"No. I have never heard of it taking more than a year. But I knew this assignment could last for decades."
Richard smiled to himself in triumph. He leaned back, stretching his muscles. He took a deep breath. "Now I understand."
Her eyes narrowed. "What do you understand?"
"I understand, Sister Verna, why you treat me the way you do. I understand why we are always fighting, why we are always at each other's throats. I understand why you resent me. Why you hate me."
She looked like someone waiting for the trap door to fall out from under her. "I don't hate you Richard."
He nodded, and pulled the catch on that trap door. "Yes you do. You hate me. And I don't blame you. I understand. You had to give up Jedidiah because of me."
She flinched as if a noose had just tightened around her neck. "Richard! You will not speak to me in..."
"You resent me because of that. Not because of what happened to the other two Sisters. It's because of Jedidiah. If it weren't for me, you would be with him. You would have been with him for the last twenty years. You had to give up the love of your life to go on this accursed quest to find me. They sent you. You had no choice; you had to go. It's your duty, and it cost you your love, and the children you might have had. That's what I've cost you; why you hate me."
Sister Verna sat and stared; she neither spoke nor moved. Finally, she said, "The Seeker, indeed."
"I'm sorry, Sister Verna."
"No need to be, Richard. You don't know what you are talking about." She slowly lifted the rabbit from the fire, setting it on the iron plate with the bannock. For a moment she stared off into nothing. "We had better finish eating. We must be on our way."
"Fine. But I just want you to consider, Sister, that it is not by my choice. I didn't do this to you. The Prelate did. You should either be angry with her, or if you are so devoted to your duty, to your Creator, as you claim, then you should have joy in his service. Either way, please stop blaming me."
She opened her mouth to speak, but then instead fumbled with the stopper on the waterskin, finally getting it off, and took a long drink. Drawing deep breaths when she finished, she dabbed her sleeve to her wet lips.
Her unwavering gaze locked on his. "Soon, Richard, we will be to the Palace, but first we have to pass through the land of a very dangerous people. The Sisters have an arrangement with them, to be allowed to pass. You will have to do a task for them. You will do it, or there will be great trouble."
"What will I have to do?"
"You will have to kill someone for them."
"Sister Verna, I promise you, I am not going to..."
Her index finger rose from her fist, commanding silence. "Don't you dare swing the axe this time, Richard," she whispered. "You have no idea of the consequences."
She rose to her feet. "Get the horses ready. We must be leaving."
Richard stood. "Aren't you going to have your breakfast?"
She ignored his question and stepped close to him.
"It takes two to argue, Richard. You are always angry with me, with everything I tell you. You resent me. You hate me, because you think I made you put on that collar. But I didn't, and you know it. Kahlan made you put it on. It is because of her you wear the Rada'Han. If it weren't for her, you wouldn't be with me. That's what I've cost you, and why you hate me.
"But I think you should consider, Richard, that it is not by my choice. I didn't do this to you. Kahlan did. You should either be angry with her, or if you are so devoted to her, as you claim, then have joy in carrying out her wishes. Perhaps she has valid reasons for them. Maybe she has your interests at heart. Either way, please stop blaming me."
Richard tried to swallow, but couldn't.
37
The blood-red light of day's death oozed through the bones of trees lining the spine of the next ridge. Her green eyed gaze left the well hidden places where outposts of sentries were stationed. They were too far apart, she noted, or she would not be standing unnoticed where she was. She tallied the men in rank upon rank of tents marching up the valley floor below. Five thousand would be generous, she concluded.
Horses were picketed to her left, near supply wagons all neatly lined up. To the far side of the valley latrines had been dug in the snow. Cook wagons stationed between the men and the supply wagons were packing up for the night. Colorful battle flags flew over the command tents. It was probably the most orderly army she had ever seen afield. Galeans did have a penchant for order.
"They look very nice," Chandalen said in a quiet voice, "for men about to be slaughtered." The two brothers gave nervous chuckles of agreement.
Kahlan nodded absently. That morning, they had seen the army these men were chasing. They were not neat. They were not orderly. They were not pretty. And their sentries were not stationed too far apart. Still, Chandalen and the two brothers had managed to get her close enough to see what she had wanted to see, and to take a tally.
She had guessed their numbers at fifty thousand. And that was not being generous.
She let out a long breath, its thin, white cloud drifting away in the cold air. "I have to stop this." She hiked her pack and bow up on her back. "Let's get down there."
Chandalen, Prindin, and Tossidin followed behind as she slogged down the hillside of fluffy snow. It had taken her longer than she had hoped to catch these men. A blizzard high in Jara pass had left the four of them holed up in the shelter of a wayward pine for two days. Wayward pines always reminded Kahlan of Richard, and as she had lain in her fur mantle, listening to the howl of the wind, she had dreamed of him while she slept, and while she was awake.
She was furious that she had to lose valuable time on the way to Aydindril to stop this army from their suicide pursuit of the forces that had destroyed Ebinissia, but as the Mother Confessor she couldn't allow nearly five thousand men to die to no purpose. She had to stop them before they got close to the army that had plundered Ebinissia. They were too close now. They would surely make contact by the next day.
The army sprang to alert as the four figures in white wolf-pelt mantles marched toward them. Shouts erupted, and were repeated back through the ranks. Tent flaps were flung open and men poured out. Swords were drawn, sending the ring of steel into the cold, twilight air. Men with spears came running through the snow. Men with bows took up positions, nocking arrows. A wall of several hundred men put themselves between her and the command tents. More were coming at a run, pulling on clothes, shouting to others still in their tents.
Kahlan and the three men with her came to a halt. She stood tall and still. Behind her, Chandalen, Prindin and Tossidin leaned lazily on their spears.
A man of rank tumbled out of the largest tent as he pulled on a heavy, brown coat. He made his way through the wall of men, shouting at the archers to hold their arrows. He was joined by two others of rank as he stumbled through the line of defenders. She recognized his rank as he approached. He was the Captain. The two men with him, one to each side, were lieutenants.
When he drew himself to a panting halt before her, she let the hood of her mantle drop back. Her long hair fell across the white fur.
"What is the..." The Captain's eyes went suddenly wide. He and the two lieutenants collapsed to a knee.
Every man as far as she could see fell to his knees. Every head bowed. The rustle of wool, the creek of leather and clang of steel fell silent. The three men with her cast one another glances of wonder; they had never seen the Mother Confessor greeted by anyone but Mud People before. The only sound was the slow creak of branches in the cold breeze.
"Rise, my children."
Accompanied by the renewed racket of movement, all came to their feet. The Captain stood and gave her a smart bow, from the waist. He came up with a proud smile.
"Mother Confessor, what an honor!"
Kahlan stared in disbelief at his the square jaw, his wavy light brown hair, his clear, blue eyes, his young, handsome face.
"You're a child," she whispered. She l
ooked around to the hundreds, the thousands, of young, bright eyes all fixed on her. She blinked at them. She could feel the blood going to her face.
Her fists tightened as she shook with rage. "You're children! You're all children!"
The Captain glanced back to his men with an embarrassed expression bordering on hurt. "Mother Confessor, we are new recruits, but we are all soldiers of the Galean army."
"You are all children," she whispered. "Children!"
Silence swept over the gathered recruits. Most looked to be fifteen or sixteen years. The Captain and his two lieutenants shifted their weight and hung their heads. Some of the men couldn't help staring openly at Chandalen, Prindin and Tossidin. They had never seen anyone like them before.