Stone of Tears

Savidlin came up next to her. “I go. And as many of my hunters as you wish. All of them, if you wish. We will take a hundred.”

Kahlan put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a little smile. Wo I do not wish it to be you, my friend, or your hunters. I will take only three men.” Everyone mumbled in confusion. “More would bring attention, maybe trouble. It will be easier with three to slip unnoticed. It will take less time that way.”

Kahlan took the hand away and pointed at a man who stood watching, glaring. “I choose you, Chandalen.” The two brothers were standing to his side. “And you, Prindin and Tossidin”

Chandalen stormed forward. “Me! Why would you want me!”

“Because I must not fail. I know that if I took Savidlin, he would try his hardest, but if he failed, the Mud People would know he did his best. You are a better hunter of men. Richard told me once that if he had to pick one man to fight beside him, it would be you, even though you hate him.

“Where we go, men are the danger. If I don’t make it, if you fail me, everyone will think it is because you didn’t try your hardest. They will always think you let me die—let another Mud Person die—because you hate me and Richard. If you let me be killed, you will never be welcomed back to the Mud People. Your people.”

Prindin stepped forward, his brother right next to him. “I will go. My brother, too. We will help you.”

Chandalen glared. “I will not! I will not go!”

Kahlan looked to the Bird Man. His brown eyes met hers, and then he turned an iron gaze on Chandalen. “Kahlan is a Mud Person. You are the bravest, most cunning fighter among us. It is your responsibility to protect us. All of us. You will do this. You will go with her. You will follow her orders and you will get her safely to where she wishes to go. Or, you will leave now, and never return. And Chandalen, if she is killed, don’t come back. If you do, we will kill you as we would kill any outsider with black painted on his eyes.”

Chandalen shook with rage. He threw his spear on the ground. Seething, he put fists to his hips. “If I am to leave our land there will have to be a ceremony to call the spirits to protect us on our journey It will take until tomorrow. We leave then.”

All eyes went to Kahlan. “I leave in one hour. You will be with me. You haw until then to prepare.”

Kahlan turned to the spirit house to change out of her wedding dress, into her traveling clothes, and to get her things together. She gratefully accepted Weselan’s offer to help.

Chapter 18

Fat, wet flakes of snow drifted down, sometimes falling harder, gathering in gusts and swirling into white curtains. Richard rode in a numb haze, behind Sister Verna, the third horse tethered to his and trotting along behind. When the snow swept down in dense flurries, the Sister was no more than a gray shape ahead of him.

It never occurred to him to wonder where they were going, or to close his cloak against the cold, biting wind. It didn’t matter; nothing mattered.

His thoughts seemed to float and dance with the snow, unable to settle. He had never loved anything in his life the way he loved Kahlan. She had become his life.

And she had sent him away.

He hurt too much to think of anything else. He was stunned that she would doubt his love, that she would send him away. Why would she send him away?

His mind drifted in and out of dense, desperate thoughts. He couldn’t understand how she could ask him to put on a collar to prove his love. He had told her what wearing a collar meant to him. Maybe he should have told her all of it. Maybe then she would have understood.

His chest ached where Darken Rahl had burned him. When he reached up and touched the bandage, he finally noticed that the snow flurries had stopped. The low, scudding clouds were broken in places, letting shafts of sunlight shine through. The grassland was a flat, dead brown, and the clouds a dull, dead gray. The landscape was a colorless, empty expanse.

By the angle of the sun he realized it was getting to be late afternoon. They had been riding for a long time, in silence; Sister Verna had said nothing to him.

He reached up and experimentally touched the collar for the first time. It was smooth, seamless, cold. He had said he would never wear a collar again. He had promised himself. Yet here he was wearing one. Worse, he had put it on himself, put it on because Kahlan had asked him to. Because she doubted him.

For the first time since he had put it on, he forced himself to think of something else. He couldn’t think about Kahlan anymore, couldn’t stand the pain. He was the Seeker; he had other things to think about, important things. With a gentle squeeze of his lower legs to the horse’s girth, he urged it ahead, pulling it close beside the Sister’s chestnut gelding.

Richard reached up to push back the hood of his cloak, and realized it wasn’t even up, so he ran his fingers through his wet hair instead. He looked over at Sister Verna.