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  Through it all, he kept trying to think of where Kahlan might be. He went over everything he could remember. He brooded over whether or not she was hurt. He agonized over what he might have done wrong. He imagined that she must be filled with fear and doubt, wondering why he wasn’t coming to help her escape, why he hadn’t yet found her, and if he ever would before her captors killed her.

  He struggled to banish from his mind the gnawing fear that she might already be dead.

  He tried not to think about what might be done to her as a captive that could be infinitely more gruesome than a simple execution. Jagang had ample reason to want her to live a good long time; only the living could feel pain.

  From the beginning, Kahlan had been there to frustrate Jagang’s ambitions and sometimes even reverse his success. The Imperial Order’s very first expeditionary force in the New World, among other things, slaughtered all the inhabitants of the great Galean city of Ebinissia. Kahlan came upon the grisly sight shortly after a troop of young Galean recruits had discovered it. In their blind rage, despite being outnumbered ten to one, those young men had been bent on the glory of vengeance and victory, on meeting upon the battlefield the soldiers who had tortured, raped, and murdered all of their loved ones.

  Kahlan came across those recruits, led by Captain Bradley Ryan, just before they were about to march into a textbook battle that she realized would be their death. In their bold inexperience, they were convinced that they could make such tactics work and snatch victory, despite being overwhelmingly outnumbered.

  Kahlan knew how the experienced Imperial Order soldiers fought. She knew that if she allowed those young recruits to do as they planned, they would be marching into a merciless meat grinder and all of them would die. The results of their shortsighted notions of the righteous glory of combat would be that those Imperial Order soldiers would then go on, unopposed, to other cities and continue to murder and plunder innocent people.

  Kahlan took command of the young recruits and set about dissuading them of their ignorant notions of a fair fight. She brought them to fully understand that their only goal was killing the invaders. It didn’t matter how the Galeans came to stand over the corpses of those brutes, it only mattered that they did. In that undertaking of killing, there was no glory, there was simply survival. They were killing so that there could be life. Kahlan taught those recruits what they needed to know about fighting a force that greatly outnumbered them, and she shaped them into men who could accomplish the grim task.

  The night before leading those young men into combat, Kahlan went alone into the enemy camp and killed their wizard along with some of the officers. The next day, those five thousand young men fought at her side, followed her instructions, learned from her, and along the way took terrible casualties, but they eventually killed every last one of the Imperial Order’s fifty-thousand-man advance force. It had been an accomplishment rarely equaled in history.

  That had been the first of many blows Kahlan struck against Jagang. In answer, he sent assassins after her. They failed.

  In Richard’s absence, after Nicci had taken him away to the heart of the Old World, Kahlan had gone to join Zedd and the D’Haran Empire forces. She found them dispirited and on the run after having lost a three-day battle. In Richard’s place, carrying the Sword of Truth, the Mother Confessor pulled the army back onto its feet and immediately counterattacked, surprising the enemy and bloodying them. She brought backbone and fire to the D’Haran forces. She inspired them to the challenge. Captain Ryan’s men arrived to join with her in the fight against Jagang’s invading horde. For nearly a year, Kahlan led the D’Haran Empire forces as they frustrated Jagang’s efforts to swiftly subdue the New World. She harried and harassed him without pause. She helped direct plans that resulted in Jagang’s army losing hundreds of thousands of men.

  Kahlan had bled the Imperial Order army, and helped grind them to a halt outside Aydindril. In winter, she had evacuated the people of Aydindril, and had the army take them over the passes into D’Hara. The D’Haran forces then sealed off those passes and, for the time being, held the Imperial Order at bay short of their final objective of conquering D’Hara and finally bringing the New World under the brutal rule of the Fellowship of Order.

  Jagang’s hatred for Kahlan was exceeded only by his hatred for Richard. Most recently, the dream walker had sent an extremely dangerous wizard named Nicholas after them. Richard and Kahlan had only narrowly escaped capture.

  Richard knew that the Order relished seeing to it that captured foes suffered monstrous abuse, and there was no one, other than Richard, whom Emperor Jagang wanted to put to torture more than the Mother Confessor. There were no lengths to which he would not go to get his hands on her. Emperor Jagang would reserve for Kahlan the most unspeakable torture.

  Richard realized that he was standing frozen, trembling, his fingers gripping a fistful of balsam boughs. Cara silently watched him. He knelt and again started laying the branches in place while struggling to put terrible thoughts from his mind. Cara went back to her work. He put all his effort into concentrating on the task of completing their shelter. The sooner they got to sleep, the more rested they would be when they woke, and the faster they could travel.

  Even though they were nowhere near any roads and a great distance from the trails, Richard still didn’t want to have a fire for fear that scouting soldiers might spot it. Although they wouldn’t be able see the fire’s smoke through all the drizzle and fog, such weather tended to keep smoke low to the ground, drifting this way and that through the woods, so any Imperial Order patrols would be able to smell it. It was a real enough possibility that none of the others argued for a fire. Being cold was a lot better than having to fight for their lives.

  Nicci dragged an armful of balsam boughs close as Richard continued to weave them up the lean-to. None of the others spoke, apparently absorbed in worry that whatever had killed the men might be out there, among the deepening shadows, hunting the four of them as they prepared to go to sleep in a fortress made of nothing more than balsam boughs.

  Their first day’s journey toward Altur’Rang had felt less like traveling and more like running for their lives. But whatever had killed Victor’s men had not chased them. At least, Richard didn’t think it had. He couldn’t really imagine that whatever had the power to kill that many men in such a brutal fashion couldn’t manage to catch up with them if it had their trail. Especially not something filled with a blood frenzy, as Nicci had described it.

  Besides, when he was in the woods Richard usually knew when there were animals about and where they likely were, and, as a rule, he knew when people were close. Had Victor and his men not been camped quite so far from Richard, Kahlan, and Cara’s camp, he would have known they were there. He also had a keen sense of when he was being pursued and if someone was following his trail. As a guide, he sometimes tracked people lost in the woods. He and other guides sometimes had contests to track one another. Richard knew how to watch for someone tracking him.

  This, however, was less a matter of suspecting that someone was following them and more a feeling of icy dread, as if they were being chased by a murderous phantom in a blood frenzy. That fear constantly urged them to run. He knew, too, that running was often the trigger that made a predator pounce.

  Richard realized, though, that it was only his imagination making him feel the hot breath of pursuers. Zedd had taught him that it was always important to understand why you had specific feelings so that you could decide if those feelings were caused by something that warranted attention, or something that didn’t. Other than the palpable fear caused by the brutality of the slaughter, Richard had no evidence that they were being chased, so he tried to keep the emotion in proper perspective.

  Fear itself often proved to be the greatest threat. Fear made people do thoughtless things that often got them into trouble. Fear made people stop thinking. When they stopped thinking, they often made foolish choices.

  Several times
when he was growing up, Richard had tracked people who had gotten lost in the vast forests around Hartland. One boy Richard had tracked for two days kept running in the dark until he eventually fell from a cliff. Luckily it wasn’t a long fall. Richard found him at the bottom of the steep bank with a twisted ankle that was swollen but not broken. The boy was only cold, tired, and frightened. It could have been far worse and he knew it. He had been very glad to see Richard appear and held him tightly around the neck all the way home.

  There were any number of ways to die out in the woods. Richard had heard of people attacked by a bear, or a cougar, or bitten by a snake. But he couldn’t imagine what had killed Victor’s men. He’d never seen anything like it. He knew it hadn’t been soldiers. He supposed that it could have been the gifted using some kind of terrible power to slaughter the men, but he just didn’t think that was the explanation.

  He realized, then, that he was already thinking of it as a beast.

  Whatever killed the men, Richard had taken precautions as they had set out. He followed shallow streams until they were a good distance from the sight of the slaughter. He was careful to lead them up out of the rushing water and away from the stream across ground where it would be much more difficult to track them. More than once throughout the day he had led them over bare rock or through water to make it extremely time-consuming for someone good at tracking to follow them. The shelter, too, was designed to blend into the surrounding woods. It would be hard to spot, unless someone passed very near to it.

  Victor dragged a heavy load of balsam boughs close and laid them at Richard’s feet. “Need more?”

  With the toe of his boot, Richard nudged the pile, judging by its density how much and how well it would cover the remaining poles. “No, I think these and the ones Nicci is bringing should be enough.”

  Nicci dropped her load beside Victor’s. It seemed odd to him seeing Nicci doing such work. Even dragging balsam boughs she had a regal look about her. While Cara was a strikingly beautiful woman as well, her audacious bearing made it seem rather natural for her to be building a shelter—or a spiked flail cocked to kill intruders. Nicci, though, looked unnatural working in the woods—as if she would complain about getting her hands dirty, although she never once did. It wasn’t that she was at all unwilling to do whatever Richard needed her to do, it was just that she looked completely out of place doing it. She simply had a noble bearing that seemed too stately for the task of hauling branches for a shelter in the woods.

  Now that she had brought all the balsam boughs that Richard needed, Nicci stood quietly under the dripping trees, hugging herself as she shivered. Richard’s fingers were numb with cold as he quickly wove on the remaining boughs. He saw Cara, as she worked to secure the limbs, occasionally putting her hands under her armpits. Only Victor showed no outward appearance of being cold. Richard imagined that the blacksmith’s glower was enough to warm him most of the time.

  “Why don’t you three get some sleep,” Victor said as Richard placed the last of the boughs over the shelter. “I’ll take watch for now if no one objects. I’m not much sleepy.”

  From the undercurrent of anger in the man’s voice, Richard imagined that Victor might not be sleepy for quite a long while. He could certainly understand Victor’s bitter sorrow. The man would no doubt spend his watch trying to think of what he would say to Ferran’s mother and the relatives of the other men.

  Richard laid an understanding hand on Victor’s shoulder. “We don’t know what we’re up against. Don’t hesitate to wake us if you hear or see anything at all unusual. And don’t forget to come inside and have your share of sleep; tomorrow will be a long day of traveling. We all need to be strong.”

  Victor nodded. Richard watched as the blacksmith picked up his cloak and threw it around his shoulders before seizing roots and clinging vines to help him scale the rock above the shelter to where he would watch over them. Richard wondered if perhaps the outcome might have been different had Victor been with the men. Then he thought about the aftermath of splintered trees, deep gouges in the ground carved with such force that it had overturned rocks and torn thick roots apart. He remembered the ripped leather armor, the shattered bones, the rent bodies, and was glad that Victor had not been with the men when the attack had come. Even a heavy mace wielded in anger by the powerful arms of the master blacksmith would not have stopped whatever had come into that clearing.

  Nicci pressed a hand to Richard’s forehead, testing for fever. “You need rest. No watch for you tonight. The three of us will each take a turn.”

  Richard wanted to argue, but he knew that she was right. This was not a battle he should take up, so he didn’t and instead nodded his agreement. Cara, obviously prepared to take Nicci’s side if he argued, turned back from watching them from out of the small opening between the boughs.

  From the gathering darkness all around a grating sound had begun to build into a shrill chirr. Now that they were finished with the effort of building the shelter, the noise was hard to ignore. It made the whole forest seem alive with raucous activity. Nicci finally took notice of it and paused to look around.

  She frowned. “What is that sound, anyway?”

  Richard plucked an empty skin from a tree trunk. Everywhere throughout the forest the trees were covered with the pale, tannish, thumb-sized husks.

  “Cicadas.” Richard smiled to himself as he let the gossamer ghost of the creature that had once lived inside roll into his palm. “This is what’s left after they molt.”

  Nicci glanced at the empty skin in his hand and briefly looked at some of the others clinging to the trees. “While I spent most of my life in towns and cities, and indoors, I’ve spent a great deal of time outdoors since leaving the Palace of the Prophets. These insects must be unique to these woods; I don’t recall ever seeing them before—or hearing them.”

  “You wouldn’t have. I was a boy the last time I saw them. This kind of cicada emerges from underground every seventeen years. Today is the first day they all have begun to emerge. They will only be around for a few weeks while they mate and lay their eggs. Then we won’t see them again for another seventeen years.”

  “Really?” Cara asked as she poked her head back out. “Every seventeen years?” She thought it over for a moment and then scowled up at Richard. “They better not keep us awake.”

  “Because of their numbers they create quite an unforgettable sound. With countless of the cicadas all trilling together, you can sometimes hear the harmonic rise and fall of their song moving through the forest in a wave. In the quiet of night, their stridulation may seem deafening at first, but, believe it or not, it will actually lull you to sleep.”

  Satisfied to know that the noisy insects would not keep her charge awake, Cara disappeared back inside.

  Richard recalled his wonder when Zedd had walked with him through the woods, showing him the newly emerged creatures, telling him all about their seventeen-year life cycle. To Richard, as a boy, it was a memorable wonder. Zedd told him how he would be grown up when they came again, that he had first seen them as a boy, and the next time he would see them as a grown man. Richard remembered marveling at the event and promising himself that when they came again, he would be sure to spend more time watching the rare creatures when they appeared from the ground.

  Richard felt a wave of profound sadness for the loss of that innocent time in life. As a boy, the emergence of the cicadas had seemed like just about the most amazing phenomenon he could imagine, and waiting seventeen years until they returned seemed like the hardest thing he would ever have to do. And now they were back.

  And now he was a man. He cast the empty husk aside.

  After Richard removed his wet cloak and crawled in behind Nicci, he pulled branches together to cover over the opening to the snug shelter. The thick branches toned down the high-pitched song of the cicadas. The ceaseless buzzing was making him sleepy.

  He was pleased to see that the balsam boughs worked to shed the rain, le
aving the cavelike refuge dry, if not warm. They had laid down a bed of boughs over the exposed ground so they would have a relatively soft and dry platform upon which to sleep. Even without rain dripping on them, though, the humidity and fog still dampened everything. Their breath came out in ephemeral clouds.

  Richard was weary of being wet. Handling trees had left him covered with bark and needles and dirt. His hands were sticky from tree sap. He couldn’t remember ever being so miserable with grime and grit clinging to his wet skin and wet clothes. At least the pine and balsam pitch left the shelter smelling pleasant.

  He wished he could have a hot bath. He hoped that Kahlan was warm and dry and unharmed.

  Tired as he was, and as sleepy as the sound of the cicadas was making him, there were things Richard needed to know. There were matters far more important to him than sleep, or his simple boyhood wonder.

  He needed to find out what Nicci knew about what had killed Victor’s men. There were too many connections to ignore. The attack had come right near where Richard, Kahlan, and Cara had been camped a few days before. More importantly, whatever had killed the men didn’t seem to have left any tracks, at least none that he been able to find in his brief search, and, other than that displaced rock, Richard couldn’t find any tracks from either Kahlan or her abductor.

  Richard intended, before he slept, to find out what Nicci knew about what had killed the men.

  Chapter 8

  Richard untied the leather thongs beneath his pack and opened his bedroll, spreading it out in the narrow space left between the other two.

  “Nicci, back at the place where the men were killed you said that it had been a blood frenzy.” He leaned back against the rock wall underneath the overhang. “What did you mean?”

  Nicci folded herself into a sitting position to his right, atop her own bedroll. “What we saw back there wasn’t simply killing. Isn’t that obvious?”