Stone of Tears

Even the drunken enemy turned from the white spirits to stare at the ghastly spectacle. It was the last thing they saw. Men stumbled from their tents, to watch without understanding what it was that was occurring before their eyes. Others wandered aimlessly, mugs in hand, as if at a fair, drunkenly looking from one sight to another. There were so many, some had to wait a bit for their turn to die.

Some were not drunk and saw not spirits but men painted white. They saw an attack, and understood well-honed blades coming for them. A pocket of fierce counterattack was surrounded and broken, but not without cost. Kahlan rallied her men and drove her wedge of white steel deeper into the heart of the enemy’s camp.

She saw two men on huge draft horses—she couldn’t see who they were—having cut down all the horses they could find, take to charging down a line of tents, reaping havoc as well as helpless men. The chain caught something as solid as bedrock. It whipped the horses around into a brutal collision. The riders went down. Men with swords and axes swarmed over them.

A man with sword to hand, and sober, she was alarmed to note, appeared suddenly next to her leg. He looked up with a fierce glare. His sharp eyes made her feel suddenly nothing more than a naked woman sitting on a horse.

He took all of her in. “What the…”

A foot of steel erupted from his breastbone, driving a grunt from his lungs.

“Mother Confessor!” The naked man behind yanked his sword free and pointed with it. “The command tents are over there!”

A movement to the other side caught her attention. With a backhanded swing, she caught the side of a stumbling drunk’s neck.

“Let’s go! To the command tents! Now!”

Her men abandoned the enemy they were decimating to follow her as she jumped Nick over men and fires and crumpled wagons. As they followed, they didn’t stop to slaughter the confused, panicked, and drunken D’Harans everywhere, but cut down those they could if it didn’t slow their pace. Where necessary, they engaged the sporadic resistance.

The large command tents were surrounded by her white Galeans. They held a small group of about fifteen men at swordpoint. Before them lay a neat row of at least thirty bodies on their backs in the snow.

Others of her men were throwing battle standards and flags atop a large pile already smoldering and burning in the fire. Empty casks lay scattered in the snow. When their army had come under attack, the commanders had issued no orders. The army of the Imperial Order was without benefit of direction.

Lieutenant Sloan pointed with his sword to the line of bodies. These officers were already dead. The poison did its work. These others were still alive, although not in the best of health. They were all lying about in their tents. We could hardly get them up. They asked us for rum, if you can believe it. We’ve held them, like you said.”

Kahlan surveyed the faces of the bodies in the snow. She didn’t see what she wanted. She looked to the faces of the captured officers. He wasn’t there either.

She directed her Confessor’s face to a Keltish officer at the end of the line. “Where’s Riggs?”

He glared at her, and then spat. Kahlan lifted her gaze to the man holding him. She drew her finger across her throat. He didn’t hesitate. The officer went down in a heap.

She looked to the next officer. “Where’s Riggs?”

His eyes darted about. “I don’t know!”

Kahlan drew her finger across her throat. As he went down, she looked to the next man, a D’Haran commander.

“Where’s Riggs?”

His eyes were wide, but not at the two bleeding bodies beside him. His horror was for her. A spirit before him. He wet his lips.

“He was hurt; by the Mother Confessor. I mean, by you. Before.” His voice trembled. “When you were… alive.”

“Where is he!”

He winced, shaking his head vigorously. “I don’t know, great spirit! He was hurt, his face was cut by the horse. He is being tended to by the surgeons. I don’t know where their tents are.”

“Who knows where the surgeon’s tents are?”

Most trembled and shuddered as they shook their heads. Kahlan stepped her horse down the line of officers. She stopped before one she knew.

“General Karsh. I am very pleased to see you again. Where’s Riggs!”

“Wouldn’t tell you if I knew.” He grinned as he leered up at her. “You look better naked than I fancied. Why are you whoring with this lot? We could do you better than these boys.”

The man holding him twisted his arm until he cried out. “show respect for the Mother Confessor, you Keltish pig!”

“Respect! For a whore holding a sword? Never!”

Kahlan leaned toward him. These “boys” have you under their blades. Every one is a better man than you, I would say.

“You wanted war, Karsh. You have your wish. You have war, now. A real war, not a slaughter of women and children, but a war led by me—the Mother Confessor. A woman. War without quarter.”