Stone of Tears by Terry Goodkind
"No. I have never heard of it taking more than a year. But I knew this assignment could last for decades."
Richard smiled to himself in triumph. He leaned back, stretching his muscles. He took a deep breath. "Now I understand."
Her eyes narrowed. "What do you understand?"
"I understand, Sister Verna, why you treat me the way you do. I understand why we are always fighting, why we are always at each other's throats. I understand why you resent me. Why you hate me."
She looked like someone waiting for the trap door to fall out from under her. "I don't hate you Richard."
He nodded, and pulled the catch on that trap door. "Yes you do. You hate me. And I don't blame you. I understand. You had to give up Jedidiah because of me."
She flinched as if a noose had just tightened around her neck. "Richard! You will not speak to me in..."
"You resent me because of that. Not because of what happened to the other two Sisters. It's because of Jedidiah. If it weren't for me, you would be with him. You would have been with him for the last twenty years. You had to give up the love of your life to go on this accursed quest to find me. They sent you. You had no choice; you had to go. It's your duty, and it cost you your love, and the children you might have had. That's what I've cost you; why you hate me."
Sister Verna sat and stared; she neither spoke nor moved. Finally, she said, "The Seeker, indeed."
"I'm sorry, Sister Verna."
"No need to be, Richard. You don't know what you are talking about." She slowly lifted the rabbit from the fire, setting it on the iron plate with the bannock. For a moment she stared off into nothing. "We had better finish eating. We must be on our way."
"Fine. But I just want you to consider, Sister, that it is not by my choice. I didn't do this to you. The Prelate did. You should either be angry with her, or if you are so devoted to your duty, to your Creator, as you claim, then you should have joy in his service. Either way, please stop blaming me."
She opened her mouth to speak, but then instead fumbled with the stopper on the waterskin, finally getting it off, and took a long drink. Drawing deep breaths when she finished, she dabbed her sleeve to her wet lips.
Her unwavering gaze locked on his. "Soon, Richard, we will be to the Palace, but first we have to pass through the land of a very dangerous people. The Sisters have an arrangement with them, to be allowed to pass. You will have to do a task for them. You will do it, or there will be great trouble."
"What will I have to do?"
"You will have to kill someone for them."
"Sister Verna, I promise you, I am not going to..."
Her index finger rose from her fist, commanding silence. "Don't you dare swing the axe this time, Richard," she whispered. "You have no idea of the consequences."
She rose to her feet. "Get the horses ready. We must be leaving."
Richard stood. "Aren't you going to have your breakfast?"
She ignored his question and stepped close to him.
"It takes two to argue, Richard. You are always angry with me, with everything I tell you. You resent me. You hate me, because you think I made you put on that collar. But I didn't, and you know it. Kahlan made you put it on. It is because of her you wear the Rada'Han. If it weren't for her, you wouldn't be with me. That's what I've cost you, and why you hate me.
"But I think you should consider, Richard, that it is not by my choice. I didn't do this to you. Kahlan did. You should either be angry with her, or if you are so devoted to her, as you claim, then have joy in carrying out her wishes. Perhaps she has valid reasons for them. Maybe she has your interests at heart. Either way, please stop blaming me."
Richard tried to swallow, but couldn't.
37
The blood-red light of day's death oozed through the bones of trees lining the spine of the next ridge. Her green eyed gaze left the well hidden places where outposts of sentries were stationed. They were too far apart, she noted, or she would not be standing unnoticed where she was. She tallied the men in rank upon rank of tents marching up the valley floor below. Five thousand would be generous, she concluded.
Horses were picketed to her left, near supply wagons all neatly lined up. To the far side of the valley latrines had been dug in the snow. Cook wagons stationed between the men and the supply wagons were packing up for the night. Colorful battle flags flew over the command tents. It was probably the most orderly army she had ever seen afield. Galeans did have a penchant for order.
"They look very nice," Chandalen said in a quiet voice, "for men about to be slaughtered." The two brothers gave nervous chuckles of agreement.
Kahlan nodded absently. That morning, they had seen the army these men were chasing. They were not neat. They were not orderly. They were not pretty. And their sentries were not stationed too far apart. Still, Chandalen and the two brothers had managed to get her close enough to see what she had wanted to see, and to take a tally.
She had guessed their numbers at fifty thousand. And that was not being generous.
She let out a long breath, its thin, white cloud drifting away in the cold air. "I have to stop this." She hiked her pack and bow up on her back. "Let's get down there."
Chandalen, Prindin, and Tossidin followed behind as she slogged down the hillside of fluffy snow. It had taken her longer than she had hoped to catch these men. A blizzard high in Jara pass had left the four of them holed up in the shelter of a wayward pine for two days. Wayward pines always reminded Kahlan of Richard, and as she had lain in her fur mantle, listening to the howl of the wind, she had dreamed of him while she slept, and while she was awake.
She was furious that she had to lose valuable time on the way to Aydindril to stop this army from their suicide pursuit of the forces that had destroyed Ebinissia, but as the Mother Confessor she couldn't allow nearly five thousand men to die to no purpose. She had to stop them before they got close to the army that had plundered Ebinissia. They were too close now. They would surely make contact by the next day.
The army sprang to alert as the four figures in white wolf-pelt mantles marched toward them. Shouts erupted, and were repeated back through the ranks. Tent flaps were flung open and men poured out. Swords were drawn, sending the ring of steel into the cold, twilight air. Men with spears came running through the snow. Men with bows took up positions, nocking arrows. A wall of several hundred men put themselves between her and the command tents. More were coming at a run, pulling on clothes, shouting to others still in their tents.
Kahlan and the three men with her came to a halt. She stood tall and still. Behind her, Chandalen, Prindin and Tossidin leaned lazily on their spears.
A man of rank tumbled out of the largest tent as he pulled on a heavy, brown coat. He made his way through the wall of men, shouting at the archers to hold their arrows. He was joined by two others of rank as he stumbled through the line of defenders. She recognized his rank as he approached. He was the Captain. The two men with him, one to each side, were lieutenants.
When he drew himself to a panting halt before her, she let the hood of her mantle drop back. Her long hair fell across the white fur.
"What is the..." The Captain's eyes went suddenly wide. He and the two lieutenants collapsed to a knee.
Every man as far as she could see fell to his knees. Every head bowed. The rustle of wool, the creek of leather and clang of steel fell silent. The three men with her cast one another glances of wonder; they had never seen the Mother Confessor greeted by anyone but Mud People before. The only sound was the slow creak of branches in the cold breeze.
"Rise, my children."
Accompanied by the renewed racket of movement, all came to their feet. The Captain stood and gave her a smart bow, from the waist. He came up with a proud smile.
"Mother Confessor, what an honor!"
Kahlan stared in disbelief at his the square jaw, his wavy light brown hair, his clear, blue eyes, his young, handsome face.
"You're a child," she whispered. She l
Her fists tightened as she shook with rage. "You're children! You're all children!"
The Captain glanced back to his men with an embarrassed expression bordering on hurt. "Mother Confessor, we are new recruits, but we are all soldiers of the Galean army."
"You are all children," she whispered. "Children!"
Silence swept over the gathered recruits. Most looked to be fifteen or sixteen years. The Captain and his two lieutenants shifted their weight and hung their heads. Some of the men couldn't help staring openly at Chandalen, Prindin and Tossidin. They had never seen anyone like them before.
Kahlan grabbed the Captain's lapels and began dragging him off. She growled to the two lieutenants. "You two come along with us." She glared over their heads. "Everyone go back to what you were doing!"
There was a rattle of swords being returned to scabbards and arrows to quivers as she dragged the Captain out of earshot of his men. When she reached the trees, she pulled him toward a log and and released him with an angry shove.
Kahlan flopped down on a snow covered log as if it were a throne. She folded her arms. Chandalen stood to her right, Prindin and Tossidin to her left. They planted the butts of their spears and waited in silence.
She gritted her teeth. "What is your name, Captain?"
He fumbled with a brass button on his open coat. "I'm Bradley Ryan." His blue eyes came up. "Captain Bradley Ryan, Mother Confessor." He quickly glanced away to the man at his right. "This is lieutenant Nolan Sloan." He pointed to the other side. This is lieutenant Flin Hobson."
"How many children do you have along with you, Captain Ryan?"
He stiffened a little. "Mother Confessor, we may be younger than you, although not by much, and you may not think highly of us, but we are soldiers. Good soldiers."
"Good soldiers." She was hardly able to keep herself from screaming at him. "If you are such good soldiers, why was I able to walk, unnoticed, through your line of sentries?" His face reddened and he made a visible effort to remained silent. "And is there a one of these good soldiers, including you three, that is beyond eighteen?" He pressed his lips tighter and shook his head. "Then I repeat, how many children do you have along with you?"
"There are four and a half thousand under my command."
"And do you know, Captain Ryan, that you are about to stumble upon a force ten times your size?"
Captain Ryan lifted an eyebrow and a little boy grin grew out of one side of his mouth. "We are not about to 'stumble' upon anyone, Mother Confessor. We are about to catch them. We've been chasing them. I think we'll have them tomorrow."
She gritted her teeth anew. "Have them? Tomorrow, if I hadn't caught up with you, young man, you and all your 'men' would die. You have no idea of the army you are about catch."
He lifted his chin. "We know what we are chasing. We have scouts, you know. I get reports."
Kahlan shot to her feet, thrusting her arm to the right and pointing. "There are fifty thousand men around that mountain!"
"Fifty two thousand, and a few hundred." He shrugged. "We're not stupid. We know what we're doing."
Her arm dropped as she glared. "Oh you do, do you? And just what were you going to do once you caught them?"
Captain Ryan smiled as he leaned in, sure that he could prove to her that he indeed did know what he was doing. "Well, they are about to come to a divergence in the pass. I'm going to send a force up there, around them, to come in from each fork. They'll think they are being attacked by a large force. We're going to drive them back this way, where we're going to be waiting for them, beyond the narrows just ahead.
"Then, we're going retreat back this way, to the narrows, then split the flank, let them in, until they have nowhere to go. The pikemen will be bunched in the narrowest place; they are called the Anvil. Archers to the sides will hold the enemy to the center. The force driving them is called the hammer." His grin widened. "We'll crush them in the middle."
He flicked his hand in a casual manner as he straightened a little. "It's a classic tactic. It's called the Hammer and Anvil."
Dumbfounded, Kahlan stared at him. "I know what it's called, young man. The Hammer and Anvil is a bold maneuver... under the right conditions. Against a force ten times your size it is beyond foolhardy. You are a badger trying to swallow an ox whole."
"We were taught that with good timing, and determination, a small force of good men, in a tight place, like this valley..."
"Good men? You think that is going to count with the spirits? Is that what your pride and presumption leads you to think!" The Captain's eyes descended to the ground. "You can't push a boulder with a stick! The only way to move them back this way is to frighten them into moving back." She thrust her arm out, pointing off toward the enemy again. "Those are experienced, battle hardened men! They have been fighting and killing for a good long time. Do you think they don't know what a Hammer and Anvil is? Do you think that just because they are the enemy they are stupid?"
"Well, no, but I think..."
She jabbed a finger at his chest as she cut him off. "Do you want me to tell you what is going to happen, Captain? You don't have enough men to push them. When you send that detachment around them, they will accommodate you and move a little, and as they do they will wing out to let your force in. That's called a Nutcracker. Guess who the nut is.
"Then they will move. For your anvil. They will be hounds roused to the scent of blood. After they have wiped out your Hammer, there will be nothing to contain them, nothing to keep their flanks from wheeling as they drive in. They have battle experience and know exactly what to do.
"They will split your pikemen and their archers, and cut them off from their supporting swordsmen. A flying wedge protected by shields will drive into those pikemen. Crescents to the sides will trap them. Their armored cavalry will come at a full charge and rake down your wings of archers, who will by then have no pikemen to blunt the charge. You will all fight bravely, but you will be outnumbered perhaps twenty to one, because you have already sacrificed part your force to be the Hammer, and they will all be dead by then.
"To fight a larger force, you must divide them, and conquer them one bit at a time. Instead, you will have done the opposite. You will have divided yourself in half for them, so they can kill half at a time. At their leisure."
The Captain stood his ground. "We can make a good show of ourselves. You don't know how good we are. We are not novices."
"Every one of those children under your command will die! Have you ever seen anyone die, Captain? Not die like an old man in bed, but in battle? You will be run through with spears, shot through the eyes with arrows. Swords will hack off arms, split open ribs. Blades will rip your bellies open and spill your guts across the cold ground.
"Faces you know, your friends, these children, will look up at you in panic as they choke on their own blood and vomit. Others will be screaming for help as your enemy moves through the wounded on the ground and eviscerates them, to make them suffer a gruesome death. The ones who surrender will be executed while your enemy dances and sings about the great battle they have just won."
Captain Ryan's head finally rose. His lieutenants still stared at the ground. "You sound like Prince Harold, Mother Confessor. He has given me close to the same speech on a number of occasions."
"Prince Harold is a smart soldier."
Captain Ryan buttoned two of the brass buttons on his dark brown wool coat. "But that doesn't change my decision. Of all our choices, the Hammer and Anvil is the best chance we have against them. I believe we can make it work. We must."
Chandalen leaned toward her and spoke in his tongue. "Mother Confessor, these men are the walking dead. We should be away from them so we do not get caught in their foolishness. They are going to die to a man."
The Captain frowned. "What'd he say?"
Kahlan leaned close
Captain Ryan looked Chandalen up and down. "What does he know about battle. He's just a savage from the wilds."
Kahlan lifted an eyebrow. "Savage? He's a pretty smart man. He speaks two languages. His, and ours." Captain Ryan swallowed. "And he has fought in battles. He has killed men. How many men have you killed, Bradley?"
He glanced to his two lieutenants. "Well, none, I guess. Look, I'm sorry, I meant no offense, but I know about war."
"And what do you know about war, child?" she whispered.
"We are all volunteers. Myself, three years ago. Almost no man here has less than one year. We have all trained hard. Prince Harold himself has worked with us, taught us tactics. We have won mock battles against him several times. We may be young but we have experience. We were sent on this expedition as a final test before our assignments. We have been afield nearly a month, practicing war games and battle tactics. We know what we are about. Just because we are young, that does not mean we can't fight. We may be young, but that also means we're strong."
Chandalen laughed. "Strong? You travel like women." He cleared his throat when Kahlan lifted an eyebrow to him. "Well, some women. You are not so strong as you think. You are soft. You have wagons to carry your needs. That makes you soft. You will die tomorrow."
Kahlan turned back to the three soldiers. "My friend is wrong. You are not going to die tomorrow."
The Captain brightened. "We're not? You believe in us, then?"
She shook her head. "You are not going to die tomorrow because I will not to allow it. I'm sending you back. You are to take your division back to your command unit. That, Captain, is an order. I'm on my way to Aydindril to take care of this. I will put a stop to that army of killers."
Captain Ryan's expression hardened. "We have no command to return to. They were wiped out in Ebinissia. That was where we were training, but we were out on maneuvers. We have the trail of the ones who did it, and we are going after them."