The two powerful draft horses looked shaggy in their thick, dun colored winter coats, with heavy white feathering on their legs. They wore their harnesses and neck collars, but not their breeching. Several bends of chain were looped over the inside hame of each collar. The men about all stared at the odd sight.
When the horses came to a halt before her, the riders unhooked the loops of chain and dropped them to the ground. She realized then that the horses were connected by that chain, attached to the hame hooks on their collars. She had never seen such a thing. The two riders slid to the ground.
"Mother Confessor!" Their grins made their salutes look a little silly. The both of them were gangly, with short cropped brown hair. Neither looked as if he could be fifteen. Their wool coats were unbuttoned in the warming day, and fit them like gunnysacks on a lap dog. They both looked about to burst with excitement. They halted before getting too close, but even their fear of her couldn't wither their breathless excitement.
"What are your names?"
"I'm Brin Jackson and this is Peter Chapman, Mother Confessor. We had an idea, and we wanted to show you. We think it'll do the job. We're sure it will. It'll work some clever it sure will."
Kahlan looked from one beaming face to the other. "What will do what job?"
Brin almost leapt with joy at being asked. He hefted the chain laying in the snow between the big horses. "This!" He lugged a wad chain to her and held it out. "This will do it, Mother Confessor. We thought of it ourselves! Peter and me." He dumped the heavy chain on the ground. "Show her, Peter. Move 'em apart."
Peter's head bobbed as he grinned. He sidestepped his horse until the heavy chain lifted off the snow. The sag of chain swung to and fro between the hame hooks on the collars. Kahlan and all the men with her frowned, trying to understand what the peculiar rig was for.
Brin pointed at the chain. "You said we were going to leave the wagons, and we surely didn't want to leave Daisy and Pip behind. Them's our horses—Daisy and Pip. We're drivers. We wanted to help, and make a good use of Daisy and Pip, so we took some of the biggest trace chains and asked Morvan, he's the blacksmith, we asked Morvan to weld a couple of 'em together for us." He nodded expectantly, as if that should explain it.
Kahlan dipped her head toward him a little. "And now that he has?"
Brin held his hands open in excitement. "You said we needed to take out their horses." He couldn't help giggling. "That's what this is for! You said we're going to attack at night. Their horses will be tethered to picket lines. We gallop Daisy and Pip down the picket line, one on each side, and the chain'll break their legs out from under 'em! We'll take out the whole line in one sweep!"
Kahlan leaned back and folded her arms. She looked to Peter. He nodded, keen on the idea, too. "Brin, having horses chained together like that, at a gallop, and dragging a chain that will be catching things, heavy things, sounds to me very dangerous."
He wilted only a little. "But it could take out their horses! We can do it! We can get them for you!"
"They have close to two thousand horses."
Peter wilted more. Brin scrunched up his face as he looked at the ground for the first time. He scratched his shoulder. "Two thousand," he finally whispered in disappointment.
Kahlan glanced to Captain Ryan. He shrugged as if to say he didn't know if it would work or not. The other men standing about rubbed their chins and shuffled their feet as they pondered the rig.
"It will never do," Kahlan said at last. Brin's shoulders slumped more. "There are too many of them for you. You will need more horses set up like this." Brin and Peter's faces came up, their eyes widening. "Since you two know how to do it, I want you to get all the draft horses and their drivers together. This will be the best use of their skill.
"Use all the equipment off the wagons or breeching you need. We'll not be taking them anyway. Have the chains made up at once, and then I want you all to practice the rest of the day. I want you to set up things to drag the chains through. Heavy thing, so the horses will be used to what you are going to do. You need to practice so each team of men and horses can work together."
Peter came and stood next to a beaming Brin. "We will, Mother Confessor! You'll see! We can do it! You can count on us!"
She gave them each a sobering look. "What you want to do is dangerous. But if you can do it, it will be a great benefit to us. It could save many of our lives. Their cavalry is deadly. Take your gear and your practice seriously. Men will be trying to kill you when you do it for real."
They put their fists to their hearts, this time holding their chins up. "We will see to it, Mother Confessor. You can count on the drivers. We won't let you down. We'll get their horses."
After receiving her nod, they turned to their horses. Heads together, whispering in excitement, they went to their task. Kahlan watched a lone rider, in the distance, galloping through the camp. He stopped to ask a group of men something. They pointed in her direction.
"They have only been with us a couple months," Captain Ryan said. "They're just boys."
Kahlan raised an eyebrow to him. "They are men, fighting for the Midlands. When I first saw you, I though of you in much the way you see them. Now, I think you look a little older to me."
He sighed. "I guess you're right. If they really can do the job, it will be a brilliant achievement."
The galloping rider approached and leapt from his horse before it came fully to a stop. He gave a perfunctory salute. "Mother Confessor." He gulped some air. "I'm Cynric, with the sentries."
"What is it Cynric?"
"You said you wanted to know about everything, so I thought I better report. We were just setting up the sentries about an hour out, between here and the army of the Order, near a road that crosses Jara pass, and a coach came up the crossroad, from the direction of Kelton. We knew you didn't want anything unusual going on, so we stopped the coach. I thought I better find out what you wanted us to do."
"Who's in the coach?"
"An old couple. Wealthy merchants of some sort, or so they claim. Something about orchards."
"What did you tell them? You didn't tell them about us, did you? You didn't tell them that we have an army out here, did you?"
He shook his head vehemently. "No, Mother Confessor. We told them that there were outlaws in the neighborhood, and that we were a small patrol out looking for them. We told them they weren't allowed to pass until I checked with my commander. I said they had to wait until I returned."
Kahlan nodded. "That's quick thinking, Cynric."
"The driver's name is Ahern. He wanted to argue with us, and thought to give his team reins, until we showed him some steel. Then the old man came flying out of the coach, accusing us of trying to rob him. He started swing his cane around at us, like he thought that would drive us off or something. Anyway, we drew arrows on him, and he decided he would get back in the coach."
"What is his name?"
Cynric shifted his weight to the other foot and scratched his eyebrow. "Robin, or Ruben, or something like that. Feisty old fellow. Ruben, I think. Ruben Rybnik, I think that's it."
Kahlan sighed as she shook her head. "They don't sound like spies. But if the Order catches them, and they know anything, they will tell it all before the D'Harans are through with them." She looked up. "What are they doing out here?"
"The old man says his wife is sick, and they are taking her to healers in Nicobarese. She didn't look well to me. Her eyes looked to be all rolled back in her head."
"Well, since they are on the road going northwest, going across Jara pass, that shouldn't take them anywhere near the Order." She pulled some of her long hair back off her face. "But before I dare let them go, I best go speak with them."
Before she could take three steps, Sergent Frost came running up behind. "Mother Confessor! The tubs of whitewash are ready. The tents are heated."
Kahlan let out a noisy breath. She looked from Sergent Frost, to sentry Cynric, to other men waiting patiently to talk with h
er or ask instructions. She let out another breath. "Look, Cynric, I don't have the hour to ride out there, and another to ride back. I'm sorry, but I just don't have the time."
He nodded. "Yes, Mother Confessor. I understand. What do you wish done?"
She steeled herself to the orders. "Kill them."
"Mother Confessor?"
"Kill them. We can't be sure of the truth of who they are, and this is too important to worry about strangers running around loose. We can't take the risk. Make it quick, so they don't suffer."
She turned away toward Sergent Frost.
"But Mother Confessor..."
She looked over her shoulder.
Cynric gathered up a length of reins. "The driver, Ahern, he has a royal pass."