Stone of Tears

He took one arm from her waist and held the gash closed as she rode right on the heels of the men at the end of the line. They were cold and fatigued. The men of the Order were not far behind. As she looked back, they came into sight. She was shocked by the numbers. They hooted and hollered.

“Run! Run or we will be caught!”

A wall of rock, with scraggly trees growing from cracks and clefts, loomed up before them. The men ran up the narrow pass as if their lives depended on it. And they did.

As they began the climb up the rift, she rang the flat of her sword three times on the rock, giving the signal.

A man ahead turned as he ran. “We’re not there yet! It’s too soon! We’ll be caught along with the enemy!”

“Then you better run faster! If we wait too long, they will get through, too!”

She rapped the rock wall three more times, the ringing sound carrying into the dark, damp air. She hoped it would work; there, of course, had been no way to perform a test. The men ahead scrambled up the trail. Nick’s hooves slipped in places on the snow-covered rock.

At first, she could only feel it, a rumbling deep in her chest, too low to hear, but too powerful not to be felt. She looked up along the mist-slicked rock that disappeared above into the dark and fog. She couldn’t see it yet, but she could feel it.

She hoped the man was wrong, that it wouldn’t be too soon. When she heard the battle cries of the men coming from behind, she knew they had no choice.

And then she could hear it: a booming roar, as if the ground itself were moving. She could hear tree trunks snapping. The thundering growl reverberated off the surrounding mountain walls. The ground vibrated.

“Run! Can’t you run any faster? Do you want to be buried alive? Run!”

She knew they were going as fast as they could, but they were on foot, and from atop her horse, it seemed painfully slow. Deadly slow.

Overhead, the rumbling roar grew louder as uncountable tons of snow crashed down toward them. She was thrilled that the men on top had been successful in starting an avalanche on command; but she was also terrified that she had given the command too soon.

A lump of wet snow slapped her face; another smacked her shoulder. Little clods rattled through the trees above them and bounced out over the edge. A cloud of fluffy snow misted her face. The roar was deafening.

A flow of thundering white sluiced over the ledge above. They drove through it, like running through a waterfall. Behind her, a tree trunk bounced on the trail, spinning out over the precipice. They just cleared the leading edge of the bulk of snow.

The men of the Imperial Order behind were not so lucky. The plunging snow, charged with timber and boulders, cascaded down with ever-gathering power. They were swept away in the tumbling white death. The fury of sound muffled the screams of men it carried away, rolling them into the pounding slide, burying them alive.

Kahlan sagged with relief. They could not be followed now. The pass was entombed.

The panting men slowed, but they couldn’t slow too much, or they would freeze. Their pace kept them warm. Their feet, she knew, despite being wrapped in white cloth for a little protection, were not warm. They had given her their best effort. They had given the Midlands their best effort. Many had given their lives.

Kahlan was so exhausted from lack of sleep, as well as the fatigue of battle, along with the emotional drain of fright, and the effort required to use her power, that she could hardly stay upright. Soon, she told herself, she could rest. Soon.

She patted the hand on her stomach. “We made it, soldier. We’re safe, now.”

“Yes, Mother Confessor,” he whispered groggily. “Mother Confessor, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I only killed seventeen. I’m sorry. I promised myself I’d get twenty. I only got seventeen,” he mumbled.

“I know heroes of battle, decorated men, who have not bested half that number in combat. You have made me proud. You have made the Midlands proud. Feel only pride, soldier.”

He mumbled something she couldn’t understand.

She patted his hand again. “You’ll be to help soon. Hold on. You’ll be fine.”

He didn’t answer. She looked behind, down the trail, and saw only white, and heard only silence. In the distant, dark mountains, a wolf yipped.

A short time later, on a high plateau, they reached the camp. The men ahead in the line were already wrapped in blankets as they shivered around fires, warming their feet. Some were pulling on their clothes under the blankets. More men threw blankets around the men coming in ahead of her and tended the wounded. Some of the wounded were groaning in pain, feeling it for the first time, now that the heady furor of combat and escape had evaporated. She began to feel a throbbing in her lip.

In the flickering light of small fires, she could see Prindin and Tossidin, some distance away, running around searching the new arrivals. When they saw her on the horse, they both sighed with relief, giving her twin smiles.