Stone of Tears

“It will make them weak. They will be sick in their stomachs. Their heads will spin inside. Maybe, some will die in a hand of days from the poison sickness.”

Kahlan nodded. “It will be a great help.”

“But this is hardly enough for all their men,” Captain Ryan said. “Only some will drink this.”

“Some will go to the unit who plundered it, and the rest will be divided among the men of rank first, with what’s left going to the soldiers. The men of rank are the ones I’m after.”

All the top rows were unloaded, leaving only the bottom row, which the men stood up so the plugs could be removed.

“Why are six of these barrels smaller?”

They’re rum,” the captain said.

“Rum? The drink of nobility?” Kahlan smiled. The commanders will take the rum first.” She straightened from peering into one of the open casks. “Chandalen, will they be able to taste it? Will the taste give them warning, if I put more in some?”

He dipped a finger in a cask of rum, and sucked it clean. “No. This is bitter enough. Bitter things hide the taste of bandu.”

Kahlan used her knife point to divide the poison from Chandalen’s box into sixths. She swished each sixth off her knife point into the round opening in one of the smaller casks—those with the rum.

Chandalen watched what she was doing. That much, in the smaller barrels, will probably kill them by morning, the next day for sure. But now you have none for the other six.”

Kahlan handed Chandalen back his bone box with a little of the bandu left in the comers and climbed down from the dray. “six of the casks of ale will have no poison so that we can be sure the rum will kill those who drink it.” She put a knife point laden with poison from Tossidin’s box into each of the next twelve. “Mix all the barrels up. I don’t want the rum on the bottom. The commanders might not see it and take the ale instead.”

Kahlan went to the last twelve and opened Prindin’s box. She looked up. “You don’t have very much. What have you done with yours?”

Prindin looked as though he wished she hadn’t asked that question. He gestured vaguely. “When we left, I was not thinking so good. You were in a hurry, and so I forgot to see that my bandu box was full.”

Chandalen put his fists on his hips and glared down from atop the wagon. “Prindin, how many times have I said that you would forget to take your feet could you walk away without them?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kahlan said. Prindin looked relieved to have her interrupt Chandalen’s questioning. “This will make them sick. That is all that matters.”

As she was putting it in the barrels, she heard men in the distance hailing her. When she had swirled the poison into the last barrel, she looked up to see two huge draft horses trotting toward her. She frowned at seeing men riding them bareback, and calling out to her.

The two powerful draft horses looked shaggy in their thick, dun-colored winter coats, with heavy white feathering on their legs. They wore their harnesses and neck collars, but not their breeching. Several bends of chain were looped over the inside hame of each collar. The men about all stared at the odd sight.

When the horses came to a halt before her, the riders un– hooked the loops of chain and dropped them to the ground. She realized then that the horses were connected by that chain, attached to the hame hooks on their collars. She had never seen such a thing. The two riders slid to the ground.

“Mother Confessor!” Their grins made their salutes look a little silly. The both of them were gangly, with short-cropped brown hair. Neither looked as if he could be fifteen. Their wool coats were unbuttoned in the warming day, and fit them like gunnysacks on lapdogs. They both looked about to burst with excitement. They halted before getting too close, but even their fear of her couldn’t wither their breathless excitement.

“What are your names?”

“I’m Brin Jackson and this is Peter Chapman, Mother Confessor. We had an idea, and we wanted to show you. We think it’ll do the job. We’re sure it will. It’ll work some clever it sure will.”

Kahlan looked from one beaming face to the other. “What will do what job?”

Brin almost leapt with joy at being asked. He hefted the chain lying in the snow between the big horses. “This!” He lugged a wad of chain to her and held it out. “This will do it, Mother Confessor. We thought of it ourselves! Peter and me.” He dumped the heavy chain on the ground. “show her, Peter. Move “em apart.”

Peter’s head bobbed as he grinned. He sidestepped his horse until the heavy chain lifted off the snow. The sag of chain swung to and fro between the hame hooks on the collars. Kahlan and all the men with her frowned, trying to understand what the peculiar rig was for.