Blood of the Fold

Richard rubbed his temples. He had a headache from lack of sleep. "Don't you understand? This isn't about conquering lands and taking things from others; this is about fighting oppression."

The general rested a boot on the gilded rung of a chair and hooked a thumb behind his wide belt. "I don't see much difference. From my experience, the Master Rahl always thinks he knows best, and always wants to rule the world. You are your father's son. War is war. Reasons make no difference to us; we fight because we are told to, same as those on the other side. Reasons mean little to a man swinging his sword, trying to keep his head."

Richard slammed a fist to the desk. Gratch's glowing green eyes became alert. In his peripheral vision, Richard could see red leather move protectively closer.

"The men who went after the butchers of Ebinissia had a reason! That reason, and not plunder, was what sustained them and gave them the strength they needed in order to prevail. They were a detachment of five thousand Galean recruits who had never before been in battle, and yet they defeated General Riggs and his army of over fifty thousand men."

General Reibisch's heavy brow drew together. "Recruits? Surely you're mistaken, Lord Rahl. I knew Riggs; he was an experienced soldier. Those were battle-hardened troops. I've received reports from the sights of those battles; they are grisly in the detail of what happened to those men as they tried to fight their way out of the mountains. They could only have been annihilated in such a fashion by an overwhelming force."

"Then I guess Riggs wasn't as experienced a soldier as he needed to be. While you have secondhand reports, I heard the story from an unimpeachable source who was there to see it done. Five thousand men, boys, really, came upon Ebinissia after Riggs and his men were finished butchering the women and children. Those recruits pursued Riggs, and took his army down. When it was finished, less than a thousand of those young men were left standing, but not Riggs nor a single one of his force was left alive."

Richard left unsaid that without Kahlan there to teach them what needed to be done, and lead them into the first battles, directing them in the forge of combat, those recruits probably would have been ground into carrion within a day. At the same time he knew it was their commitment to see the job done that gave them the courage to listen to her, and to go up against impossible odds.

"That is the power of motivation, General. That is what men can do when they have a powerful reason, a righteous cause."

A sour expression puckered his scarred face. "D'Harans have been fighting most of their lives, and know what they're about. War is about killing; you kill them before they can kill you, that's all. Whoever wins is the one who was right.

"Reasons are the spoils of victory. When you've destroyed the enemy, then your leaders write down the reasons in books, and give moving speeches about them. If you've done your job, then there aren't any of the enemy left to dispute your leader's reasons. At least not until the next war."

Richard raked his fingers through his hair. What was he doing? What did he think he could accomplish if those fighting on his own side didn't believe in what he was trying to do?

Overhead, across the plastered ceiling of the dome, the painted figure of Magda Searus, the first Mother Confessor, Kahlan had told him, and her wizard, Merritt, looked down on him. In disapproval, it seemed.

"General, what I was trying to do tonight, talking to those people, was about trying to stop the killing. I'm trying to make it possible for peace and freedom to have a chance to take root for good.

"I know it sounds a paradox, but don't you see? If we behave with honor, then all those lands with integrity, who want peace and freedom, will join us. When they see we fight to stop the fighting, and not simply to conquer and dominate, or for plunder, they will be on our side, and the forces of peace will be invincible.

"For now, the aggressor makes the rules, and our only choice is to fight or submit, but…"

He sighed in frustration as he thumped his head back against the chair. He closed his eyes; he couldn't bear to meet the gaze of the wizard Merritt overhead. Menitt looked as if he were about to launch into a lecture on the folly of presumption.

He had just publicly declared his intention to rule the world, and for reasons his own followers thought were empty talk. He was suddenly beginning to feel hopelessly foolish. He was just a woods guide turned Seeker, not a ruler. Just because he had the gift he was starting to think he could make a difference. Gift. He didn't even know how to use his gift.

How could he be so arrogant as to think this would work? He was so tired he couldn't think straight. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept.