Stone of Tears (75 page)

Maybe Riggs was right. Maybe she should have brought the rule of law to stop men like this. But that had never been the intent of the Council—to make all to bow in all things to one. The strength and beauty of the Midlands was in its diversity, even if some of that diversity was ugly. What was ugly to one was beautiful to another, and so it was that each land was to be left to rule itself, as long as it brought no force of arms no another. It was a tolerant suffering of things repugnant to allow things beautiful to blossom. It was a sometimes difficult and fine line to hold the Council to: forcing lands to work together in some things, but allowing them to be autonomous in others.

But perhaps Riggs was right. People in some lands suffered the cruel or poor rule of their greedy or inept leaders, with no hope of matters being brought to change from without. Though the wise, but smaller, lands had not to live in fear of outside conquest. If the suffering of the people under less fortunate rule could be ended with wise central rule, would not matters be improved?

Yet when all lived under the same rule, every other form of existence was extinguished and none would ever have the chance to grow, though one of them might have been a superior way. The kind of single rule the Imperial Order represented was slavery.

Kahlan was surprised to encounter Galean sentries further from their camp that before. They were no longer spread too far apart, and they were well hidden, popping up with drawn bows and bared steel when she was almost upon them. Chandalen, Prindin and Tossidin had obviously been at work. The sentries put fists to hearts when they recognized her.

The dawn was turning the sky to a dark, steel gray. It was warmer than it had been, with the clouds covering the land like a warming quilt. She was dead tired in the saddle as Nick plodded through the snow toward the camp, but as she came into sight of men rushing about, she came alert with the thoughts of what needed to be done.

Chandalen, Prindin, Captain Ryan and lieutenant Hobson were speaking with a group of men when they saw her riding toward the camp. The four came at a run to meet her at the edge of the activity. Men were cooking, eating, stowing gear, preparing weapons and tending to wagons and horses. She spotted Tossidin, in his white wolf mantle, off some distance with Lieutenant Sloan, waving his arms in explanation as he talked to men who stood mute, with their spears all standing upright in the snow, the tight mob of them looking like a dark porcupine against the white ground.

Kahlan gave a tired moan as she dismounted before the four men who had come to greet her. Other men all around kept to their tasks, but moved more slowly as they watched her with great interest. The four before her stared openly with wide eyes. None said a word.

“What are you all staring at?” she said, a little short tempered.

“Mother Confessor,” Captain Ryan said, “You are covered in blood. Are you hurt?”

Kahlan stared down at the white wolf fur of her mantle, only it was no longer white. She realized for the first time that the skin of her face was tight with dried blood, her hair stiff with it.

“Oh,” she said, in a quieter tone. “It’s all right. I’m fine.”

Chandalen and Prindin sighed with relief.

Lieutenant Hobson, still wide-eyed, swallowed. “What of the wizard? Did you see him?”

She lifted an eyebrow to him. “What you see on me is what is left of him.”

Chandalen gave her a sly smile. “And how many others did you kill?”

Kahlan gave a tired shrug. “I was awfully busy. I didn’t take the time to count, but all things considered, I would guess, including the fires, well over a hundred. The wizard is dead, that is what matters. Two of their commanders are dead also, and at least two more are wounded.”

Captain Ryan and Lieutenant Hobson paled.

Chandalen’s proud grin widened. “I am surprised you left any for others to kill, Mother Confessor.”

She didn’t return his smile. “There are plenty left.” Kahlan rubbed her horse’s nose. “Nick did most of the work.”

“I told you he wouldn’t let you down, Mother Confessor,” Hobson said.

“That he did not. He was better aid than the good spirits. He kept me alive this day.”

Kahlan lowered herself to one knee in the snow before the two Galean officers. She bowed her head.

“I find I must beseech your forgiveness.” She took a hand of each in hers. “Though you are ignorant of how to accomplish what must be done, you have put your duty to the Midlands before my orders. That was courage of the highest order. I want you all to know I was wrong. You acted of noble intent.” She kissed each hand. “I laud your righteous hearts. You have kept in mind your duty above all else. I beg you forgive me.”

There was silence as she knelt on one knee. At last Captain Ryan whispered down to her.

“Mother Confessor, Please. Get up. Everyone’s watching.”

“Not until you forgive me. I want everyone to know you did the right thing.”

“But you didn’t realize what we were doing, or why. You had only our safety in mind.” Kahlan waited and he was silent in embarrassment a moment longer. “All right. I forgive you … Don’t do it again?”

She came to her feet, releasing their hands, and giving them a small, humorless smile. “See that that is the last time you ever disobey me.”

Captain Ryan nodded in ernest. “I will.” He shook his head. “I mean, no, I won’t, I mean I … We will do as you command, Mother Confessor.”

“I understand what you mean, Captain.” She let out a tired sigh. “We have a lot of work to do before we attack those men.”

“We!” Chandalen shouted. “We were only to teach them some things, and then ‘we’ are to be on our way to Aydindril! We cannot become caught up in this battle. You have already taken enough chances! We must …”

Kahlan interrupted him. “I must talk to you three. Bring Tossidin. Captain, please collect the men, including the sentries. I want to speak to you all together. Please wait with your men. I will be with you shortly. And leave a tent up for me. I need a few hours sleep while things are being prepared.”

She walked off a ways, out of earshot of the camp, with Chandalen in tow, as Prindin went to get Tossidin. When they were all together, she turned to them. Chandalen was scowling, the other two waited without emotion.

“The Mud People,” she began in a soft tone, “have magic.”

“We have no magic,” Chandalen argued.

“Yes, you do. You do not think of it as magic because you were born with it and it is the only way you know. You do not know of other peoples, of their ways. The Mud People can speak with their ancestors’ spirits. They can do this because they have magic. You think this is simply the way things work, but they do not work so in other places, with other people. Your ability to do these things is magic. Magic is not some strange and powerful force, it is simply the way some people, some creatures, are.”

“Others can speak with their ancestors, if they wish,” Chandalen said.

“A few can, but most cannot. To them, it is speaking with the dead, and that is magic. Frightening magic. You, and I, know it is not to be feared, but you will never convince others that what you do is good. They will always think it evil. People believe as they were raised, and they were raised to believe that talking to the dead is evil.”

“But our ancestors’ spirits help us,” Prindin said. “They never bring harm. They only bring help.”

Kahlan laid a hand on his shoulder as she looked to his worried eyes. “I know. That is why I help to keep others away from you, so you may live as you wish. There are a few other people who talk with their ancestors, as you do, and they, too, have this magic. There are other peoples, and other creatures, that have magic different from you, but just as important to them as yours is to you.” She looked to each. “Do you understand.”

“Yes, Mother Confessor,” Tossidin said.

Prindin nodded his agreement. Chandalen grunted and folded his arms.

“The important thing, though, is not if you believe what you have can be called magic. The important thing is for you to understand that others believe what you do is magic. Many fear magic. They think you are evil because you practice this magic.”

Kahlan pointed in the direction of the army of the Imperial Order. “Those men, the ones we chase, the ones who killed all the people back at the city, they are joined in a cause. They wish to rule all the people of the Midlands. They do not want any to live as they wish, but to bow to their rule.”

“Why would they wish to rule the Mud People?” Prindin asked. “We have nothing they would want. We stay to our lands.”

Chandalen unfolded his arms and spoke softly. “They fear magic, and they wish us to stop speaking with our ancestors.”

Kahlan squeezed his shoulder. “That’s right. But more than that, they think it’s their duty to the spirits they worship, to kill you all. They are on a mission to destroy all who have magic, because they think magic is evil. They believe people like you have magic.” She met Chandalen’s eyes. “If they are not killed to a man, like the Jocopo, sooner or later, they will come and destroy the Mud People, just as they destroyed the city of Ebinissia.”

The three men studied the ground in thought. She waited for them to weigh her words. Chandalen at last spoke.

“And they would kill the other people, those who wish not to have outsiders come to them, to live alone, like the Mud People?”

“They would. I spoke with the men of that army. They are like crazy men. They sound as if they have been visited by evil spirits, like the Bantak did. Like the Jocopo. They will not listen to reason. They think we are the ones who listen to evil spirits. They will do as they promise. You saw the city they destroyed and the size of the army defending it; it is not an empty threat.

“I must get to Aydindril so I can raise an army to fight these men. The Councilors should already be doing that, but I must get there to make sure the extent of the threat is known, to make sure all of the Midlands joins together in this.

“But there are no forces at hand to fight these men, now, except these boys. There are cities that will be destroyed before help can arrive. Worse, the threat these men pose will convince some to join with them. Some see honor as an inconvenience and will side with the army they think will win. This will swell their ranks further.

“Before Aydindril can send troops to find and defeat these men, many will die. We must call upon these boys to join the fight now, before more innocent people are slaughtered. These boys volunteered to become fighters, like you, to protect their people, the people of all the Midlands. We must help them in this. We must not let this army of evil men escape to wander the Midlands, killing and destroying, and winning more to their side.

“We must begin the battle with these boys, help them, show them, to make sure they will know how to fight, and to know they will continue without us to lead them. We must lead them into the first battle, to give them confidence in the ways we teach them, before we can be on our way to Aydindril.”

Chandalen gave her a level look. “And you will call the lightning to help us?”

“No,” Kahlan whispered. “I tried last night, but it didn’t come. It is difficult to explain to you, but I believe that because I invoked this special magic on behalf of Richard, it will not work except to protect him. I’m sorry.”

Chandalen unfolded his arms. “Then how did you kill so many?”

Kahlan patted his arm where the bone knife was. “The same way as your grandfather taught your father, and he you. I did not do as they expected. I did not fight their way.” The two brothers leaned in intently as she spoke. “They like to drink, and when they are drunk, they don’t think so well, and they are slow.”

Tossidin pointed behind with a thumb. “These men, too, like to have drink at night. They have a wagon of it among their supplies. We would not let them have any. Some were angry. They said it was their right.”

Kahlan shook her head. “These boys also thought it would be right to march right up to an enemy who outnumbers them ten to one and have a battle in broad daylight. We must help them in this. We must teach them what to do.”

“They do not like to listen.” Prindin glanced back over his shoulder, at the men he had been trying to teach. “They wish always to argue. They say ‘this is the way it is done’ and ‘we must do it so.’ They are filled only with the way they were taught, and do not like to be told another way.”

“Yet that is what we must do,” Kahlan said. “We must lead them in the way that will work. That is why I need you three. I need you to help me in this, or many people, including, eventually, the Mud People, will die. I need your help in this. I must lead them into battle.”

Chandalen stood mute and unmoving. The two brothers pushed snow with their feet, considering. Prindin finally looked up.

“We will help. My brother and I will do as you ask.”

“Thank you, Prindin, but it is not you who must decide. Chandalen must be the one who agrees. It is for him to decide.”

The two brothers took sidelong glances at him as he stood glaring at her. At last he let out an exasperated breath.

“You are a stubborn woman. You are so stubborn you will get killed if we three are not there to bring some reason to your head. We go with you to kill these evil men.”

Kahlan sighed with relief. “Thank you, Chandalen.” She bent and took up a handful of snow, using it to scrub the dried blood from her face. “Now, I must go and tell these boys what they must do.” She shook the snow from her hands when she had finished with her face. “Did you three get any sleep last night?”

“Some,” Chandalen said.

“Good. After I speak with them, I need to get a few hours sleep. You can begin showing them how to travel without their wagons. We must teach them to be strong, like you. We will begin the killing tonight?”

Chandalen gave a grim nod. “Tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Queen Cyrilla lives.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Except you.”

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

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

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

Astonished faces stared at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She surveyed the young faces. “You have confidence in your training, your battle tactics?” The faces nodded, looking to one another, smiling their knowing confidence. Kahlan pointed to one, a sergent, by the look of his coat’s braids. “Tell me then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She folded her arms, nodding to him. “The van, the men who won the right to be the first wave, are big men. I doubt the smallest has arms less than twice the average of yours. The argons are needle sharp. Thrown by those powerful arms, they penetrate and stick in your shields. The long barbs prevent them from being withdrawn.”

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

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

Men glanced sideways at one another, their confidence shaken.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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