Stone of Tears

She came to a halt, pulling her arm free. She took in all six men. “do you have any idea what it is I’m about to do? I’m about to choose sides. I am the Mother Confessor. If I choose sides, I choose sides for all the Midlands. I commit all the Midlands to war.” She met Chandalen’s eyes. “I cannot do that on the word of these men.”

Chandalen erupted in fury. “What more proof do you need! You saw what they did back at that city!”

“What I saw does not matter. I must know why. I cannot simply declare war. I must know who these men are, for whom they fight.” She had another reason to go, a more important reason, but she didn’t speak it.

They are killers!”

“You’ve killed people. Would you not want others to know the reason before they sought vengeance?”

“You foolish woman!” Prindin put a cautionary hand on Chandalen’s arm, attempting to bring a little prudence to Chandalen’s words. Chandalen angrily wrenched his arm away. “You say these men are foolish, and they have thousands. You are one! You have no chance to escape if they decide to kill you!”

“I’m the Mother Confessor. None may lay a weapon to me.”

She knew it was an absurd pretext, but she had to do this, and could think of no other justification to allay his fears. Chandalen was too angry to speak. He finally turned away with a growl. She knew that in the past he would have been angry because if she were killed he couldn’t return home; she thought that perhaps now he was genuinely afraid for her.

She didn’t like the idea either, but had no choice. She was the Mother Confessor. She had a duty to the Midlands.

“Lieutenant Hobson, please get me a horse. A white or gray if you have one.” He nodded and ran off to do as asked. “Captain, I want you to get all your men together and tell them what’s happening.”

Chandalen stood with his back to her. She stroked a hand down the white fur over his shoulder, over his father’s bone knife. “You are fighting for the Midlands now, not just the Mud People.” He let out an angry grunt. “While I’m gone, I want you three to start explaining to these men what must be done. I hope to be back before dawn.”

When she saw Hobson returning with the horse, her knees tried to buckle. Dear spirits, what had she gotten herself into?

She turned to face Captain Ryan. “If I’m… If anything…” She took a breath and started again. “If I get lost and can’t find my way back, you’re to take your orders from Chandalen. Do you understand? You’re to do as he says.”

“Yes, Mother Confessor,” he said in a quiet tone as he put his fist to his heart in salute. “May the good spirits be with you.”

“From my experience, I’ll take a fast horse instead.”

Then you have your wish,” Lieutenant Hobson said. “Nick is fast, and he’s fierce. He won’t let you down.”

The Captain cupped his hands, giving her a boost up onto the big warhorse. She looked down at the men as she gave the gray an introductory pat on his neck. Nick snorted and tossed his head. Before she lost her nerve, she pulled the big stallion around and urged him toward the slopes, toward a trail that would circle her around to come into the enemy camp from the other side.

Chapter 38

The snow-crusted trees loomed all about her in the eerie light. The moon would be down soon, but for the time being it gave the snow a luminescence that made the way easy to see. As she trotted her horse into the open valley, she was almost glad to be free of the pressing trees that could hide anyone intent on ambush. She made no attempt to conceal her approach, and the sentries saw her, but they made no move to stop a lone rider.

Ahead, the army’s camp was alive with fires, men, and noise. As large as a small city, it could be spotted easily and heard from miles away. Confident in their numbers, they feared no attack.

With the hood of her fur mantle pulled up and drawn close around her face, Kahlan walked Nick among the confusion of men, wagons, horses, mules, tents, gear, and roaring fires. She sat tall on her horse, and above the din she could almost hear her heart thumping. The strong aroma of roasting meat and woodsmoke filled the still air. The snow had been trampled and packed flat by tens of thousands of feet, both man and beast, and by wagons of every sort.

Men were gathered around fires, drinking and eating and singing. Pikes were stacked upright in circles, leaning in, with their heads all resting together in bristling cones. Lances were everywhere, sticking up from snowbanks, looking like forests of stripped saplings. Tents sprouted all about without any order to their layout.

Men roamed far and near, stumbling from one fire to another to try the food, to join in song around men with flutes, to gamble at dice, or to share the drink. Sharing the drink seemed to be what occupied most of them.