Faith of the Fallen by Terry Goodkind
“I figured this wasn’t going to come to any good end,” the young captain said. “Ever since Cyrilla was hurt, Prince Harold just never seemed himself. I always loved the man. It hurt me to have to desert him. But he just wasn’t making sense anymore.”
Kahlan put a comforting hand on his shoulder as they watched the body being carried away.
“I’m sorry, Bradley. Like you, I always thought highly of him. I guess seeing his sister and his queen so long held in the grip of that kind of sickness just brought him to his wits’ end. Try to keep your good memories of him.”
“I will, Mother Confessor.”
Kahlan changed the subject. “I’ll need one of your men to take a message to Cyrilla. I was going to have Harold take it, but now we’ll need a messenger.”
“I will see to it, Mother Confessor.”
She only then realized how cold it was outside, and that she didn’t have a cloak. As the captain went to get his men quartered and to pick out a man to act as a messenger, Kahlan went back inside the lodge.
Cara was putting more wood on the hearth. Verna and Adie had gone. Warren was selecting a rolled map from the basket of maps and diagrams in the corner.
As he was leaving, Kahlan caught Warren’s arm. She looked into the wizard’s blue eyes, knowing they were much older than they appeared. Richard had always said that Warren was one of the smartest people he had ever met. Besides that, Warren’s true talent was said to lie in the area of prophecy.
“Warren, are we all going to die in this mad war?”
His face softened with a shy but impish grin. “I thought you didn’t believe in prophecy, Kahlan.”
She released his arm. “I guess I don’t. Never mind.”
Cara, leaving to find some more firewood, followed Warren out. Kahlan warmed herself before the hearth as she stared at Spirit standing on the mantel. Zedd rested a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“What you had to say to Harold about using your mind, about reason, was very wise, Kahlan. You were right.”
Her fingers touched the buttery smooth walnut robes of Spirit. “It was what Richard said, when he was telling me what he had finally come to understand about what he had to do. He said the only sovereign he could allow to rule him was reason.”
“Richard said that? Those were his very words?”
Kahlan nodded as she gazed at Spirit. “He said the first law of reason is that what exists, exists; what is, is, and that from this irreducible, bedrock principle, all knowledge is built. He said that was the foundation from which life is embraced.
“He said thinking is a choice, and that wishes and whims are not facts, nor are they a means to discover them. I guess Harold proved the point. Richard said reason is our only way of grasping reality—that it’s our basic tool of survival. We are free to evade the effort of thinking—to reject reason—but we are not free to avoid the penalty of the abyss we refuse to see.”
She listened to the fire crackling at her feet as she let her gaze wander over the lines of the figure he had carved for her. When she heard nothing from Zedd, she looked over her shoulder. He was staring into the flames, a tear running down his cheek.
“Zedd, what’s wrong?”
“The boy figured it out himself.” The old wizard’s voice was the uneasy sum of loneliness and quiet pride. “He understands it—he interpreted it perfectly. He even came to it on his own, by applying it.”
“Came to what?”
“The most important rule there is, the Wizard’s Sixth Rule: the only sovereign you can allow to rule you is reason.”
Reflections of the firelight danced in his hazel eyes. “The Sixth Rule is the hub upon which all rules turn. It is not only the most important rule, but the simplest. Nonetheless, it is the one most often ignored and violated, and by far the most despised. It must be wielded in spite of the ceaseless, howling protests of the wicked.
“Misery, iniquity, and utter destruction lurk in the shadows outside its full light, where half-truths snare the faithful disciples, the deeply feeling believers, the selfless followers.
“Faith and feelings are the warm marrow of evil. Unlike reason, faith and feelings provide no boundary to limit any delusion, any whim. They are a virulent poison, giving the numbing illusion of moral sanction to every depravity ever hatched.
“Faith and feelings are the darkness to reason’s light.
“Reason is the very substance of truth itself. The glory that is life is wholly embraced through reason, through this rule. In rejecting it, in rejecting reason, one embraces death.”
By the next morning, about half of the Galean force had vanished, returning to their homeland and queen as ordered by Prince Harold before his death. The rest, like Captain Ryan and his young soldiers, remained loyal to the D’Haran Empire.
Lieutenant Leiden, the former general, and his entire force of Keltish troops had also departed by morning. He left Kahlan a letter, in it saying that with Galea choosing to break with the D’Haran Empire, he had to return to help protect Kelton, as surely the selfish actions of the Galeans meant the Order would be more likely to come up the Kern River Valley and threaten Kelton. He wrote that he hoped the Mother Confessor would realize how grave was the danger to Kelton, and understand that it was not his intention to desert her or the D’Haran Empire, but simply to help protect his people.
Kahlan knew of the men leaving; General Meiffert and Warren had come to tell her. She had expected it, and had been watching. She told General Meiffert to allow them to leave if they wished. War in their camp could come to no good end. The morale of the remaining men was boosted by a sense of being on the right side, and of doing the right thing.
That afternoon, as she was drafting an urgent letter to General Baldwin, commander of all Keltish forces, General Meiffert and Captain Ryan came to see her. After listening to their plan, she granted Captain Ryan permission to go with a like number of General Meiffert’s handpicked D’Haran special forces to conduct raids on the Imperial Order force. Warren and six Sisters were sent to accompany them.
With the Imperial Order having moved so far back to the south, Kahlan needed information on what they were doing and what shape their force was in. More than that, though, with the foul weather in their favor, she wanted to keep pressure on the enemy. Captain Bradley Ryan and his band of nearly a thousand were experienced mountain fighters and had grown up in just such harsh conditions. Kahlan had fought beside the captain and his young Galean soldiers, and had helped train them in the ways of fighting a vastly superior force. If only the enemy force did not number over a million…
General Meiffert’s special forces, which, until Kahlan had promoted him, he had ably commanded, were now led by Captain Zimmer, a young, square-jawed, bull-necked D’Haran with an infectious smile. They were everything Captain Ryan’s young men were, tripled: experienced, businesslike under stress, tireless, fearless, and coolly efficient at killing. What made most soldiers blanch made them grin.
They preferred fighting just such as this, where they were free of massive battlefield tactics and could instead use their special skills. They treasured being let off the leash to do what they did best. Rather than check them, Kahlan gave them a free hand.
Each of those D’Harans collected enemy ears.
They felt a great fidelity to Kahlan, in part because she didn’t try to rein them in and integrate them into the larger army, and, perhaps more so, because when they returned from missions, she always asked to see their strings of ears. They relished being appreciated.
Kahlan intended to later send them to collect Galean ears.
Chapter 42
Kahlan glanced over her shoulder at the Prelate bent over the map basket in the corner. It had been almost a full phase of the moon since Warren had left on the mission with captains Ryan and Zimmer. Although it was difficult to judge accurately just how long such missions would last, they should have been back by now. Kahlan knew all too well the kind of worry that had to be churning ben
“Verna,” Kahlan asked as she rubbed her arms, “on your way past, could you throw some more wood on the fire, please?”
Cara hopped down off her stool, where she was perched, watching over Kahlan’s shoulder. “I’ll do it.”
Verna pulled a map free and, on her way back to the table, thanked Cara. “Here it is, Zedd. I think this better shows the area you’re talking about.”
Zedd unfurled the new map over the top of the one already laid out on the table before Kahlan. It was a larger scale, giving a more detailed look at the southern regions of the Midlands.
“Yes,” Zedd drawled as he peered at the new map. “See here?” He tapped the Drun River. “See how narrow the lowlands are down south, through here? That’s what I was talking about. Rough country, with cliffs in places hemming the river. That’s why I don’t think they would try to go up the Drun Valley.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Verna said.
“Besides”—Kahlan waggled a finger over the area to the north on the first map—“up this way is mostly only Nicobarese. They are rather isolated, and so a tempting target, but they aren’t a wealthy land. The plunder and trade goods would be slim. The Order has much more opportunity for conquest if they stay over here. Besides, can you see how difficult it would be for them to get their army back over the Rang’Shada mountains, if they went up the Drun? Strategically, it wouldn’t make as much sense for them to go up that way.”
Verna idly twiddled with a button on her blue dress as she studied the map. “Yes… I see what you mean.”
“But your point is well taken,” Kahlan said. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea if you sent a Sister or two to watch that area; just because it doesn’t make as much logistic sense, that doesn’t mean Jagang wouldn’t try it. Come spring, he’s bound to move on us. We wouldn’t want to be surprised to find the Imperial Order storming in the back door to Aydindril.”
Cara answered the knock at the door. It was a head scout named Hayes. Kahlan stood when she saw through the open door and nearby trees that Captain Ryan was also making his way toward the lodge.
Hayes saluted with a fist to his heart.
“Glad to see you back, Corporal Hayes,” Kahlan said.
“Thank you, Mother Confessor. It’s good to be back.”
He looked like he could use a meal. After Captain Ryan rushed in through the door, Cara pushed it shut against the blowing snow. Hayes stepped to the side, out of the way of the captain.
Kahlan was relieved to see the young Galean officer. “How did everything go, Captain? How is everyone?”
He pulled off his scarf and wool hat as he caught his breath; Verna looked to be holding hers.
“Good,” the captain said. “We did well. The Sisters were able to heal some of our wounded. Some needed to be transported for a ways before the Sisters could see to them. That slowed us. We had a few losses, but not as many as we feared. Warren was a great help.”
“Where is Warren?” Zedd asked.
As if bidden by his name, Warren came in through the door, escorted by a swirling gust of snow. Kahlan squinted at the slash of bright light until the door was pushed shut once more. She caught the look on Verna’s face, and recalled how lighthearted she always felt to see Richard back safely when they had been separated. Warren casually kissed Verna on the cheek with a quick peck. Kahlan noticed the look they shared, even if no one else did. She was happy for them, but still, the reminder was like a jab at the pain of her helpless heartache and worry over Richard.
“Did you tell them?” Warren asked, unbuttoning his cloak.
“No,” Captain Ryan said. “We haven’t had a chance yet.”
Zedd’s brow drew down. “Tell us what?”
Warren heaved a sigh. “Well, Verna’s special glass worked better than we thought it had. We captured several men and questioned them at length. The ones we saw dead in the valley were only the ones who died at first.”
Verna helped Warren shed his heavy, snow-crusted cloak. She put it on the floor by the fire, where Captain Ryan had laid his brown coat to dry.
“It seems,” Warren went on, “that there were a great many—maybe another sixty, seventy thousand—who didn’t go blind, but who lost the sight in one eye, or have impaired vision. The Order couldn’t very well abandon them, because they can still see well enough to stay with the rest, but more important, it’s hoped that maybe those men will heal, and regain full use of their sight—and their ability to fight.”
“Not likely,” Verna said.
“I don’t think so, either,” Warren said, “but that’s what they are thinking, anyway. Another goodly number, maybe twenty five or thirty thousand, are sick—their eyes and noses red and horribly infected.”
Verna nodded. “The glass will do that.”
“Then some more, maybe half that number, are having breathing difficulty.”
“So,” Kahlan said, “with those killed and those injured enough to keep them from being effective fighters, that makes somewhere near one hundred fifty thousand put out of the way by the glass dust. Quite an accomplishment, Verna.”
Verna looked as pleased as Kahlan. “It was worth that horse ride scaring the wits out of me. It wouldn’t have worked had you not thought of doing it that way.”
“What kind of success did you have, Captain?” Cara asked as she came to stand behind Kahlan.
“Captain Zimmer and I had the kind of success we hoped for. I’d guess we took out maybe ten thousand in the time we were down there.”
Zedd let out a slow whistle. “Pretty heavy fighting.”
“Not really. Not the way the Mother Confessor taught us to do it, and not the way Captain Zimmer works, either. Mostly we eliminate the enemy as efficiently as possible, and try to keep from having to fight at all. If you slit a man’s throat in his sleep, you can accomplish a lot more, and you’re less likely to get hurt yourself.”
Kahlan smiled. “I’m glad you were such a good student.”
Captain Ryan lifted a thumb. “Warren and the Sisters were a great help at getting us where we needed to be without being discovered. Any word about the white cloaks, yet? We could really use them. I can tell you for a fact that they would have enabled us to do more.”
“We just got in our first load the day before yesterday,” Kahlan told him. “More than enough for your men and Captain Zimmer’s. We’ll have more within a few days.”
Captain Ryan rubbed his hands, warming his fingers. “Captain Zimmer will be pleased.”
Zedd gestured to the south. “Did you find out why they withdrew so far back over ground they’d taken?”
Warren nodded. “From the men we questioned, we found out that they have fever going through their camp. Nothing we did, just your regular fever that happens in such crowded camp conditions in the field. But they’ve lost tens of thousands of men to the fever. They wanted to withdraw to put some distance between us, give themselves some breathing room. They aren’t concerned about being able to push us out of their way when they wish.”
That made sense. With their numbers, it was only natural for them to be confident, even cavalier, about dealing with any opposition. Kahlan couldn’t understand why Warren and Captain Ryan looked so downhearted. She sensed that, despite their good news, there was something amiss.
“Dear spirits,” Kahlan said, trying to give them some cheer. “Their numbers are dwindling away like snow beside the hearth. This is better than—”
Warren held up a hand. “I asked Hayes, here, to come and give you his report firsthand. I think you had better hear him out.”
Kahlan motioned the man to come forward. He stepped smartly up to her table and snapped to attention.
“Let’s hear what you have to report, Corporal Hayes.”
His face looked chalky, and despite the cold, he was sweating.
“Mother Confessor, my scout team was down to the southeast, watching the routes in from the wilds, and watching, too in c
“They’re a big army,” Kahlan said. “They would have supplies sent from their homeland to augment what they can get as spoils. A supply column would have men guarding them.”
“I followed them for a week, just to get an accurate count.”
“How many,” Kahlan asked.
“Well over a quarter million, Mother Confessor.”
Kahlan’s flesh tingled as if icy needles were dancing over it.
“How many?” Verna asked.
“At least two hundred and fifty thousand men at arms, plus drivers and civilians with the supplies.”
Everything they had worked for, all the sacrifices, all the struggle to whittle down the Imperial Order, had just been nullified. Worse than nullified, their work had been erased, and nearly that many more had been added to the force the enemy had started with.
“Dear spirits,” Kahlan whispered, “how many men does the Old World have to throw at us?”
When she met Warren’s gaze, she knew that this number, even, was hardly surprising to him.
Warren gestured to the scout. “Hayes saw only the first group. The men we captured told us about the reinforcements. We weren’t sure they were telling us the truth—we thought they might be trying to spook us—but then we met up with Corporal Hayes, on his way back. We did some further questioning and scouting—that’s why we were delayed in returning.”
“Another quarter million…” Kahlan’s words trailed off. It all seemed so hopeless.
Warren cleared his throat. “That is just the first column of fresh troops. More are coming.”
Kahlan went to the hearth and warmed her hands as she stared into the flames. She was standing beneath the statue Richard had carved for her, to make her feel better. Kahlan wished that at that moment she could recall the defiant feeling Spirit portrayed. It felt as if she could only contemplate death.