Savidlin stretched the cord to the bow.

Richard had a wide grin on his face. He told Savidlin it was the finest bow he had ever seen. Savidlin beamed with pride and gave him a quiver full of arrows.

Richard tested the weight of the draw. “How did you know how strong to make the pull? It’s just right.”

Savidlin pointed at his chin. “I remembered how strong your respect for my strength was when we first met. It is too heavy for me, but I estimated it was right for you.”

Kahlan stood up next to Richard. “Are you sure you want to go? How does your head feel?”

“Terrible. But I have the leaves; they help a little. I think I’ll be all right. Savidlin is looking forward to this. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

She rubbed her hand on his shoulder. “Should I come with you?”

Richard kissed her forehead. “I don’t think I’ll need anyone to translate to tell me how badly I’m being beaten. And I don’t think I want to give Chandalen’s men any excuse to humiliate me any worse than they are already going to.”

“Zedd told me you were pretty good. In fact, he told me you were better than good.”

Richard stole a look at Savidlin, who was stringing his own bow. “It’s been a long time since I’ve shot a bow. Zedd was just trying to stir up trouble, I’ll bet.”

He stole a kiss while Savidlin was finishing and then went out the door with him. Kahlan leaned against the doorframe, still feeling the print of his lips on hers as she watched him walking away.

Showing no emotion, Chandalen stared up from sighting down one of his arrows. Prindin and Tossidin flashed sly smiles. They were looking forward to this. Richard glanced around, meeting the eyes of all the men as he walked past. They fell in behind him. He was a good head taller than any of them. They looked like a bunch of children following an adult. But these children had poison arrows, and some of them didn’t hold any favor for Richard. Suddenly she didn’t like this.

Weselan stood next to her, watching the men go. “Savidlin said he will watch Richard’s back. Don’t be concerned, Chandalen would not do anything foolish.”

“I worry about what Chandalen considers foolish.”

Weselan wiped her hands on a cloth, turning back to keep a watchful eye on Siddin. Siddin wanted to go out, and was sitting, poking a finger along the ground, looking dejected because his mother said she wanted him to stay inside. Weselan stood over him a long moment watching. He looked up, his chin resting in one palm. She gave him a gentle snap with the cloth.

“Go outside and play.” Weselan sighed as he tore through the door with a squeal of glee. She shook her head to herself. “The young don’t know how dear life is. Or how fragile.”

“Maybe that is why we all wish we were young again.”

Weselan nodded. “Maybe so.” A handsome smile came to her tanned face. Her dark eyes sparkled. “What color would you like to wear when you wed your man?”

With both hands, Kahlan pulled her long hair back over her shoulders and thought a minute. A smile welled up from within. “Richard favors blue.”

Weselan twined her fingers together. “Oh, that would be just right, then. I have just the thing. I have been saving it for something special.”

She went into her small bedroom and came back with a bundle. Sitting on the bench next to Kahlan, she carefully unfolded it in her lap. The cloth was finely woven, a rich blue with a print of lighter blue flowers dappled across it. Kahlan thought it would make a gorgeous dress.

She tested the weave between her finger and thumb. “It’s beautiful. Where did you get it?”

“I traded for it.” She flicked her hand over her head. “With people from the north. They like the bowls I make. I traded with them for it.”

Kahlan knew fine cloth when she saw it. Weselan would have had to make many bowls for this cloth. “I wouldn’t feel right using it, Weselan. You worked hard for this. It is yours.”

Weselan held up the corners of the blue fabric, giving it a critical appraisal. “Nonsense. You two come here and teach our people how to make roofs that don’t leak. You save Siddin from those shadow things, and in the process rid us of an old fool and make it so Savidlin can be one of the six elders. He has never been so happy. When Siddin is carried off, you find him and bring him back to us. You destroy the man who would have enslaved us. You two are guardians to our people. What is a piece of cloth?

“I will be proud the Mother Confessor of all the Midlands is wedded in a dress I make. Me, just a simple woman. For you, my friend, from all those faraway places, with all those grand things that I cannot even imagine. You would not be taking something from me. You would be giving me something.”

Kahlan’s eyes filled with tears. Her lower lip trembled. “You can’t know the joy you have given me, Weselan. To be a Confessor is to be feared. My whole life, people have feared and shunned me. No one has ever treated me as just a woman, talked to me as a woman. Only as a Confessor. No one before Richard ever saw me as a person. No woman before you ever welcomed me into her home. No woman has ever let me hold her child.” She wiped away some of the tears. “It will be the most beautiful dress I have ever worn, the most treasured dress I will ever have. I will wear it, proud that a friend made it for me.”

Weselan gave her a sidelong look. “When your man sees you in this dress, he will make you a child of your own.”

Kahlan laughed and cried and hugged her. She had never dared to dream that all these things could happen in her life, that she could ever be treated as anything but a Confessor.

Kahlan and Weselan spent the better part of the morning starting the dress. Weselan seemed as excited about making the dress as Kahlan was about wearing it. The seamstresses back in Aydindril had nothing over Weselan with her fine bone needles. They settled on a simple design fashioned something like a kirtle.

They had a light lunch of tava bread and chicken broth. Weselan said she would work on the dress later, and asked what Kahlan wanted to do in the afternoon. Kahlan said she really would like to cook something.

Kahlan never ate meat when she was here before on official business because she knew the Mud People ate human flesh, ate their enemies to gain their knowledge. To avoid offending them, she had always used the excuse that she didn’t eat meat. The night before, Richard had reacted strangely to eating meat, so Kahlan didn’t say anything to change the menu when Weselan suggested a vegetable stew.

The two of them cut up tava, some other rust-colored roots Kahlan didn’t recognize, peppers, beans, some nutty kuru, and then added greens and dried mushrooms into the big iron kettle hanging over the little fire in the corner cooking hearth. Weselan pushed a few sticks of hardwood into the fire as she told Kahlan the men probably wouldn’t be back until dark. She suggested they go to the common area with the other women and bake some tava bread in the ovens.

“I would like that,” Kahlan said.

“We will talk about the wedding with them. Talk of weddings always makes for good conversation.” She smiled. “Especially when there are no men around.”

Kahlan was happy to find that the young women talked to her now. In the past they had always been too shy. The older women wanted to talk about the marriage. The younger women wanted to talk about faraway places. They wanted to know if it was really true that men followed her orders, that they did as she said.

Their eyes were wide as Kahlan told them about the Central Council and how she protected the interests of peoples like the Mud People from the threat of invasion by more powerful lands so the Mud People and others in small communities could live as they wished. She explained that although she was able to command people, she did so only because she was the servant to all the people. When they asked if she commanded armies of men in battle, Kahlan told them that it wasn’t like that; that what she did was try to help the different lands work together so there wouldn’t be fighting. They wanted to know how many servants she had and what sorts of fabulous dresses she had. The questions were beginning to make the older women nervous, and to frustrate Kahlan.

She flopped a ball of dough down on the board, sending up a little cloud of flour. She looked the younger women in the eye.

“The prettiest dress I will ever have will be the dress Weselan is making me, because she is doing it out of friendship, and not because I commanded her to make it. There is no possession to compare to friendship. I would give up everything I have, and live in rags, and grub for roots, just to have one friend.”

That seemed to quiet the young girls, and settle the older women. The chatter drifted back to the subject of the wedding, and Kahlan was happy to let it. She tried to keep out of it, to let the older women lead the talk.

Near the end of the afternoon, Kahlan saw a commotion across the field. She saw a taller figure, Richard, taking long strides toward Savidlin and Weselan’s home. Even from a distance, she could tell he was angry. A throng of hunters followed in his wake, trotting at times to keep pace.

Kahlan wiped her flour-covered hands on a cloth. She threw the cloth on a table as she stepped off the plank floor of the shelter and jogged the distance to the men. She caught them as they went down a wide passageway.

Pushing through the hunters, she finally caught up with Richard just before he reached Savidlin’s doorway. Chandalen was right at his heels, along with Savidlin. Chandalen had blood down his shoulder, with some kind of mud pack over a wound on top. He looked to be in a mood to chew rocks.

She grabbed Richard’s sleeve. He spun around with a hot expression that cooled a little when he saw it was her. He removed his hand from the hilt of the sword.

“Richard, what’s wrong?”

He glared around at the men, mostly Chandalen, then settled his gaze back on her. “I need you to translate. We had a little . . . ‘adventure’ . . . this afternoon. I haven’t been able to make them understand what happened.”

“I want to know how he could dare to try to kill me!” Chandalen was saying over Richard’s words.

“What’s he talking about? He wants to know why you tried to kill him.”

“Kill him! I saved his fool life. Don’t ask me why! I should have let him get killed! The next time I will!” He ran his fingers through his hair. “My head is killing me.”

Chandalen pointed angrily at the wound on the top of his shoulder. “You did this deliberately! I saw how you shoot! It could not have been an accident!”

Richard threw his hands in the air. “Idiot!” he said to the sky. He lowered his glare to Chandalen’s fierce eyes. “Yes, you saw me shoot! Do you have any doubt that if I wanted to kill you, you would not be breathing right now! Of course I did it deliberately! It was the only way to save you!” He reached over her shoulder, putting his hand close to Chandalen’s face, holding his first finger and thumb half an inch apart. “This is all the room I had! At the most! If I didn’t take it, you would be dead!”

“What do you mean?” Chandalen demanded.

Kahlan put a hand on his arm. “Calm down, Richard. Just tell us what happened.”

“He couldn’t understand me. None of them could. I couldn’t explain it to them.” He looked at her in frustration. “I killed a man today.”

“What!” she whispered. “You killed one of Chandalen’s men?”

“No! That’s not what they’re angry about. They’re happy I killed him. I was saving Chandalen’s life! But they think . . .”

She collected herself. “Just calm down. I will explain your words to them.”

Richard nodded and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He looked down at the ground as he combed the fingers of both hands through his hair. He looked back up. “I’m only going to explain this once, Chandalen. If you can’t get it through your thick head, then we are going to stand at opposite ends of the village and shoot arrows at each other until we can’t argue anymore. And I will only need one arrow.”

Chandalen lifted an eyebrow and folded his muscular arms. “So explain.”

Richard took a deep breath. “You were standing a long way off. For some reason, I knew he was there, behind you. I spun around. All I could see of him . . . here, like this.” He grabbed Kahlan by her shoulders and turned her around, facing Chandalen. He held her shoulders and ducked down behind her. “Like this. I couldn’t see any of him but the top of his head. He had his spear ready. In one second more, he would have put it through your back. I had only one chance to keep him from killing you. Only one chance. I couldn’t see enough of him; there was nothing else to shoot at from where I was. Only the very top of his head.

“The top of his forehead sloped back. If I hit it too high, the arrow would have deflected off, and he would have killed you. The only way to stop him, to kill him, was to let the arrow nick the top of your shoulder.”

He held his finger and thumb half an inch apart again. “This is all I had. If I put the arrow that much lower, your bone would have deflected the arrow, and he would have had you. If I would have put it that much higher, just enough not to nick you, he would have lived, and you would be dead. I knew Savidlin’s bladed arrow could pass through a little of your flesh and allow me to kill him. There was no time for anything else. I had to shoot instantly. I think a dozen stitches is a light price to pay for your life.”

Chandalen’s eyes looked a little less sure. “How do I know you are telling the truth?”

Richard shook his head, muttering. He suddenly thought of something. He snatched a cloth sack from one of Chandalen’s men. He thrust his hand in the sack and pulled out a head, lifting it by blood-soaked, matted hair.

Kahlan gasped. She put a hand over her mouth as she turned away. But before she did, she saw an arrow jutting from the center of the forehead, the blade end sticking from the back of the head.

Richard held the head behind Chandalen’s shoulder and laid the feathers of the shaft on his shoulder, next to the wound.

“This is all I saw. If it were not as I say, if he had been standing straighter, and I put the arrow where I did, it would not have touched you.”

The hunters all started nodding and whispering among themselves. Chandalen looked down at the shaft of the arrow lying on his shoulder. He looked back at the head. He thought about it a minute and then unfolded his arms and took the head, stuffing it back in the sack.

“I have been stitched before. A few more will not hurt me. I will take your words as true. This time.”

Richard put his fists on his hips as he watched Chandalen and his men walking away. “You’re welcome,” he called after them.

Kahlan didn’t translate that. “Why do they have that head?”

“Don’t ask me. It wasn’t my idea. And you don’t want to know what they did with the rest of him.”

“Richard, that seems a risky shot to me. How far were you when you shot that arrow?”

The heat left his voice. “Not risky at all, believe me. And I was at least a hundred paces.”

“You can shoot an arrow that accurately at a hundred paces?”

He sighed. “I’m afraid I could have done it at twice that distance. Three times that distance.” He looked down at the blood on his hands. “I have to go wash this off. Kahlan, in about two minutes my head is going to explode. I have to sit down. Could you please go get Nissel? Yelling at that idiot was the only thing keeping me on my feet.”

She put a hand on his arm. “Of course. Go on inside, I’ll go get her.”

“I think Savidlin is angry with me too. Please tell him that I’m sorry I ruined so many of his arrows.”

She frowned as Richard went inside, closing the door. Savidlin looked as if he was about to speak to her. She took him by the arm.

“Richard needs Nissel. Come with me, and tell me what happened.”

Savidlin cast a glance over his shoulder at the door to his home as they hurried away. “Richard With The Temper seems to be living up to his name.”

“He is upset because he killed a man. It is not an easy thing to live with.”

“He didn’t tell you all of the story. There was more to it.”

“So tell me.”

He looked over with a grave expression. “We were shooting. Chandalen was angry, because of the shots Richard was making. He said Richard was a demon and went off and stood in the tall grass by himself. The rest of us were standing off to the other side, watching Richard shoot. The things he was doing did not seem possible. He nocked an arrow. Suddenly, he spun around toward Chandalen. Before we could even shout, Richard shot an arrow at Chandalen as he stood there with his arms folded. He had no weapon in his hand. None of us could believe Richard would do this.

“As the arrow was still flying toward Chandalen, two of his men, who had arrows nocked, drew their bows. The first one shot a ten-step arrow at Richard before his own arrow even reached Chandalen.”

Kahlan was incredulous. “He shot at Richard, and missed? Chandalen’s men don’t miss.”

Savidlin’s voice was low, and trembled slightly. “He would not have missed. But Richard spun, pulling his last arrow from his quiver, a bladed arrow, and shot. I have never seen anyone do such a thing so fast.” He hesitated, as if he didn’t think she would believe him. “Richard’s bladed arrow met the other in the air and split it in half. Each half went to one side of Richard.”

Kahlan halted Savidlin with a hand on his arm. “Richard hit the other arrow while it was in the air?”

He nodded slowly. “And then the other man shot. Richard had no more arrows. He stood, his bow in one hand, and waited. It too was a ten-step arrow. I could hear it ripping the air.”

Savidlin looked around, as if not wanting anyone else to hear. “Richard snatched it right out of the air with his hand. He had his fist around its middle. He put the man’s arrow in his own bow and drew it on Chandalen’s men. He was yelling at them. We couldn’t understand his words, but they dropped their bows on the ground and put their arms out to the sides, to show him their empty hands. We all thought Richard With The Temper had become crazy. We thought he might kill us all. We were all very afraid.

“Then Prindin called out. He had found the man behind Chandalen. We all saw then, that Richard had killed a trespasser who was armed with a spear. We realized Richard had been trying to kill the invader, not Chandalen. Chandalen, though, was not so certain. He thought Richard cut him with his arrow on purpose. Chandalen became even angrier when his men all went and gave Richard slaps of respect.”

Kahlan stared at him. She couldn’t believe the things she was hearing. Most of it sounded impossible. “Richard wanted me to tell you he was sorry he ruined your arrows. What was he talking about?”

“Do you know what a shaft shot is?”

Kahlan nodded. “It’s when you shoot an arrow through another already in the center of the target, and split the shaft of the first. The Home Guard in Aydindril gave ribbons for doing it. I have seen a few men with a half dozen ribbons. I knew one with ten.”

Savidlin reached around and pulled a fat bundle from his quiver. Every arrow was split. “It would be easier to give Richard With The Temper a ribbon if he ever missed. He would have no ribbons. He ruined over a hundred arrows today. Arrows take time to make. They are not to be wasted, but the men kept wanting him to do it again, because they had never seen anything like it before. One time, he put six arrows through the first, one right on top of the other.

“We shot rabbits, and cooked them over a fire. Richard sat with us, and then when we started eating, he wouldn’t eat with us. He looked sick, and went off and shot arrows by himself until we were finished. Later, after we ate, is when he killed the man.”

She nodded. “We better hurry and get Nissel.” She glanced over as they walked along. “Savidlin, why did those men have that head? How can they be so gruesome?”

“Did you see that there was black painted over the eyes of the dead man? That was to hide him from our spirits, so he could sneak up on us. A man who comes onto our land with black over his eyes comes for only one reason: to kill. Chandalen’s men put the heads of men like that on poles at the edge of our land to warn others who would paint black on their eyes.

“It may seem gruesome to you, but in the end it makes for much less killing. Do not think less of Chandalen’s men for taking a head. They do it today not because they like it, but so there will be less killing tomorrow.”

Kahlan suddenly felt foolish. “I guess that, just as Chandalen, I am guilty of judging too quickly. Forgive me, Elder Savidlin, for thinking things about your people that were wrong.”

He gave her a one-arm hug around her shoulders.

When they came back with the healer, they found Richard huddled in a corner, his fingers intertwined over his head. His skin was white, cold, and wet. Nissel gave him something to drink. After a few minutes, she gave him a small cube of something to swallow. Richard smiled when he saw it. He must have known what it was. Nissel sat on the floor next to him and felt his pulse for a long time. When a little of his color came back, she made him put his head back and open his mouth. She twisted a clove of something over his mouth, dripping the juice in. He made a face. Nissel smiled at that without comment.

She turned to Kahlan. “I think these things will help him. Tell him to keep chewing the leaves. Come get me if he needs me.”

“Nissel, is he going to get better soon? Shouldn’t he be getting better?”

The stooped old woman glanced down at Richard. “Spirit has a mind of its own. It doesn’t always listen. I think his does not want to listen.” She suddenly brightened at seeing the stricken look on Kahlan’s face. “Don’t worry, child. I can make even the spirit listen.”

Kahlan nodded. Nissel gave her a warm smile and a pat on the arm before she went on her way.

Richard looked up at Kahlan and Savidlin. “Did you tell him? Did you tell him I’m sorry about ruining all his arrows?”

Kahlan smiled a little to Savidlin. “He is worried about ruining so many arrows.”

Savidlin grunted. “It is my own fault. I made your bow too good.” Richard managed a laugh. “Weselan is off making bread. I must go see to some things. Rest well. We will be back when it is time to eat. We will eat together. It smells like my wife has made some good stew.”

After Savidlin left, Kahlan sat on the floor, tight against him.

“Richard, what happened today? Savidlin told me how you shot arrows today. You haven’t always been that good, have you?”

He wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “No. I’ve split arrows before, but not more than a half dozen in one day.”

“You’ve shot that many in one day before?”

He nodded. “On a good day, when I can feel the target. But today was different.”

“How?”

“Well, we went out on the plain, and my head was really starting to hurt. The men set up targets of bundled grass. I didn’t think I would even be able to hit a target, because my head hurt so much. But I didn’t want to disappoint Savidlin, so I tried anyway. When I shoot, I call the target to me.”

“What do you mean, you call the target to you?”

Richard shrugged. “I don’t know. I used to think everyone did it when they shot. But Zedd told me they don’t. I look at the target, and just sort of pull it to me. When I’m doing it right, it blocks out everything else. It’s only me and the target, as if it comes closer. Somehow, I know exactly how the arrow must be held to hit the target. When I’m doing it right, I can feel that the arrow is in the right place before I release the bowstring.

“When I learned that I always hit the target when I had that certain feeling, I quit shooting arrows. I would just aim, trying to bring on the correct feel. I knew when I had it I wouldn’t miss, so I didn’t bother shooting. I would nock another arrow and try for the feel again. Over time, I learned to do it more often.”

“How was it different today?”

“Well, like I said, my head really hurt. I watched some of the other men shoot. They were very good. Savidlin started slapping me on the back, so I knew it was my turn. I figured I might as well get it over. My head felt as if it was going to split open. I drew the bow, and called the target to me.”

Richard ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know how to explain it. I called the target, and instantly, my headache was gone. No pain at all. The target came to me as it never had before. It felt like there was a notch in the air where I needed only to lay the arrow. I have never felt it so strongly before. It was as if the target was huge. I knew it would be impossible to miss.

“After a while, just for variation, instead of splitting the arrows already there, I would just shave off the red outside feather. When I did that, the men thought I had missed splitting the arrow already there. They had no idea I was doing something more difficult.”

“And your headache was completely gone?” He nodded. “Do you have any idea why all this was happening?”

Richard pulled his knees up and rested his forearms on them. He looked away from her face. “I’m afraid I do. It was magic.”

“Magic?” Kahlan whispered. “What do you mean?”

His eyes came back to her. “Kahlan, I don’t know what your magic feels like inside you, but I have felt magic. Every time I draw the Sword of Truth, magic flows into me, becomes part of me. I know what that magic feels like. I’ve felt it often enough, and in different ways, depending on how I use it. But because I have joined with the sword, I can sense the magic from it, even as it sits in its scabbard on my hip. Now I can call forth its magic without even having to draw the sword. I can sense it, like a dog at my heel, ready to jump for me.

“Today, when I drew the bow and called the target, I also called something else: magic.

“When Zedd touched me before, to heal me, and when you touched me when you were in the Con Dar, I felt the magic. This was something like that. I knew it was magic. It felt different from yours and Zedd’s, but I recognized the texture of magic. I could feel the life of it, like a second breath. Alive.” Richard put a fist in the center of his chest. “I could feel it coming from inside me, building until I released it to call the target.”

Kahlan recognized in herself the feelings he was describing. “Maybe it has something to do with the sword.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I suppose it could be. But I couldn’t control it. After a while, it simply went away, like a candle blown out in the wind. It felt like suddenly being in darkness, as if I was suddenly blind. And the headache came back.

“I couldn’t hit the target, and I couldn’t call it to me, so I just let the others shoot. The magic would come and go. I could never tell when it was going to happen. Then when the men started eating meat, I felt sick, and had to go away from them. I shot while they ate, and sometimes I could summon the magic and the headache would go away.”

“What about when you caught the arrow out of the air?”

He cast her a sidelong glance. “Savidlin told you about that, did he?” She nodded. Richard let out a deep breath. “That was the strangest of all. I don’t know how to explain it. Somehow, I made the air thicker.”

She leaned closer, studying his face. “Made the air thicker?”

He nodded again. “I knew I had to slow the arrow down, and the only thing I could think of was that if the air was thick, like it was those times with the sword, when the air got thick and stopped the sword, then maybe I had a chance. Otherwise, I was going to die. It just all came into my head at once, the idea, and the doing. Instantly.

“I have no clue as to what I did. I just had the thought and I saw my hand snatch the arrow out of the air.”

He fell silent. Kahlan rubbed her thumb on the side of her boot heel. She didn’t know what to say. Fear was nibbling at the fringes of her mind. She flicked her eyes up for a glance at him. He was staring off into space.

“Richard,” she whispered, “I love you.”

His answer was a long moment in coming. “I love you too.” He turned to her. “Kahlan, I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Something is going on. A screeling shows up, I have these headaches, you call down lightning, I do what I did today. The only thing I can think to do is to go to Aydindril and find Zedd. All these things have something to do with magic.”

She didn’t think he was necessarily wrong, but put some other answers to them anyway. “Me calling down the lightning has to do with my magic. Not you. Though I don’t know how I did it, I did it to protect you. The screeling, I think, is from the underworld. That has nothing to do with us. It is just something evil. The magic with you today . . . well, that could have something to do with the magic from the sword. I just don’t know.”

“And the headaches?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted at last.

“Kahlan, the headaches might kill me. I don’t know how I know that, but I know it’s true. It’s not just a simple headache. It’s something else. I don’t know what.”

“Richard, please don’t say that. You’re scaring me.”

“Scares me, too. One reason I was angry at Chandalen was because I fear he may be right about me. About me bringing trouble.”

“Maybe we should start thinking about getting out of here. Getting to Zedd.”

“And what about the headaches? Much of the time, I can’t even stand. I can’t stop every ten paces to shoot an arrow.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Maybe Nissel can find an answer.”

He shook his head. “She can help only a little, and only for a time. Soon, I don’t think she is going to be able to do anything. I’m afraid I might die.”

Kahlan started crying. Richard leaned back against the wall, put his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against him. He started to say something else, but she put her fingers over his lips. She pressed her face against him as she cried, clutching at his shirt. It seemed as if everything was slowly starting to unravel. He held her and let her cry.

Kahlan began to realize she was being selfish. It was him these things were happening to. He was the one in pain, in danger. She should be comforting him, not the other way around.

“Richard Cypher, if you think this is going to get you out of marrying me, you had better think again.”

“Kahlan, I’m not . . . I swear . . .”

She smiled and gently touched his cheek as she kissed him. “I know. Richard, we’ve solved problems a lot bigger than this one. We will figure it out. I promise. We have to; Weselan has already started my dress.”

Richard put some of Nissel’s leaves in his mouth. “Really? I bet you are going to look beautiful in it.”

“Well, if you want to find out, you are just going to have to marry me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Savidlin, Weselan, and Siddin returned a short time later. Richard had closed his eyes and rested as he chewed the leaves, and he said his head felt a little better. Siddin was excited. He was a local celebrity, having ridden on a dragon. He had spent the better part of the day telling other children what it had been like. Now he wanted to sit in Kahlan’s lap and tell her about how he had been the center of attention.

She listened with a smile while they all ate stew and tava bread. Like her, Richard didn’t want any cheese. Savidlin offered him a piece of smoked meat. Richard politely declined.

As they were finishing their meal, a grim-faced Bird Man, ringed by men with spears, showed up at the door. Everyone set their bowls down and stood. Kahlan didn’t like the look on his face.

Richard stepped forward. “What is it? What’s happened?”

The Bird Man took in everyone with a sweep of his eyes. “Three women, strangers, have come on horses.”

Kahlan wondered why three women would bring men with spears around the Bird Man. “What do they want?”

“They are difficult to understand. They speak only a little of our language. I believe they want Richard. They seemed to say they want Richard and they want to see his parents.”

“My parents! Are you sure?”

“I think that is what they were trying to say. They said for you not to try to run any more. That they have come for you, and you must not run. They told me I must not interfere.”

Richard unconsciously loosened his sword in its scabbard, his brow taking on a hawklike set. “Where are they?”

“I had them wait in the spirit house.”

Kahlan hooked some hair behind her ear. “Did they say who they are?”

The Bird Man’s long silver hair gleamed in the light of the setting sun coming from behind him. “They called themselves the Sisters of the Light.”

Kahlan’s breath caught in her throat; goose bumps rippled up her arms. Her insides felt as if they had been twisted into an icy knot.

She couldn’t make her eyes blink.