Stone of Tears

Richard walked the horses a short distance to a line of small willows at the bank of a creek and removed their bridles, replacing them with halters. His bay tossed her head, glad to have the bit out of her mouth. Richard saw it was an aggressive spade bit. Few bits were more cruelly punishing.

People who used them, it seemed to him, were people who thought horses were nothing more than beasts humans had to conquer and control. He thought maybe they should have to have a bit in their mouths to see how they liked it. Properly trained, a horse needed nothing more than a jointed snaffle. If it was properly trained, and given a little understanding, it didn’t even need a bit. He guessed some people preferred punishment to patience.

He reached up experimentally to stroke the horse’s black-tipped ear. It lifted its head firmly away from his hand. “so,” he muttered, “they like to twitch your ear, too.” He scratched and patted the horse’s neck. “I won’t do that to you, my friend.” The horse leaned against his scratching.

Richard retrieved water in a canvas bucket and let each horse have only a few swallows, as they weren’t cooled down. In one of the saddlebags, he found brushes, and took his time carefully currying each of them and then picking their hooves clean. He took longer than he needed to, because he preferred their company to the Sister’s.

After he finished, he cut a section of rind from the melon the Bantak had given him, and gave each horse a piece. Horses loved few things in life as much as a melon rind. Each showed eagerness for the treat. It was the first eagerness any of them had shown. After seeing the spade bits, he knew why.

When he decided his chest hurt too much to stand around any longer, he went over to where Sister Verna sat on a small blanket and put his own blanket on the ground opposite her. He folded his legs as he sat and pulled a piece of the flat tava bread from his pack, more for something to do than because he was hungry. She accepted his offer of a piece. He cut up the melon and put the remaining rind aside, saving it for later. Richard offered Sister Verna a piece of melon.

She looked at it coolly as he held it out. “It was given under false pretenses.”

“It was given as thanks for preventing a war.”

She took it at last, but not eagerly. “Perhaps.”

“I’ll take first watch, if you wish,” he offered.

There is no need to stand watch.”

He appraised her in the near darkness as he chewed a juicy piece of melon. “There are heart hounds in the Midlands. Other things, too. I could draw another screeling. I think a watch would be wise.”

She pulled off a piece of tava bread without looking up. “You are safe with me. There is no need for a watch.”

Her voice was flat. It wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t far from it, either. He ate in silence for a while, and then decided to try to lighten the mood. He tried to make his voice sound cheerful, even though he felt no cheer.

“I’m here, you’re here, I’m wearing the Rada’Han, how about if you start teaching me to use the gift?”

She looked up from under her eyebrows as she chewed. “There will be time enough to teach you when we reach the Palace of the Prophets.”

The air felt as if it had suddenly cooled. His anger heated. The sword’s anger tugged at him to be released. Richard put it down. As you wish.”

Sister Verna lay down on her blanket, pulling her cloak tightly around herself. “It’s cold. Build a fire.”

He put the last bite of tava bread in his mouth and waited until he had swallowed before speaking softly. Her eyes watched him.

“I’m surprised you don’t know more about magic, Sister Verna. There is a word that is magic. It can accomplish more than you might think. Maybe you have heard it before. It is the word “please.’” He rose to his feet. “I’m not cold. If you want a fire, build it yourself. I’m going to go stand watch. I told you before, I will take nothing on faith. If we are killed in the night, it won’t be without warning on my watch.”

He turned his back to her without waiting for a response. He didn’t want to hear anything she had to say. Walking off a good distance through the dry grass, he found a mound of dirt around a ground-hog hole and flopped down on top of it to watch. To think.

The moon was up. It stared down at him and cast a pale silver light upon the surrounding empty land, enough light to enable him to see without any trouble. He looked out over the deserted countryside, brooding. As much as he tried to think of other things, it did no good. He could think of only one thing: Kahlan.

He drew up his knees and wrapped his arms around them, after he had wiped some tears from his face. He wondered what she was doing, where she was, whether she would get Zedd. He wondered if she still cared for him enough to go get Zedd.

The moon moved slowly across the sky as it stared down on him. What was he going to do? He felt lost.