She felt as if she were still in a sleep, still in a dream. But she wasn't. There was no option.
As they stepped back, she reached out and snatched Mosle by his arm. He froze in fright for an instant, and then tried to back away.
But he had no time to escape. She was touching him now. He was hers. Her sleepiness vanished in a sucking rush as her power ignited. She gave no thought to what she was about to do; there was no choice. She was committed. She gave herself over to it.
The sounds of the camp—the jangle of tack, the grating of wooden boxes being skidded across wagon beds, the splintering of other boxes being pried opened, the squeak of wheels, the whinnies of horses, the sound of thousands of feet shuffling, men talking, the clop of hooves, the sound of steel being sharpened, the popping of wood in fires, and the sound of her own heart beating—all faded away to silence.
In the silence of her mind, the power was all. She could feel Mosle's muscles tighten under her hand. But he had no chance. He was hers.
In the silence, in the quiet, in the peace of her mind, as she had done countless times before, she released her power, her magic, into the man before her.
There was a violent jolt to the air as it slammed into him. Thunder without sound. The snow around her and Mosle billowed away in a ring, rising and tumbling, until it dissipated and settled again.
Mosle, no more who he had been, dropped to his knees in the wet snow before her. His brow wrinkled with panic that, because of the gag, he would not be able to ask her to command him. He sucked air through his nose, trying to breath with the terror he might displease her. The camp around her had fallen into stunned silence, with her the heart of all attention. Kahlan pulled the gag from his mouth.
Tears of relief flooded from his eyes. "Mistress." he whispered hoarsely. "Please, Mistress, command me. Please tell me what I can do to serve you."
In trepidation, hundreds of stunned faces around her watched. Kahlan gazed down at the man on his knees before her. She wore her Confessor's face. "It would please me, William, if you would tell me the truth of what you planned to do after you left this camp."
He beamed with joy, more tears running down his cheeks, and would have clutched at her legs in gratitude had his arms not been bound behind his back.
"Oh yes, Mistress, please let me tell you."
"Tell me then."
It all came babbling out in a rush. "I was going to the camp of those other men, the Imperial Order you called them, and I was going to ask to join them. I was going to take all my men with me so they could join too. I was going to tell them of the presence of the Galean recruits, and of your plans, so they would be pleased with us, and would let us join with them. I thought they had a better chance than you, and I didn't want to die, so I was going to join with them. I thought they would be pleased if I brought them men to add to their ranks. I thought they would be pleased with us if we could help them crush you."
He burst suddenly in sobs. "Oh please, Mistress, I'm so sorry I thought to do you harm. I wanted them to kill you. Oh please, Mistress, I'm so sorry I intended you harm. Please, Mistress, tell me how I can gain your forgiveness. I will do anything. Please command me and it will be done. Please, Mistress, what do you wish of me?"
"I wish for you to die," she whispered in the icy silence. "Right now."
William Mosle crumpled forward, against her boots, and thrashed in racking convulsions. After a few long, agonizing seconds, he was still, his last breath rattling from his lungs.
Kahlan's gaze slid over a wide-eyed Captain Ryan, to Prindin, standing behind a still ashen lieutenant Hobson. Chandalen was glaring at him, too. She spoke in his tongue.
"Prindin, I told you to make sure they were all killed. Why did you not do as I said?"
He gave a self-conscious shrug. "They were of a mind to do this. Captain Ryan told them to kill the others but to bring this one to you. I did not know this when we left, or I would have told you. They had two hundred men on foot, and another one hundred on horses. As I told you, they were of a mind to do this, and I did not think I would be able to prevent it, except by killing him myself, and then I realized they might kill me for doing it, and then I would not be able to be near you, to protect you. Besides that, I knew you were right, and I thought it would do them good to learn a lesson."
"Did any escape?"
"No. I was a little surprised at how well they did the job. They are good men. They did a hard thing, a thing they wept to do, but they did it well. None escaped them."
Kahlan let out a long breath. "I understand, Prindin. You were right to do as you did." She cast a sideways glance at Chandalen. "Chandalen will be satisfied, too." It was an order.
Prindin gave her a tight smile of relief. Her glare slid to Captain Ryan.
"Satisfied?"
He stood stiff, pale and wide-eyed. "Yes, Mother Confessor."
She swept a glance over the gathered men. "Is everyone satisfied, now?"
There came from them all an uncoordinated, mumbled chorus of "Yes, Mother Confessor."
If there had been some before who were not terrified of her, there were none now who were not. The lot of them looked as if a twig were to snap unexpectedly, they would bolt for the hills like frightened rabbits. This was probably the first time most had seen magic, and it wasn't wonderful, beautiful magic, but daunting, ugly magic.
"Mother Confessor?" Captain Ryan whispered. His arm was still held out, frozen, the knife he had offered her still in his hand. "What are you going to do to me for disobeying your orders?"
She looked to his bloodless face. "Nothing. This is your first day of being men in the war against the Order. Most of you didn't believe in the importance of what I had commanded. You have not fought in war before, and did not understand the need. I will be satisfied that you have learned something from this, and leave it at that."
Captain Ryan swallowed. "Thank you, Mother Confessor." With a shaking hand he slid his knife back in its sheath. "I grew up with him." He lifted the hand toward the body at her feet. "We lived about a mile apart, on the same road. We used to go hunting and fishing together all the time. We helped each other with chores. We always went to feast day in our best coats of the same color. We always..."
"I'm sorry, Bradley. There is nothing to ease the pain of betrayal, or loss, except time. As I told you, war is not fair. Were it not for the men of the Order making war, perhaps you would be fishing today, with your friend. Blame the Order, and avenge him, too, with all the rest."
He nodded. "Mother Confessor? What would you have done if you were wrong? What would you have done if Mosle wasn't going to the enemy."
She regarded him until his gaze rose to meet hers. "I probably would have taken that knife you offered, and killed you."
She turned from his hollow expression and put a hand on the shoulder of the the man next to him. "Lieutenant Hobson, I know you had a difficult task. Prindin tells me you did it well."
He looked near tears, but still managed to stiffen his back with pride. She noticed that his beard hadn't even started to grow in ernest yet. "Thank you, Mother Confessor."
She looked around at the hundreds of men standing about, watching. "I believe you all have work?"
As if they had just awakened, everyone began moving again, slowly at first, and then with accelerating urgency.
Hobson gave a salute of his fist to his heart and turned to other business. The men who had brought Mosle lifted his body and carried it off. Others went to Chandalen and the two brothers, asking for instructions. Captain Ryan stood alone with her, watching as everyone went about their work.
Her legs felt limp and slack, like bowstrings left out in the rain all night. For a Confessor to use her power when she was rested and alert was taxing. To use it when she was already tired was perilously exhausting. She could hardly keep herself upright.
She had been dead tired from riding all night to the enemy camp and back, to say nothing of the fight with them. She needed more sleep than
she had gotten, and using her power had cost her even the benefit of the short nap, and then some. She had used what strength she had left to do something that should have been done without her.
She thought maybe it must be the cold, and traveling in such difficult conditions, but she seemed more tired that usual lately. Maybe she could ask Prindin to make her some more tea.
"Could I speak with you for a moment, Mother Confessor?" Captain Ryan asked.
Kahlan nodded. "What is it, Captain?"
He pushed his unbuttoned wool coat open, shoving his hands in his back pockets. He glanced away to watch some men filling water skins. "I just want to say that I'm sorry. I was wrong."
"It's all right, Bradley. He was your friend. It is difficult to believe ill of a friend. I understand."
"No, that's not it. My father always told me that a man had to admit his mistakes before he could do right in this world."
He shuffled his feet and looked around, finally bringing his blue eyes to her. "The mistake I made was believing that you wanted Mosle killed because he wouldn't follow you. I thought you were being spiteful because he didn't want to follow you. I made a mistake, and I'm sorry. Sorry I thought that of you. You were trying to protect us, even though you knew we would hate you for it. Well, I don't hate you. I hope you don't hate me. I'm honored to follow you into this battle. I hope that someday I'm half as wise as you, and have the guts you do, to use that wisdom."
She gave a quiet sigh. "I am hardly older than you, yet you make me feel like an old woman. I am relieved, you understand. It is a small pleasure in all this pain. You are a fine officer, and will do right by this world."