Stone of Tears

  "Just as the Mother Confessor is the final arbiter of truth through her magic, she is also the final arbiter of power. The word of the Mother Confessor is law."

  "So it is you who tells all the kings and queens, all the lands, what to do?"

  She took one of his hands and held it. "I, and most of the Mother Confessors before me, let the Central Council decide for themselves what they wish, how they want the Midlands ruled. But when they fail to come to agreement, or to a just agreement, it is to the disadvantage of those not represented. Only then do I step in and tell them how it shall be."

  "And they always do as you say?"

  "Always."

  "Why?"

  She took a deep breath. "Well, they know that if they don't bow to the Mother Confessor's leadership, they will be alone and vulnerable to any stronger neighbor who craves power. There would be war until the strongest among them crushed all the rest, as Darken Rahl's father, Panis Rahl, did in D'Hara. They know that ultimately it is in their own interest to have an independent Council leader, who sides with no land."

  "But it's not in the best interest of the strongest. Something other than a good heart or common sense must keep the strongest of these lands in line."

  She nodded with a smile. "You understand the games of power well. You are right. They know that if they were bold enough to allow their ambitions a free rein, I, or any of the Confessors, could take their ruler with our magic. But there is more. The wizards back the Mother Confessor."

  "I thought wizards didn't want anything to do with power."

  "They don't, exactly. The threat of their intervention makes it unnecessary. Wizards call it the paradox of power: if you have power, and are ready, able, and willing to use it, you don't need to exercise your power. The Lands know that if they don't work together, and use the impartial leadership of the Mother Confessor, then the wizards are always in the background, ready to teach the disadvantages of being unreasonable or greedy.

  "The whole thing is a very complex, interwoven relationship, but what it all comes down to is that I rule the Central Council, and if I'm not there to do so, the weak, the defenseless, and the peaceful will eventually be overrun, and the rest will be drawn into a war until all but the strongest are crushed."

  Richard sank back to contemplate this with a slight frown on his face. She watched the firelight play on his features. She could feel what he was thinking about: he was remembering the way she had, with only a gesture of her hand, demanded Queen Milena fall to her knees, kiss the Mother Confessor's hand, and swear loyalty. She wished she hadn't had to show him the power she wielded, and how much she was feared, but what she had done had been necessary. Some defer only to power. When necessary, a leader had to show that power, or be cut down.

  When he looked up at last, his face held a serious cast. "There is going to be trouble. The wizards are all dead; they killed themselves before they sent you looking for Zedd. The threat backing the Mother Confessor is gone. The other Confessors are all dead, killed by Darken Rahl. You are the last. You have no allies. There is no one to take your place if anything happens to you. Zedd told us to meet him in Aydindril, he must know this too.

  "From what I have seen of powerful people, from councilors in my homeland, even my own brother, to queens here, to Darken Rahl, they will view you as a lone obstacle in their way. If the Midlands is to be kept from being torn apart, the Mother Confessor must rule, and you are going to need help. You and I both must serve the truth. I am going to help you."

  He gave her a sly smile. "If those Councilors were afraid to plot against the Mother Confessor, or give her trouble, because of the wizards, wait until they meet the Seeker."

  Kahlan touched her fingers to his face. "You are a rare person, Richard Cypher. You are with the most powerful person in the Midlands. Yet you make me feel as if I am riding your coattails to greatness."

  "I am nothing more than the one who loves you with all my heart. That is the only greatness I wish to live up to." Richard sighed. "It seemed a lot simpler when it was just you and me all by ourselves in the woods, and I cooked you dinner on a stick over an open fire." He gave her a sidelong glance. "You are still going to let me cook you dinner, aren't you, Mother Confessor?"

  "I don't think Mistress Sanderholt would like that. She doesn't like anyone in her kitchens."

  "You have a cook?"

  "Well, I've never seen her cook anything, come to think of it. Mostly she just whisks all about, ruling her domain with a wooden spoon she wields like a scepter, tasting food and scolding cooks, assistants, and scullions. She is the head cook.

  "She frets something awful when I come down to the kitchens to cook. Mistress Sanderholt begs me to take up another interest. She says I scare her people. She says they shake for the rest of the day whenever I come to the kitchens and ask for pots. So I try not to do it too often. But I do so like to cook."

  Kahlan smiled at the memory of Mistress Sanderholt. It was long months since she had been home.

  "Cooks," Richard muttered to himself. "I've never had anyone cook for me. I always cooked for myself." His smile returned. "Well, I guess this Mistress Sanderholt will be able to make a little room for me if I want to cook you something special."

  "I would wager that you will soon have her doing whatever it is you wish."

  He squeezed her hand. "Will you promise me one thing? Promise me that one day you will let me take you back to Westland and show you some of the beautiful places in the Hartland woods, places that only I know of. I've dreamed of taking you to them."

  "I would like that," Kahlan whispered.

  Richard leaned forward to kiss her. Before his lips touched hers, before his arms could embrace her, he winced in pain. His head sagged forward against her shoulder as he moaned. Kahlan clasped him to her in fear, then laid him back down as he clamped his arms to his head, unable to breathe. Panic gripped her. He pulled his knees up to his chest as he rolled onto his side.

  She braced her hand on his shoulder as she leaned over him. "I'm going to get Nissel. I'll go fast as I can."

  He could only nod as he shook.

  Kahlan ran to the door, pushing it open, out into the still night. She could see her ragged breaths in the frigid air as she pushed the door closed. Her eyes flicked over the short wall. Moonlight washed the top of it with a silver cast.

  The chickens were gone.

  A dark shape hunched, still, behind the wall.

  It moved a little in the moonlight and there was a quick flash of shiny, golden eyes.

  7

  The dark thing rose up, claws rasping over the top of the short wall. It laughed a low cackle that sent goose bumps up her arms to the base of her neck. Kahlan froze. Breath caught in her throat. The form was a black void in the pale moonlight. After the brief flash, the eyes had vanished into a pool of night.

  Her mind raced, trying to fit what she knew with what she was seeing. She wanted to run, but didn't know which way. Toward Richard, or away?

  Though she couldn't see the eyes, she could feel them, like cold death. The tiniest of sounds rose from her throat. With a howling laugh, the dark shape leaped to the top of the wall.

  The heavy door crashed open behind her, banging against the wall of the spirit house. At the same time, she heard the distinctive ring of the Sword of Truth being drawn in anger. The black head snapped toward Richard, the eyes flashing golden again in the moonlight. Richard reached out, snatching her by the arm, and tossed her back through the doorway. As the door rebounded from hitting the wall, he kicked it shut behind himself.

  From beyond the door, Kahlan heard a howling laugh, and then there was a crash against the door. She came to her feet, pulling her knife. Through the door she could hear the sword tip whistle, and bodies thudding against the wall of the spirit house. She could hear the screaming howls of laughter.

  Kahlan threw her shoulder against the door and rolled out into the night. As she sprang to her feet she saw a small, dark form hurtling toward
her. She slashed with her knife and missed.

  It came again, but before it was on her, Richard kicked it, slamming it back against the short wall. In the moonlight the Sword of Truth flashed toward the shadow. The blade caught only the wall. A shower of mud brick fragments and plaster exploded into the air. The thing howled in laughter.

  Richard snatched her back just as the dark shape flew past. She caught it with her blade, ripping through something hard—bone hard. A claw flashed past her face, the sword following, missing.

  She could hear Richard panting as he searched the darkness. The shadow came out of nowhere and knocked him to the ground. Dark forms tumbled across the dirt. She couldn't tell which was Richard and which the attacker. Claws flung dirt into the air as it flailed at him.

  With a grunt, Richard heaved it over the wall. Instantly it sprang to the top, and stood there, eyes flashing golden in the moonlight, cackling that awful laugh as the two of them backed away. It fell silent as it watched them walking backwards.

  The air was suddenly alive with the zip of arrows. Within the space of a heartbeat, a dozen thudded into the black body. Not one missed. A breath later an equal number followed. The thing panted in laughter. It stood on the wall looking like a black pincushion.

  Kahlan's jaw dropped as she saw it snap off a handful of arrows that stuck out of its chest. The thing snarled a cackling laugh at them, then blinked as it watched them backing away. She couldn't understand why it just stood there. Another flight of arrows thudded into the black body. It paid no attention, but dropped from the wall to the ground.

  A dark figure ran forward, spear in hand. From the shadow of the wall, the thing sprang at the runner. The hunter let the spear fly. With impossible speed, the black form ducked to the side and with its teeth snatched the spear from the air. Laughing, it bit the shaft in half. The hunter who had thrown it backed away and the thing seemed to lose interest, turning to again watch her and Richard.

  "What in the world is it doing?" Richard whispered. "Why did it stop? Why is it just watching us?"

  With a cold shock, she knew.

  "It's a screeling," Kahlan whispered more to herself than to him. "Oh dear spirits protect us, it's a screeling."

  She and Richard were clutching each other's shirtsleeve as they walked backward, watching the screeling.

  "Get away!" she yelled at the hunters. "Walk! Don't run!"

  They answered with another useless flight of arrows.

  "This way," Richard said. "Between the buildings, where it's dark."

  "Richard, that thing can see better in the dark than we can see in the light. It's from the underworld."

  He kept his eyes on the screeling standing in the open, in the moonlight. "I'm listening. What else can we do?"

  She shook her head. "I don't know. But don't run, and don't stand still. That attracts its attention. I think the only way to kill it may be to hack it apart."

  He looked over to her, his eyes angry in the moonlight. "What do you think I've been trying to do?"

  Kahlan looked around at the small passageway they were entering. "Maybe we should go through here after all. Maybe it will stay there and we can get away. If not, at least we can lead it away from the others."

  The screeling watched them backing away, and then started loping after them, panting a wicked laugh.

  "Nothing is ever easy," Richard muttered.

  They backed through the narrow passageway of smooth, plastered walls, the screeling following. Kahlan could see the dark knot of hunters following it in; could feel the pounding of her heart.

  "I wanted you to stay in the spirit house. Why didn't you stay there where you were safe?"

  She recognized the tone of rage from the sword's magic. Her hand holding his shirtsleeve felt wet and warm. She looked over and saw blood running down his arm, over her hand. "Because I love you, you big ox. And don't you dare do anything like that again."

  "If we get out of this alive, I'm going to put you over my knee."

  They kept backing down the twisting passageway. "If we get out of this alive, I will let you. What happened to your headache?"

  Richard shook his head. "I don't know. One second I could hardly breathe, and the next, it was gone. As soon as it was gone, I could feel that thing on the other side of the door, and I heard it make that awful laugh."

  "Maybe you just thought you could sense it because you heard it."

  "I don't know. That could be. But it was the strangest feeling."

  She pulled him by his shirtsleeve down a side passage. It was darker. Moonlight fell high up on a wall to their left. With a start, she saw the dark shape of the screeling skittering across the moonlit wall, like some huge, black bug. Kahlan had to force herself to draw a breath.

  "How can it do that?" Richard whispered.

  She had no answer. Behind them, torches appeared. Hunters were closing in around them, trying to bottle up the attacker.

  Richard looked around. "If these people try to get this thing, its going to kill the lot of them." They stepped into a moonlit intersection of passageways. "Kahlan, I can't let that happen." He looked to his right, down toward a group of hunters coming with torches. "Go to those men. Get behind them."

  "Richard, I'm not leaving..."

  He shoved her. "Do as I say! Now!"

  His tone made her jump. Involuntarily, she backed away. Richard stood still in the moonlight, holding the sword in both hands, the tip resting on the ground. He looked up at the screeling hanging on the wall. It howled a laugh, as if suddenly recognizing the figure standing before it.

  The screeling let go with its claws, dropping straight down, landing in the darkness with a thud.

  Kahlan could see the angry set of Richard's jaw as he watched the blur racing toward him, kicking up a cloud of dust. The sword's tip stayed on the ground.

  This can't be happening, she thought, it just can't. Not when everything is finally right. This thing could kill him. It could really kill him. It could be the end of everything. The thought stopped her breath. Her Confessor's blood-rage roared to the surface. Her flesh tingled.

  The screeling sprang into the air toward Richard. The sword tip snapped upward, impaling the dark, flailing form. She could see a good foot and a half of steel sticking from its back, glinting in the moonlight. The screeling again howled its terrible laughter. It clawed at the sword, pulling itself up by the blade toward Richard. It severed some of its own clawed fingers as it clutched at the blade, thrashing ahead. Richard gave the sword a mighty swing. The screeling slid off, slamming against the wall.

  Without pause it sprang for him again. Already Richard was swinging the sword. Kahlan felt a rush of panicked anger. Without even realizing what she was doing, she had her arm up, her fist toward the thing trying to kill Richard, the man she loved; the only man she would ever love.

  The screeling was nearly upon him, the sword completing its swing. Kahlan felt the power surge through her in a choking rush. She released it. Eerie blue light exploded from her fist, rending the night with a blinding flash of blue daylight.

  The sword and the bolt of blue lightning hit the screeling at the same time. The screeling burst apart in a shower of bloodless, black pieces. Kahlan had seen the Sword of Truth do the same thing to living flesh. She didn't know if it was the sword or the blue lightning that had done it this time.

  The crack of thunder from the bolt left her ears ringing in the sudden silence.

  She ran to Richard and threw her arms around him as he hunched, panting. "Are you all right?"

  He hugged her with his free hand, nodding. She held him for a long minute as shouting hunters with torches circled around them. Richard slid the sword back into its scabbard. In the torchlight, she could see a ragged gash on his upper arm. She tore off a strip of his shirtsleeve and tied it around the bleeding wound.

  She looked around at the hunters, all of whom held either nocked arrows or spears. "Is everyone safe?"

  Chandalen stepped into the torc
hlight and spoke to Kahlan. "I knew you would bring trouble."

  She peered hard at his face, then merely thanked him and his men for trying to help.

  "Kahlan, what was that thing? And what in the world did you do?" Richard was slumping.

  She slipped her arm around his waist. "I think it's called a screeling. And I'm not entirely sure what I did."

  "A screeling? What is a..."

  His hands came to the sides of his head as his eyes winced shut. He sank to his knees. Kahlan wasn't able to hold his weight. Savidlin was there and reached for him, but before he could get an arm around him, Richard fell forward on his face. He cried out in the dirt.

  "Savidlin, help me get him back to the spirit house, and send someone for Nissel. Please, tell them to hurry."

  Savidlin shouted for one of his men to run for the healer. He and some of the others lifted Richard. Leaning on his spear, Chandalen only watched.

  A torchlit procession wound its way back to the spirit house. Savidlin and the men carrying Richard went inside with Kahlan. They laid Richard in front of the fire, lowering his head to the blanket. Savidlin sent his men out, but stayed with her.

  Kahlan knelt next to Richard. With trembling hands, she felt his forehead. He was ice cold and drenched in sweat. He appeared to be nearly unconscious. She bit her lip and tried not to cry.

  "Nissel will make him well," Savidlin said. "You will see. She is a good healer. She will know what to do."

  Kahlan could only nod. Richard mumbled incoherently as his head twisted about, as if seeking some position that brought no pain.

  They sat in silence until Savidlin asked, "Mother Confessor, what was that you did? How did you make lightning?"

  "I'm not sure how I did it. But it is part of the Confessor's magic. It is called the Con Dar."

  Savidlin studied her a moment as he squatted on his feet with his sinewy arms wrapped around his knees. "I never knew a Confessor could call down lightning."

  She glanced over. "I have known for only a few days myself."