Faith of the Fallen Page 7

  “I understand, Mother Confessor. ‘In his wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are his.’”

  Kahlan studied the smooth lines and simple angles of his young face lit by the dancing firelight. In that face, she saw some of what Richard had been trying to say to her before. “Richard doesn’t believe your lives are his, Captain, but that they are your own, and priceless. That is what he is fighting for.”

  He chose his words carefully; if he wasn’t worried about her being the Mother Confessor, since he hadn’t grown up fearing the power and the rule of such a woman, she was still the Lord Rahl’s wife.

  “Most of us see how different he is from the last Lord Rahl. I’m not claiming that any of us understands everything about him, but we know he fights to defend, rather than to conquer. As a soldier, I know the difference it makes to believe in what I’m fighting for, because…”

  The captain looked away from her gaze. He lifted a short branch of firewood, tapping the end on the ground for a time. His voice took on a painful inflection. “Because it takes something precious out of you to kill people who never meant you any harm.”

  The fire crackled and hissed as he slowly stirred the glowing coals. Sparks swirled up to spill out from around the underside of the rock overhang.

  Cara watched her Agiel as she rolled it in her fingers. “You…feel that way too?”

  Captain Meiffert met Cara’s gaze. “I never realized, before, what it was doing to me, inside. I didn’t know. Lord Rahl makes me proud to be D’Haran. He makes it stand for something right…. It never did before. I thought that the way things were, was just the way things were, and they could never change.”

  Cara’s gaze fell away as she privately nodded her agreement. Kahlan could only imagine what life was like living under that kind of rule, what it did to people.

  “I’m glad you understand, Captain,” Kahlan whispered. “That’s one reason he worries so much about all of you. He wants you to live lives you can be proud of. Lives that are your own.”

  He dropped the stick into the fire. “And he wanted all the people of Anderith to care about themselves the way he wants us to value our lives. The vote wasn’t really for him, but for themselves. That was why the vote meant so much to him?”

  “That’s why,” Kahlan confirmed, afraid to test her own voice any further than that.

  He stirred his spoon around to cool his dinner. It no longer needed cooling, she was sure. She supposed his thoughts were being stirred more than his dinner.

  “You know,” he said, “one of the things I heard people say, back in Anderith, was that since Darken Rahl was his father, Richard Rahl was evil, too. They said that since his father had done wrong, Richard Rahl might sometimes do good, but he could never be a good person.”

  “I heard that too,” Cara said. “Not just in Anderith, but a lot of places.”

  “That’s wrong. Why should people think that just because one of his parents was cruel, those crimes pass on to someone who never did them? And that he must spend his life making amends? I’d hate to think that if I’m ever lucky enough to have children, they, and then their children, and their children after that, would have to suffer forever for the things I’ve done serving under Darken Rahl.” He looked over at Kahlan and Cara. “Such prejudice isn’t right.”

  In the silence, Cara stared into the flames.

  “I served under Darken Rahl. I know the difference in the two men.” His voice lowered with simmering anger. “It’s wrong of people to lay guilt for the crimes of Darken Rahl onto his son.”

  “You’re right about that,” Cara murmured. “The two may look a little alike, but anyone who has ever looked into the eyes of both men, as I have, could never begin to think they were the same kind of men.”

  Chapter 6

  Captain Meiffert ate the rest of his rice and beans in silence. Cara offered him her waterskin. He took it with a smile and his nod of thanks. She dished him out a second bowlful from the pot, and cut him another piece of bannock. He looked only slightly less mortified to be served by a Mord-Sith than by the Lord Rahl. Cara found his expression amusing. She called him “Brass Buttons” and told him to eat it all. He did so as they listened to the sounds of the fire snapping and water dripping from the pine needles onto the carpet of leaves and other debris of the forest floor.

  Richard returned, loaded down with the captain’s bedroll and saddlebags. He let them slip to the ground beside the officer and then shook water off himself before sitting down beside Kahlan. He offered her a drink from a full waterskin he’d brought back. She took only a sip. She was more interested in being able to rest her hand on his leg.

  Richard yawned. “So, Captain Meiffert, you said the general wanted you to give a full report?”

  “Yes, sir.” The captain went into a long and detailed account on the state of the army to the south, how they were stationed out on the plains, what passes they guarded in the mountains, and how they planned on using the terrain, should the Imperial Order suddenly come up out of Anderith and move north into the Midlands. He reported on the health of the men and their supply situation—both good. The other half of General Reibisch’s D’Haran force was back in Aydindril, protecting the city, and Kahlan was relieved to hear that everything there was in order.

  Captain Meiffert relayed all the communications they’d received from around the Midlands, including from Kelton and Galea, two of the largest lands of the Midlands that were now allied with the new D’Haran Empire. The allied lands were helping to keep the army supplied, in addition to providing men for rotation of patrols, scouting land they knew better, and other work.

  Kahlan’s half brother, Harold, had brought word that Cyrilla, Kahlan’s half sister, had taken a turn for the better. Cyrilla had been queen of Galea. After her brutal treatment in the hands of the enemy, she became emotionally unbalanced and was unable to serve as queen. In her rare conscious moments, worried for her people, she had begged Kahlan to be queen in her stead. Kahlan had reluctantly agreed, saying it was only until Cyrilla was well again. Few people thought she would ever have her mind back, but, apparently, it looked as if she might yet recover.

  In order to soothe the ruffled feathers of Galea’s neighboring land, Kelton, Richard had named Kahlan queen of Kelton. When Kahlan first heard what Richard had done, she had thought it was lunacy. Strange as the arrangement was, though, it suited both lands, and brought them not only peace with each other, but also into the fold of those lands fighting against the Imperial Order.

  Cara was pleasantly surprised to hear that a number of Mord-Sith had arrived at the Confessors’ Palace in Aydindril, in case Lord Rahl needed them. Berdine would no doubt be pleased to have some of her sister Mord-Sith with her in Aydindril.

  Kahlan missed Aydindril. She guessed the place you grew up could never leave your heart. The thought gave her a pang of sorrow for Richard.

  “That would be Rikka,” Cara said with a smile. “Wait until she meets the new Lord Rahl,” she added under her breath, finding that even more to smile about.

  Kahlan’s thoughts turned to the people they had left to the Imperial Order—or more accurately, to the people who had chosen the Imperial Order. “Have you received any reports from Anderith?”

  “Yes, from a number of men we sent in there. I’m afraid we lost some, too. The ones who returned report that there were fewer enemy deaths from the poisoned waters than we had hoped. Once the Imperial Order discovered their soldiers dying, or sick, they tested everything on the local people, first. A number of them died or became sick, but it wasn’t widespread. By using the people to test the food and water, they were able to isolate the tainted food and destroy it. The army has been been laying claim to everything—they use a lot of supplies.”

  The Imperial Order was said to be far larger than any army ever assembled. Kahlan knew that much of the reports to be accurate. The Order dwarfed the D’Haran and Midland troops arrayed against them perhaps ten or twenty to one—som
e reports claimed more than that. Some reports claimed the New World forces were outnumbered by a hundred to one, but Kahlan discounted that as outright panic. She didn’t know how long the Order would feed off Anderith before they moved on, or if they were being resupplied from the Old World. They had to be, to some extent, anyway.

  “How many scouts and spies did we lose?” Richard asked.

  Captain Meiffert looked up. It was the first question Richard had asked. “Some may yet turn up, but it appears likely that we lost fifty to sixty men.”

  Richard sighed. “And General Reibisch thinks it was worth losing the lives of those men to discover this?”

  Captain Meiffert cast about for an answer. “We didn’t know what we would discover, Lord Rahl; that was why we sent them in. Do you wish me to tell the general not to send in any more men?”

  Richard was carving a face in a piece of firewood, sporadically tossing shavings into the fire. He sighed.

  “No, he must do as he sees fit. I’ve explained to him that I can’t issue orders.”

  The captain, watching Richard pick small chips of wood from his lap and pitch them into the fire, tossed a small fan of pine needles into the flames, where it blazed in short-lived glory. Richard’s carving was a remarkably good likeness of the captain.

  Kahlan had, on occasion, seen Richard casually carve animals or people. She once had strongly suggested that his ability was guided by his gift. He scoffed at such a notion, saying that he had liked to carve ever since he was little. She reminded him that art was used to cast spells, and that once he had been captured with the aid of a drawn spell.

  He insisted this was nothing like that. As a guide, he said he’d passed many an evening at camp, by himself, carving. Not wanting to carry the added weight, he would toss the finished piece into the fire. He said he enjoyed the act of carving, and could always carve another. Kahlan considered the carvings inspired and found it distressing to see them destroyed.

  “What do you intend to do, Lord Rahl? If I may ask.”

  Richard took a smooth, steady slice that demarcated the line of an ear, bringing it to life along with the line of the jaw he had already cut. He looked up and stared off into the night.

  “We’re going to a place back in the mountains, where other people don’t go, so we can be alone, and safe. The Mother Confessor will be able to get well there and gain back her strength. While we’re there, I may even make Cara start wearing a dress.”

  Cara shot to her feet. “What!” When she saw Richard’s smile, Cara realized he was only joking. She fumed, nonetheless.

  “I’d not report that part of it to the general, were I you, Captain,” Richard said.

  Cara sank back down to the ground. “Not if Brass Buttons, here, values his ribs,” she muttered.

  Kahlan struggled not to chuckle, lest she twist the ever present knives in her ribs. Sometimes, she felt as if she knew how the chunk of wood Richard was carving felt. It was good to see Richard, for once, get the best of Cara. It was usually she who had him flustered.

  “I can’t help you, for now,” Richard said, his serious tone returning. He went back to his work with his knife. “I hope you can all accept that.”

  “Of course, Lord Rahl. We know that you will lead us into battle when the time is right.”

  “I hope that day comes, Captain. I really do. Not because I want to fight, but because I hope there to be something to fight for.” Richard stared into the fire, his countenance a chilling vision of despair. “Right now, there isn’t.”

  “Yes, Lord Rahl,” Captain Meiffert said, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence. “We will do as we think best until the Mother Confessor is better and you are then able to join us.”

  Richard didn’t argue the time schedule, as the captain had described it. It was one Kahlan hoped for, too, but Richard had never said it would be that soon. He had, in fact, made it clear to them that the time might not ever come. He cradled the wood in his lap, studying what he had done.

  He ran his thumb along the fresh-cut line of the nose as he asked, “Did the returning scouts say…how it faired for the people in Anderith…with the Imperial Order there?”

  Kahlan knew he was only torturing himself by asking that question. She wished he hadn’t asked; it could do him no good to hear the answer.

  Captain Meiffert cleared his throat. “Well, yes, they did report on the conditions.”

  “And…?”

  The young officer launched into a cold report of the facts they knew. “Jagang set up his troop headquarters in the capital, Fairfield. He took over the Minister of Culture’s estate for himself. Their army is so huge that it swallowed the city and overflows far out onto the hills all around. The Anderith army put up little resistance. They were collected and all summarily put to death. The government of Anderith for the most part ceased to exist within the first few hours. There is no rule or law. The Order spent the first week in unchecked celebration.

  “Most people in Fairfield were displaced and lost everything they owned. Many fled. The roads all around were packed solid with those trying to escape what was happening in the city. The people fleeing the city only ended up being the spoils for the soldiers in the hills all around who couldn’t fit into the city. Only a trickle—mostly the very old and sickly—made it past that gauntlet.”

  His impersonal tone abandoned him. He had spent time with those people, too. “I’m afraid that, in all, it went badly for them, Lord Rahl. There was a horrendous amount of killing, of the men, anyway—in the tens of thousands. Likely more.”

  “They got what they asked for.” Cara’s voice was as cold as winter night. “They picked their own fate.” Kahlan agreed, but didn’t say so. She knew Richard agreed, too. None of them were pleased about it, though.

  “And the countryside?” Richard asked. “Anything known about places outside Fairfield? Is it going better for them?”

  “No better, Lord Rahl. The Imperial Order has been methodically going about a process of ‘pacifying’ the land, as they call it. Their soldiers are accompanied by the gifted.

  “By far, the worst of the accounts were about one called ‘Death’s Mistress.’”

  “Who?” Cara asked.

  “‘Death’s Mistress,’ they call her.”

  “Her. Must be the Sisters,” Richard said.

  “Which ones do you think it would be?” Cara asked.

  Richard, cutting the mouth into the firewood face, shrugged. “Jagang has both Sisters of the Light and Sisters of the Dark held captive. He’s a dream walker; he forces both to do his bidding. It could be either; the woman is simply his tool.”

  “I don’t know,” Captain Meiffert said. “We’ve had plenty of reports about the Sisters, and how dangerous they are. But they’re being used like you said, as tools of the army—weapons, basically—not as his agents. Jagang doesn’t let them think for themselves or direct anything.

  “This one, from the reports, anyway, behaves very differently from the others. She acts as Jagang’s agent, but still, the word is she decides things for herself, and does as she pleases. The men who came back reported that she is more feared than Jagang himself.

  “The people of one town, when they heard she was coming their way, all gathered together in the town square. They made the children drink poison first, then the adults took their dose. Every last person in the town was dead when the woman arrived—close to five hundred people.”

  Richard had stopped carving as he listened. Kahlan knew that unfounded rumors could also be so lurid as to turn alarm into deadly panic, to the point where people would rather die than face the object of their dread. Fear was a powerful tool of war.

  Richard went back to the carving in his lap. He held the knife near the tip of the point, like a pen, and carefully cut character into the eyes. “They didn’t get a name for her, did they? This Death’s Mistress?”

  “I’m sorry, no, Lord Rahl. They said she is simply called by everyone ‘Death’s Mistress.’”r />
  “Sounds like an ugly witch,” Cara said.

  “Quite the contrary. She has blue eyes and long blond hair. She is said to be one of the most beautiful women you could ever lay eyes upon. They say she looks like a vision of a good spirit.”

  Kahlan couldn’t help notice the captain’s furtive glance at Cara, who had blue eyes and long blond hair, and was also one of the most beautiful women you could ever lay eyes upon. She, too, was deadly.

  Richard was frowning. “Blond…blue eyes…there are several it could be…. Too bad they didn’t catch her name.”

  “Sorry, but they gave no other name, Lord Rahl, only that description…. Oh yes, and that she always wears black.”

  “Dear spirits,” Richard whispered as he rose to his full height, gripping his carving by its throat.

  “From what I’ve been told, Lord Rahl, though she looks like a vision of one, the good spirts themselves would fear her.”

  “With good reason.” Richard said, as he stared into the distance, as if looking beyond the black wall of mist to a place only he could see.

  “You know her, then, Lord Rahl?”

  Kahlan listened to the fire pop and crackle as she waited along with the other two for his answer. It almost seemed Richard was trying to find his voice as his gaze sank back down to meet the eyes of the carving in his hand.

  “I know her,” he said, at last. “I know her all too well. She was one of my teachers at the Palace of the Prophets.”

  Richard tossed his carving into the flames.

  “Pray you never have to look into Nicci’s eyes, Captain.”

  Chapter 7

  “Look into my eyes, child,” Nicci said in her soft, silken voice as she cupped the girl’s chin.

  Nicci lifted the bony face. The eyes, dark and wide-set, blinked with dull bewilderment. There was nothing to be seen in them: the girl was simple.

  Nicci straightened, feeling a hollow disappointment. She always did. She sometimes found herself looking into people’s eyes, like this, and then wondering why. If she was searching for something, she didn’t know what it was.