Stone of Tears by Terry Goodkind
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
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."
Kahlan turned back and frowned. "A what?"
"A royal pass medallion. It's a medallion that was given to him by Queen Cyrilla herself. It says he was a hero to the people of Ebinissia in the siege, and in honor of his service he is to be given unhindered pass anywhere in Galea."
"The Queen herself gave this pass?"
Cynric nodded. "I will do what you command, Mother Confessor, but with this medallion the Queen has promised him her protection."
Kahlan rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. She was so tired she could hardly focus her mind to think. "Since he has a pass given by the Queen, we must honor it." She pointed a finger to the sentry. "But you tell him that he must be clear of the area immediately. Repeat what you told him about there being outlaws in the neighborhood. Tell him that you are hunting these outlaws, and that if you catch Ahern and his coach around here again, you are ordered to assume they are in with the outlaws, and you are to execute them on the spot. The road to Nicobarese goes northeast. Tell them to keep to it and not to stop before they are a good long distance from here."
Cynric clapped a fist to his heart as she turned to take Captain Ryan's arm and lead him toward the tents with the whitewash. Behind, she heard the sentry gallop off toward the coach he had found. The other men took the hint that they were not to come, and went about other business.
She loosened the thong holding her mantle closed. The temperature had climbed above freezing, and the clouds had lowered nearly to the ground. The air felt wringing wet.
"Fog will move in by this afternoon," he observed. "This whole valley pass will be thick with it tonight." He glanced to her questioning frown. "I've lived in these mountains my whole life. When it takes a thaw like this in winter, the fog settles into the passes for at least a couple days."
Kahlan surveyed the mountain sides ascending into the gray clouds. "That will serve us well. Especially what I have in mind. It will be an aid to us in bringing terror to the enemy."
"So, are you ready to tell me what we are to paint?"
Kahlan let out a tired sigh. "We have devised a number of plans to strike targets that must be destroyed. Tonight will be our best chance of accomplishing those things, because they will be surprised. We will not have a chance of surprise like this again. After tonight, they will be expecting our next attacks."
"I understand. The men, too, know the importance of this. They will do well."
"We must also not lose sight of our intent. Our intent is to kill these men. Tonight, we will have the chance to do that perhaps as at no other time. We must take that opportunity.
"How many swordsmen do we have?"
He was silent a moment as he tallied the numbers in his head. "Nearly two thousand are swordsmen. Not quite another eight hundred archers, and the rest divided up among pikemen, lancers and cavalry among others, including the the rest of what an army needs, from drivers to fletchers to blacksmiths."
Kahlan nodded to herself. "I want you to select about a thousand swordsmen. Pick the strongest, the fiercest, the most eager for the fight."
"And what are we going to do with these men?"
"The men dressed in the uniforms of the sentries we kill will make an exploration of the enemy camp, and come back and give us the locations of our objectives. We have enough men to do the tasks we have assigned for those objectives.
"The swordsmen are for beginning our prime objective. Killing the enemy. They will first see to the enemy commanders, just in case they were not poisoned, and then after that, they will kill as many men as they can in the shortest possible time."
They came to the dozen tents set up close together in a half circle. Kahlan checked inside them all to be sure they were equipped as she had ordered. Finished checking, she stood outside the largest and faced Captain Ryan.
"So, are you going to tell me, now, what it is we are to paint?"
Kahlan nodded. "Those thousand swordsmen."
He stared, dumfounded. "We are going to paint the men? Why?"
"It is simple. D'Harans fear spirits. They fear the spirits of the foes they kill, that is why they drag the bodes of their fallen comrades away from a battle site, like Ebinissia.
"Tonight, their fears are going to come to haunt them. They are going to be attacked by the thing they fear most: spirits."
"But they will recognize us as soldiers, simply with white clothes, not as spirits."
Kahlan looked at Captain Ryan from under her eyebrows. "They will not be wearing clothes. They will have nothing but their swords, painted white, just as are they. They will remove their clothes just before the attack."
His mouth dropped open. "What?"
"I want you to get the swordsmen together, now, and assemble them here. They are to go into the tents, remove their clothes, and dip themselves in the whitewash. After dunking themselves, they will stand near the hot rocks until dry. It won't take long. Then they can put their clothes back on. Until the attack."
Captain Ryan stood in shock. "But it's winter. They will freeze without clothes."
"We have a break in the bitter cold. Besides, the cold will remind them to rush in and rush back out. I don't want them to stay in that camp very long. The enemy will recover from their shock in short order, and set upon any invader. I want our men to attack, kill terrified D'Harans, and escape.
"As I said, D'Harans fear spirits. When they see what they will at first think is their worst fear, they will be stunned. Their first thought will be to run, not to fight. Men die as easily from a sword through the back as through the front. Some will freeze in place, not knowing what to do. Even those who recognize the invaders as men painted white, and not as spirits, will be confused for a moment.
"Those few seconds of confusion, as we come upon each new group, are the seconds we need to run them through. In battle, the difference between killing, and being killed, is often a single moment of indecision.
"The swordsmen are not to engage in fights. If challenged, they are to run on to others. There are more than enough to kill; it is a mistake to waste time engaging in battle, if it can be avoided. I simply want enemy soldiers killed. After the commanders are dead, it does not matter which ones. I don't want our men fighting unless forced to; that only risks their lives needlessly.
"Rush in, kill as many men as possible, and rush out. Those are to be the orders."
Captain Ryan frowned as he considered. "I never thought I would hear myself say it, but I think it sounds like it might be an outlandishly successful tactic. The men aren't going to like it at first, but they'll follow orders. I'll explain it to them, and then I know they'll feel a little better about it.
"I've never heard of such a thing, and I'm sure the enemy hasn't either." He at last smiled a sly smile. "It's sure to surprise them, no doubt about that."
Kahlan was relieved he had come around to that much of it. "Good. I am pleased to have the enthusiasm of a Captain in the Galean army. In the Midlands army.
"Now, I want you to have my horse's saddle and tack brought here, and dipped in the whitewash. And please post some guards outside this tent, while I'm inside."
His eyes widened. "Your saddle?... You're not... Mother Confessor... You can't be serious."
"I would not ask my men to do
Captain Ryan took a step back. He was aghast. He regained the step. "But Mother Confesser... you're a woman. And not in any way an ugly woman." Seemingly involuntarily, he took a quick glance the length of her. "In fact, you are... Mother Confessor, forgive me." He fell silent.
"They are soldiers with a mission. Make your point, Captain."
His face filled with blood. "These are young men, Mother Confessor. They are... well, you can't expect... they are young men." His jaw moved as he tried to find words. "They won't be able to help themselves. Mother Confessor, please. You will be embarrassed beyond all tolerance." He winced, hoping he wouldn't have to explain further.
She gave him a small smile to try to ease his horror. "Captain, have you ever heard the legend of the Shahari?" He shook his head. "When the tribes and lands now called D'Hara were being forged together, the method of conquest and joining were much the same as it is with the Imperial Order—join with them, or be conquered. The Shahari people refused to join into D'Hara, and they refused to be conquered.
"They fought so fiercely that they came to be greatly feared by the D'Haran troops who outnumbered them many times over. The Shahari loved nothing more that fighting. They were so fearless and aroused about going into war that they went into battle naked and, well... aroused."
Kahlan looked up to see Captain Ryan staring, mouth agape. She went on. "The D'Harans all know the legend of the Shahari. They all, to this day, fear the Shahari." She cleared her throat. "If the men go into battle, and... that... happens, it will only bring greater fear to the men of the Order.
"I don't think, though, that the men need fear being embarrassed. They will have more pressing matters on their minds, like not being killed. And if it does happen, well then, they should know it pleases me because it will only strike greater fear into the hearts of our enemy."