Stone of Tears

“I’m a soldier in the Galean army!” Mosle seemed only to get more defiant. “Not a soldier in any Midlands army! I fight for Galea, not to protect lands like Kelton!” Kahlan watched as other men shouted their agreement. “This army, the Imperial Order, or whatever they call themselves, is marching toward the border. Cellion is a border city, and most of it’s on the other side of the river, in Kelton! Most of its citizens are Keltish! Why should we die for the Keltans?”

Men in the crowd were starting to argue with one another. Captain Ryan’s face was red. “Mosle, you’re a disgrace to… !”

Kahlan held a hand out to silence him. “No, soldier Mosle is only speaking as he believes, as I asked him to. You men must understand me. I’m not ordering you to do this. I’m asking you to fight for the lives of innocent people of the Midlands. Tens of thousands of your fellow soldiers have already died in this battle. I would not ask you to lay down your lives for something you do not believe in. Most who go into this war will die.

“It’s your decision to stay or not. You are not commanded to stay. But if you choose to stay, it will be under my command. I want no man with us who does not believe in what we do.

“Decide now, if you will be with us or not. If not, then you are free to go, because you will be of no help to your comrades.”

Her voice turned as cold as the thin morning air. “If you decide to go with me into this war, then you will follow the orders of your superiors. In the Midlands, there is no one to outrank me. You will follow my orders without question, or your punishment will be unsparing. Too much is at stake to have to suffer men who can’t follow orders.

“If I say you will do something, then you will do it, even if you know it’s to cost you your life, because it’s to save many more lives. I give no orders without sound reason, but I won’t always have time to explain them. Your duty is to trust in your superiors and do as you’re told.”

She held out a finger and swept it slowly over their heads. “Choose, then. With us, or not. But choose this day for all time.”

Kahlan drew her hands back inside her warm fur mantle and waited in silence while men discussed and argued among themselves. Tempers flared, and angry oaths were given. Men gathered around Mosle, and others moved away from him.

“I’m leaving, then,” Mosle called out to the others. He thrust his fist in the air. “I’ll follow no woman into battle, no matter who she is! Who’s leaving with me!”

About sixty or seventy men gathered about cheered their support for him.

“Go, then,” Kahlan commanded. “Before you become caught up in a battle you do not believe in.”

Having made their choice, Mosle and the men with him cast her glares of contempt. He swaggered forward. “We’ll leave as soon as we can get our things together. We’ll not be rushed out on your word.”

The men in the crowd pushed in. Before it came to blows Kahlan held her hand up. “stop! Let them be. They’ve made their choice. Let them get their things and be gone.”

Mosle turned and pushed his way back through the throng, his new men in tow. As they left the gathered soldiers, Kahlan carefully counted their numbers. Sixty-seven. Sixty-seven who would leave.

She looked out at all the faces. Any more? Do any more wish to leave?” No one moved a muscle. Then do all of you wish to join in this fight?” A united cheer went up. “so be it. I wish I did not have to call upon you men to do this, but there is no one else to ask. My heart weeps for those of you who will die. Know that none of those who live will ever forget the sacrifice you make for them and the people of the Midlands.”

From the corner of her eye, she watched the sixty-seven men moving among the wagons, taking the supplies they thought they would need. And now, to what must be done.”

Slowly, she shook her head. “You men must understand what it is I call upon you to do. It is no glorious battle, as you think, where you move like pieces on a game board. No tactics to outwit an opponent in a grand engagement. We will not face them in the field of battle, but kill them in every other way.”

“But Mother Confessor,” someone near the front timidly called out, “it’s the code of honor for soldiers to face one another in battle, to best him in a fair fight.”

There is nothing fair about having to fight in war. The only fair thing would be to live in peace. The purpose of war is singular: to kill.

“You must all understand this, for it’s central to your survival. There is no honor in killing, no matter the method. Dead is dead. Killing your enemy in war is done to protect the lives of those for whom you fight. Their lives are no better protected by killing your enemy sword to sword than by slaying him while he sleeps, but only put at risk by it.

There is no glory in this task. It’s an onerous deed. We do not intend to give them a chance to engage in pitched battle, to see who is the better at the game. Our chore is simply to kill them.