Faith of the Fallen by Terry Goodkind
“Like it?” Kahlan asked.
Trembling with the cold, Holly reverently ran her frail fingers down Spirit’s arm. “Where ever did you get something so beautiful?”
“Richard carved it for me.”
Holly finally pulled her gaze from the statue and looked up at Kahlan. “I miss Richard.” Kahlan could see Holly’s breath in the motionless air of the tent. “He was always nice to me. A lot of people were mean, but Richard was always nice.”
Kahlan felt an unexpected stab of anguish. She hadn’t expected the subject to turn to Richard.
“What was it you needed, Mother Confessor?”
Kahlan turned her thoughts away from her sorrow and smiled. “I was proud of the work you did to help save us today. I promised you that you would be warm. Tonight, you will be.”
The girl’s teeth were chattering. “Really?”
Kahlan laid the Sword of Truth on the far side of the bed. She stripped off some of her heavier clothing, doused the lamp, and then sat down on the straw-filled pallet. Light from nearby campfires lent a soft glow to the tent’s walls.
“Come. Climb into bed with me. It’s going to be very cold tonight. I need you to keep me warm.”
Holly only had to consider for a second.
As Kahlan lay down on her side, she pulled Holly’s back against her stomach and then drew the sack of heated pebbles up against the girl’s front. Holly hugged the sack and moaned with the thrill of warmth. The satisfied moan made Kahlan smile.
For a long time, she smiled, enjoying the simple pleasure of seeing Holly warm and safe. Having the girl there, holding her close, helped Kahlan to forget all the terrible things she had seen that day.
Far up in the mountains, a single wolf sang out in a long, lonely call. The cry echoed through the valley, trailing off, to be renewed again and again with forlorn persistence.
With his sword at her back, Kahlan’s thoughts turned to Richard. Thinking about him, wondering where he was and if he was safe, she silently wept herself to sleep.
The next day, snow moved down from the higher mountains to rampage across the southern regions of the Midlands. The storms raged for two days. The second night of the blizzard, Kahlan shared her tent with Holly, Valery, and Helen. They sat under blankets, ate camp stew, sang songs, told stories of princes and princesses, and slept together to keep warm.
When the snowstorm finally ended in a bleak golden sunrise, most of the taller tents had snow drifted to their eaves on their downwind side. The smaller ones were completely covered over. The men dug themselves out, looking like so many woodchucks come up out of their burrows for a peek.
Over the next several weeks, the storms continued to roll past, dumping more snow. In such weather, fighting, or even moving an army very far, was difficult. Scouts reported that the Imperial Order had withdrawn a week’s march back to the south.
It would be a burden to care for blinded men. Within a days walk all around the place where the special glass had been released, the D’Haran scouts reported that they had seen well over sixty thousand frozen corpses, now drifted over with the snow—blind men unable to care for themselves in the harsh conditions. The Imperial Order had probably abandoned them to their fate. A few dozen of the blind had managed to make it over the pass, looking for help, begging for mercy. Kahlan had ordered them executed.
It was hard telling the exact number blinded by Verna’s special glass; it could be that there were many who did in fact retreat with the Imperial Order, brought along to perform menial tasks. It was likely, though, that the corpses reported by the scouts were the bulk of those blinded. Kahlan could imagine that Jagang might not want them in his camp, using food and supplies, reminding his men of their stinging retreat.
She knew, though, that for Jagang retreat was but a momentary setback and not a reappraisal of his objectives. The Order had men enough to shrug off the loss of the hundred thousand killed since the fighting had started. For the time being, the weather prevented Jagang from striking back.
Kahlan didn’t intend to sit and wait for him. A month later, when the representative from Herjborgue arrived, she met with him immediately in the small trappers’ lodge they had found up in the trees to the west side of the valley. The lodge sat under the protection of towering, ancient pines, away from the open areas where the tents were congregated. The lodge had become Kahlan’s frequent quarters, and often also served as their command center.
It greatly relieved General Meiffert when Kahlan would stay in the lodge, rather than a tent. It made him feel as if the army was doing something about providing better accommodations for the Mother Confessor—the wife of Lord Rahl. Kahlan and Cara did appreciate the nights they slept in the lodge, but Kahlan didn’t want anyone to think she wasn’t up to the conditions the rest of them had to endure. Sometimes, she would instead have the girls sleep in the lodge along with some of the Sisters, and sometimes she insisted Verna sleep there with Holly, Valery, and Helen. It didn’t take a great deal of effort to persuade the Prelate.
Kahlan greeted Representative Theriault from the land of Herjborgue, inviting him into the cozy lodge. He was accompanied by a small guard unit, who waited outside. Herjborgue was a small country. Their contribution to the war effort was in the area of their only product: wool. Kahlan had need of the man.
After Representative Theriault knelt before the Mother Confessor, receiving the traditional greeting, he at last stood and pushed his heavy hood back on his shoulders. He broke into a broad grin.
“Mother Confessor, so good to see you well.”
She returned a sincere smile. “And you, Representative Theriault. Here, come over by the fire and warm yourself.”
By the stone fireplace, he pulled off his gloves and held his hands before the crackling flames. He glanced to the gleaming hilt of the sword sticking up behind her shoulder. His eye was caught by Spirit standing proudly on the mantel. He stared in wonder, as did everyone who saw the proud figure.
“We heard about Lord Rahl being captured,” he finally said. “Has there been any word?”
Kahlan shook her head. “We know they haven’t harmed him, but that’s about all. I know my husband; he’s resourceful. I expect he will find a way to get back to help us.”
The man nodded, his brow furrowed as he listened earnestly.
Cara, standing beside the table, reminded of her Lord Rahl by Kahlan’s words, idly rolled her Agiel in her fingers. Kahlan could tell by the look in Cara’s blue eyes, and by the way she casually let the weapon dangle once more by the small gold chain around her wrist, that the Agiel, being linked to the living Lord Rahl, still possessed its power. As long as it worked, they knew Richard was alive. That was all they knew.
The man opened his heavy traveling cloak. “How goes the war? Everyone anxiously awaits word.”
“As near as we can figure, we’ve managed to kill over a hundred thousand of their troops.”
The man gasped. Such numbers were staggering to someone from a place as small as his homeland of Herjborgue.
“Then, they must be defeated. Have they run back to the Old World?”
Rather than meet his gaze, Kahlan stared at the logs checkering in the wavering glow of the flames. “I’m afraid that losing that many men is hardly crippling to the Imperial Order. We’re taking their numbers down, but they have an army of well over ten times that many. They remain a threat, a week’s march to the south of here.”
Kahlan looked up to see him staring at her. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he was having difficulty trying to imagine that many people. His wind-reddened face had paled considerably.
“Dear spirits…” he whispered. “We’ve heard rumors, but to learn they are true…” With a despondent look, he shook his head. “How is it ever going to be possible to defeat a foe of that size?”
“Seems that I remember, a number of years back, you were in Aydindril to see the Council and you had a bit of trouble after a grand dinner. That big man from Kelton?
Representative Theriault’s eyes sparkled as he smiled.
“Puny.”
“Puny. That was it. I guess he felt that because he was twice your size, that made him your better. I recall men clearing off a table, and the two of you arm wrestling.”
“Ah, well, I was younger back then, and I had a few glasses of wine with dinner, besides.”
“You won.”
He laughed softly. “Not by strength. He was cocky. I was clever, perhaps, and quick—that’s all.”
“You won; that was the result. Those hundred thousand Order troops aren’t any less dead because they outnumbered us.”
The smile left his lips. “Point taken. I guess the Imperial Order ought to quit now, while they have men left. I recall how those five thousand Galean recruits you led went after that force of fifty thousand, and eliminated them.” He leaned an arm on the rough-hewn mantel. “Anyway, I see your point. When you are facing superior strength, you must use your wits.”
“I need your help,” Kahlan told the man.
His big brown eyes reflected the firelight as they turned toward her. “Anything, Mother Confessor. If it be in my power to do, anything.”
Kahlan bent and shoved another log onto the fire. Sparks swirled around before ascending the chimney.
“We need wool cloaks—hooded cloaks—for the men.”
He considered only briefly. “Just tell me the numbers, and I will see to it. I’m sure it can be arranged.”
“I’ll need at least a hundred thousand—our entire force down here at present. We’re expecting more men any time, so if you could add half again that number, it would go a long way to helping destroy the Order.”
As he went through mental calculations, Kahlan used the poker to set the new log to the back of the fire. “I know I’m not asking for something easy.”
He scratched his scalp through his thick gray hair. “You’ve no need of hearing how difficult it will be, that won’t help you win, so let me just say that you will have them.”
Representative Theriault’s word was a pledge as sound as gold, and as valuable. She stood and faced him.
“And I want them made from bleached wool.”
He lifted an eyebrow in curiosity. “Bleached wool?”
“We need to be clever, as you can understand. The Imperial Order comes from far to the south. Richard was down there, once, and told me about how the weather is very different than it is up here, in the New World. Their winters are nothing like we have. If I don’t miss my bet, the Order is not familiar with winter, nor is it used to surviving, much less fighting, in such weather. Winter conditions may be difficult, but this puts it to our advantage.”
Kahlan made a fist before him. “I want to harry them mercilessly. I want to use the winter weather to make them suffer. I want to draw them out—make them have to fight—in conditions they don’t understand as well as we do.
“I want the hooded cloaks to help disguise our men. I want to be able to use the conditions to get in close on raids, and then disappear right before their eyes.”
“They don’t have gifted?”
“Yes, but they’re not going to have a sorceress telling every archer where to aim his arrow.”
He stroked his chin. “Yes, I see your point.” He slapped the mantel as if to seal his promise. “I’ll have our people begin at once. Your men will need warm mittens, too.”
Kahlan smiled appreciatively. “They will be grateful. Have your people start sending the cloaks down to us as soon as they have some made. Don’t wait for them all. We can start our raids with any number and add to them as you deliver more.”
Representative Theriault pulled his hood up and fastened his heavy wool cloak. “Winter has just set in. The more time you have to whittle them down while you have the advantage of weather, the better. I had best be on my way at once.”
Kahlan clasped arms with the man—not something the Mother Confessor typically did, but something anyone else might do in sincere appreciation of aid.
As she and Cara stood outside the door, watching the representative and his guards trudging off through the snow, Kahlan hoped the supply of white cloaks would start arriving soon, and that they would be as effective as she hoped.
“Do you really think we can press the war effectively in winter?” Cara asked.
Kahlan turned back to the door. “We have to.”
Before she went back inside, Kahlan caught sight of a procession coming up through the trees. When they were a little closer, she saw that it was General Meiffert, on foot, leading. She was able to pick out Adie, Verna, Warren, and Zedd, all walking along beside four riders. The midday sun sparkled off the hilt of the lead rider’s sword.
Kahlan gasped when she saw who it was.
Without bothering to go back inside to get her cloak or fur mantle, she raced down through the snow to great him. Cara was right on Kahlan’s heels.
“Harold!” she called out as she got closer. “Oh, Harold! Are we ever glad to see you!”
It was her half brother, come from Galea. Kahlan then saw some of the other men riding behind him, and gasped again in surprise. Captain Bradley Ryan, commander of the Galean recruits she had fought with was there, and his lieutenant, Flin Hobson. She thought she recognized Sergeant Frost, in the rear. Her face hurt from grinning as she ran up to them through the deep snow.
Kahlan wanted to pull her half brother off his horse and hug him. In a Galean field-officer uniform, far more muted than their dress uniform, he looked grand on his well-bred mount. She only now fully realized how worried she had been over his late arrival.
Carrying himself like the prince he was, Harold tipped his head to her as he bowed in his saddle. He offered only a small, private smile.
“Mother Confessor. I’m gratified to find you well.”
Captain Ryan was grinning, even if Prince Harold wasn’t. Kahlan had fond memories of Bradley and Flin, of their bravery, courage, and heart. The fighting had been horrifying, but the company of those fine soldiers, fine young men all, was a cherished memory. They had done the impossible before, and had come to help do it again.
Standing beside his horse, Kahlan reached up for Harold’s hand. “Come inside. We’ve a good fire going.” She motioned to the captain, the lieutenant, and the sergeant. “You, too. Come inside and get warm.”
Kahlan turned to the others, who didn’t look nearly as happy as Kahlan thought they should. “We’ll all fit. Come inside.”
Prince Harold stepped down out of the stirrup. “Mother Confessor, I—”
Kahlan couldn’t resist. She threw her arms around her half brother. He was a big bear of a man, much like their father, King Wyborn. “Harold, I’m so relieved to see you. How’s Cyrilla?”
Cyrilla, Harold’s sister and Kahlan’s half sister, was a dozen years older than Kahlan. Cyrilla had been ill for ages, it seemed. When she had been captured by the Order she had been thrown into the pit with a gang of murderers and rapists. Harold had rescued her, but the abuse she suffered had left her in an incoherent state, oblivious of those around her. She regained her senses only infrequently. When she came awake, she more often than not screamed and cried uncontrollably. One of the times when she was lucid, she had asked Kahlan to promise to be the queen of Galea and keep her people safe.
Harold, wishing to remain commander of the Galean army, refused the crown. Kahlan reluctantly had acceded to his wish.
Harold’s eyes shifted to the others, briefly. “Mother Confessor, we need to have a talk.”
Chapter 41
At Prince Harold’s instructions, Captain Ryan and his two men went to see to their troops and horses while the rest of them crowded into the small trapper’s lodge. Zedd and Warren sat on a bench made of a board laid atop two log rounds. Verna and Adie sat against the opposite wall on another bench. Cara gazed out the
“So,” she began, fearing the worst, “how is Cyrilla?”
Harold smoothed the front of his coat. “The queen has…recovered.”
“Queen…?” Kahlan rose out of her chair. “Cyrilla has recovered? Harold, that’s wonderful news. And she has at last taken her crown back? Even better!”
Kahlan was delighted to be relieved of the role of queen to Galea. As Mother Confessor, it was an awkward duty better served by Cyrilla. More than that, though, she was relieved to learn that her half sister had finally recovered. While the two of them were never close, they shared a mutual respect.
More than her cheer at Cyrilla’s recovery, though, Kahlan felt a sense of deliverance that Harold had at last brought his troops down to join with them. She hoped he had been able to raise the hundred thousand they had previously discussed; it would be a good beginning for the army Kahlan needed to raise.
Harold licked his weather-cracked lips. By the slump in his shoulders, she was sure that the task of collecting his army had been trying, and the journey arduous. She had never seen his face looking so worn. He had a vague, empty look that reminded her of her father.
Kahlan smiled exuberantly, determined to show her appreciation. “How many troops did you bring? We could certainly use the whole hundred thousand. That would just about double what we have down here so far. The spirits know we need them.”
No one was saying anything. As she looked from one person to the next, no one would meet her gaze.
Kahlan’s sense of relief was sloughing away.
“Harold, how many troops did you bring?”
He ran his meaty fingers back through his long, thick, dark hair. “About a thousand.”