Stone of Tears

“Yet those left still contested for rule, and further thinned the ranks of those born with the gift. The magic, the other creatures of magic who were their charges, such as you, have been steadily stripped of their protection and fount of magic. Today there are almost none born with the gift. Magic itself is dying with them. They have had their chance to rule, just as did Darken Rahl with his magic, and they have failed. Their time, the time of wizards, is past.

“Their protection of the twilight beings is at an end, and so the age of magic is at an end. The time of man is upon us now, and there is no place in that world for the ancient, dying religion you call magic. It is time for man to take his place as inheritor of the world. The Imperial Order is upon the world, now, and if it were not them, it would be man by another name. It is time for man to rule, for magic to die.”

Kahlan felt a sudden hollowness. An unexpected tear ran down her cheek. A choking feeling of true panic clawed at her throat.

“Do you hear that, Slagle?” she whispered hoarsely. “You have magic. The ones you aid would put an end to you, too.”

He tossed the little ball of fire to his other hand, the light of its flames dancing across his grim face. “It is as it must be. Magic, chaste or foul, is the Keeper’s conduit to this world. When I have helped extinguish magic in all its forms, then I, too, must die. In that way, I will serve the people.”

Riggs gazed up to her, almost sorrowfully, as he went on.

“Our people must see the last living embodiment of that religion die. You are its symbol, the last creature of magic created by wizards. With your death, they will be filled with hope for the future, and be emboldened to extinguish all the remaining pockets of filth and perversion that are magic.

“We are the plowshare. Those lands now infested with magic will be freed of its taint, and can be resettled by pious people. Then, at last, we shall all be free of your dogmas, which have no part in the glory of the future of man.”

He straightened, taking a drink from his mug. The harshness returned to his voice. “After we finish with you, then we’ll bring Galea to heel, and the rest of the lands.” He slammed the mug down. “Until complete and total victory is ours, we demand war!”

Rage swelled in her, banishing the momentary sensation of loss and panic, swelled on behalf of all those beings, the twilight beings, who depended upon her for voice and protection.

She nodded slowly as she held the general’s gaze.

“In my capacity as Mother Confessor, the highest rank of authority in the Midlands, to whose mandate all must bow, I grant your wish.” She leaned forward and spoke in a hiss. “Let there be war. On my word and office, not one of you shall be granted quarter.”

Kahlan’s fist came up to the wizard. It was for him she had come.

Her chest heaved with wrath, and with terror at the madness of these men. She let the magic surge within her, demanding release, demanding this wizard’s death.

It was for him she had come. She must not fail. The Blood Rage screamed through her.

She called the lightning forth.

Nothing happened.

She froze for an instant in the panic of the failure of the magic. Then Riggs lunged for her leg.

Kahlan hauled back on the reins. The ferocious warhorse sprang into battle. He bellowed as he reared, kicking his front legs. Kahlan grasped his mane for dear life. A lashing hoof caught Riggs across the face, throwing him back. The thrashing hooves crashed down on the table, shattering it to splinters. Men in chairs toppled backward. Nick’s front hooves crushed the head of one of the D’Haran officers, the leg of another.

The horse spun and kicked at the men. Kahlan gave him her heels, and he leapt into a gallop as the wizard was rising to his feet. Surprised men threw themselves out of the way. She took a quick glance over her shoulder to see the wizard throwing his hands out. A ball of wizard’s fire exploded to life before him, turning in the air, awaiting command. He threw his arms out again, sending the fire on its way toward her.

The warhorse leapt over fires and men, kicking up both snow and flaming firewood. His legs caught tent lines, yanking them down. Kahlan spotted what she wanted, what she wanted more than life itself, and maneuvered the horse for it.

She could hear the wail of the wizard’s fire coming for her. She could hear the screams of men unexpectedly caught up in it. She stole another glance to see the blue and yellow ball of flame tumbling through the tents and men, growing all the time, taking a course as drunken as the wizard. Wizard’s fire had to be guided, and in his state, the wizard was having difficulty controlling what he had wrought. Were he sober, she would be dead by now.

Dear spirits, she prayed, if I’m to die, let me have time enough first to do what I must.

Kahlan reached her goal. As she galloped past, she yanked a lance from a snowbank and wheeled her horse. She dug her heels in, and Nick leapt ahead at a full gallop.