CONFESSOR

 CHAPTER 1

 For the second time that day, a woman stabbed Richard.
Jolted fully awake by the shock of pain, he instantly seized her bony wrist, preventing her from
ripping open his thigh. A dingy dress, buttoned all the way up to her throat, covered her gaunt
figure. In the dim light of distant campfires Richard saw that the square of cloth draped over her
head and knotted under her angular jaw looked to be made out of a scrap of frayed burlap.
Despite her frail frame, her sunken cheeks, her stooped back, she had the glare of a predator. The
woman who had stabbed him earlier that night had been heavier, and stronger. Her eyes, too, had
burned with hate.
The slender blade this woman wielded was smaller as well. While it made a painful puncture
wound, had she sliced across his thigh muscle, as she'd apparently intended by the way she was
holding the knife, it would have been far worse. The army of the Imperial Order did not bother to
care for slaves with crippling injuries; they would simply have put him to death.
That had probably been her plan in the first place.
Gritting his teeth with awakened rage as he held the struggling woman's wrist in a viselike grip,
Richard twisted her arm as he lifted her white-knuckled fist in order to withdraw the blade from
his leg. A drop of blood dripped from the tip.
He easily muscled her under his control. She was not the powerful killer he had at first feared.
Her desire, her intent, her lust, however, were just as vicious as that of any of the invading horde
she followed. As she grunted in pain, vapor from each panting breath rose into the cold night air.
Richard knew that to be gentle would only give her another opportunity to finish the job.
Surprise had provided her with an opening; he would not foolishly grant her a second chance.
Still firmly holding her wrist, he wrenched the knife from her grasp.
He didn't let up the pressure on her arm until he had possession of the blade.
He could have broken her arm, and she deserved no less, but he didn't-this was not the time or
place to create a disturbance. He merely wanted her away from him. Once he'd disarmed her, he
shoved her back.


As soon as she stumbled to a halt, she spat at him. "You'll never beat the team of the great and glorious Emperor Jagang. You are dogs-all of you! All of you from up here in theNew World are heathen dogs!" Richard glared at her, watching to make sure she didn't pull another knife and renew the attack. He checked to the sides for an accomplice. Although there were soldiers not far away, just beyond the small enclosure of supply wagons, they were preoccupied with their own business. There didn't appear to be anyone with the woman. When she started to spit at him again, Richard lunged at her. She gasped in fright as she flinched back. Having lost courage for the business of stabbing a man when he was awake and able to defend himself, she cast him one last hateful glare, then turned and escaped into the night. Richard had known that the length of heavy chain attached to the collar around his neck wasn't long enough to allow him to get to her, but she hadn't known that and so the threat had been convincing enough to scare her off. Even in the middle of the night the vast army encampment into which she had vanished was ceaselessly busy. Like some great, churning beast it swallowed her up. While many of the soldiers were sleeping, others seemed always to be at work repairing gear, making weapons, cooking, eating, or engaged in drinking and raucous stories around fires as they passed the time waiting for their next opportunity at murder, rape, and plunder. All night long, it seemed, there were men testing their strength against one another, sometimes with muscle, sometimes with knives. Small crowds gathered from time to time to watch such contests and to bet on the outcome. Patrolling guards looking for any signs of serious trouble, soldiers looking for entertainment, and camp followers looking for a handout prowled the encampment throughout the night. Occasionally men wandered by to size up Richard and his fellow captives. Between gaps in the wagons Richard could see some of the camp followers, hoping to earn food or even a small coin, going from group to group offering to play a flute and sing for the men. Others offered to shave soldiers, wash and care for their clothes, or tattoo their flesh. A number of the shadowy figures, after brief negotiations, disappeared into tents with the men. Others wandered the camp looking to steal. And a few of those out in the night were intent on murder. In the center of it all, in a prison island created out of a ring of supply wagons, Richard lay chained with other captive men brought in to play in the Ja'La dh Jin tournaments. Most of his team was made up of regular Imperial Order troops, but they were off sleeping in their own tents.

 Hardly a city ruled by the Order was without a Ja'La team. As children these soldiers had played it almost from the time they could walk. They all expected that after the war was over Ja'La would endure for them. To many of the soldiers of the Order, Ja'La dh Jin-the Game of Life-was itself a matter of life and death, nearly equal to the cause of the Order. Even to a scrawny old woman who followed her emperor to war and lived off the scraps of his conquest, murder was an acceptable means of helping her favored team to victory. Having a winning Ja'La team was a source of great pride for an army division, just as it was for any city. Commander Karg, the officer responsible for Richard's team, was also intent on winning. A winning team could bring far more tangible benefits to those directly involved than mere glory. Those who ran the top teams became powerful men. Winning Ja'La players became heroes rewarded with riches of every sort, including legions of women eager to be with them. At night Richard was chained to the wagons that held the cages that had transported him and the other captives, but in the games they had played along the way he was the point man for their team, trusted to carry Commander Karg's ambitions to glory in the tournaments at Emperor Jagang's main encampment. Richard's life depended on how well he did his job. So far he had rewarded Commander Karg's faith in him. Richard's choice from the first had been to either join Commander Karg's effort, or be executed in the most gruesome manner possible. Richard, though, had had other reasons for "volunteering." Those reasons were far more important to him than anything else. He glanced over and saw that Johnrock, chained to the same transport wagon, lay on his back sound asleep. The man, a miller by trade, was built like an oak tree. Unlike the point men of other teams, Richard insisted on endless practice whenever they were not on the move. Not everyone on his team liked it, but they followed his instructions. Even in their cage as they had traveled to the Imperial Order's main force, Richard and Johnrock analyzed how they could have done better, devised and memorized codes for plays, and did endless push-ups and other exercises to build their strength. Exhaustion had apparently overcome the noise and confusion of camp, and Johnrock was sleeping as peacefully as a baby, unaware that their reputation had brought people out into the night who wanted to end their team's chances before they reached the tournaments.

 As tired as Richard was, he had only been dozing from time to time. He found himself having difficulty sleeping. Something was wrong, something not connected to all the myriad troubles swirling around him. It was not even anything to do with the immediate worldly dangers of being a captive. This was something different, something inside him, something deep within him. In a way it reminded him a little of the times he'd been sick with a fever, but that wasn't really it, either. No matter how carefully he tried to analyze it, the nature of the feeling remained elusive. He was so confused by the inexplicable sensation that he was left with nothing so much as an aching feeling of restless foreboding. Besides that, he was too preoccupied thinking about Kahlan to be able to sleep. Held captive by Emperor Jagang himself, she was not all that far away. Sometimes when he'd been alone with Nicci, late in the night sitting before a fire, she had stared into those flames and confided in him how Jagang had brutalized her. Those stories gnawed at Richard's insides. He couldn't see the emperor's compound, but as they had rolled in through the sprawling encampment earlier that day he had seen the impressive command tents. To find himself looking into Kahlan's green eyes after all this time, even if for only a fleeting moment, had filled him with joy and relief. He had at long last found her, and she was alive. He had to find a way to get her out. Reasonably sure that the latest woman to have stabbed him was no longer lurking in the shadows for another attempt, Richard finally pulled his hand away to inspect the wound. It wasn't as bad as it might have been. If he had been sound asleep, like Johnrock, it might have gone much worse. He guessed that perhaps the odd feeling that had been keeping him awake had actually served him well. As much as the wound in his leg stung, it wasn't serious. Holding his hand tightly over it had stopped the bleeding. The wound from earlier that night was also painful, but it, too, wasn't anywhere as bad as it might have been. His shoulder blade had caught the tip of the woman's knife and thwarted her attempt at murder. Death had visited him twice that night and gone away empty-handed. Richard remembered the old saying that trouble sired three children. He hoped not to meet the third child.

 He had just rolled onto his side to try again to get some sleep when he saw a shadow slipping up
among the wagons. The stride appeared deliberate, though, rather than stealthy. Richard sat up as
Commander Karg came to a halt over him.
In the dim light Richard could plainly see the tattooed scales covering the right side of the man's
face. Without the leather shoulder plates and breastplates that the commander usually wore, or
even a shirt, Richard could see that the pattern of scales ran down over his shoulder and covered
part of his chest as well. The tattoo made him look reptilian. Among themselves, Richard and
Johnrock referred to the commander as "Snake-face." The name fit in more ways than one.
"What do you think you're doing, Ruben?"
Ruben Rybnik was the name Johnrock-and everyone else on the team-knew Richard by. It was
the name Richard had given when he'd been taken prisoner. If there was one place that his real
name would surely get him killed, Richard now sat right in the middle of it.
"Trying to get some sleep."
"You have no business trying to force a woman to lie with you." Commander Karg pointed an
accusatory finger. "She came to me and told me all about what you tried to do to her."
Richard's brow lifted. "Did she, now."
"I told you before, if you beat the emperor's team-if you beat them- then you will get your choice
of a woman. But in the meantime you get no favors. I won't tolerate anyone disobeying my
orders-least of all the likes of you."
"I don't know what she told you, Commander, but she came here with the intent of killing me.
She wanted to make sure that the emperor's team wouldn't lose to us."
The commander squatted down, resting his forearm on his knee as he peered at the point man for
his Ja'La team. He looked ready to murder Richard himself.
"A poor lie, Ruben."
The knife that only a short time ago he'd taken away from the woman was in Richard's hand,
pressed up along the inside of his wrist. At this distance he could have gutted the commander
before the man knew what had happened.
But this was not the time or place. It wouldn't help Richard get Kahlan back.
Without taking his gaze off the commander's eyes, Richard spun the knife through his fingers
and caught the point between his first finger and^ thumb. It felt good to have a blade in his hand,
any blade, even one this small. He held the handle of the knife out toward the commander.


"This is why my leg was bleeding. She stabbed me with it. Where else do you think I could get a knife?" The significance-and the danger-of a knife being in Richard's possession was not lost on the man. He glanced at the wound on Richard's thigh and then took the knife. "If you want us to win this tournament," Richard said with deliberate care, "then I need to get some rest. I would rest a lot easier if there were guards posted. If one skinny old woman, who probably has a bet on the emperor's team, kills me while I'm asleep, then your team will be without a point man and has no chance to win." "Think a lot of yourself, don't you, Ruben?" "You think a lot of me, Commander, or you would have killed me long ago back in Tamarang after I killed dozens of your men." With his tattooed scales faintly lit by campfires, the commander looked like a snake considering a meal. "It would appear that being point man is dangerous not just on the Ja'La field." He finally rose up over Richard. "I'll post a guard. Just keep in mind that a lot of people don't think you're so good-after all, you've already lost one game for us." They had lost that game because Richard had tried to protect one of his men, a captive namedYork , whose leg had just been broken in a concentrated charge by the opposing team. He had been a valuable man, a good player, and therefore targeted. The way the Order played Ja'La, the rules allowed such things. With a badly broken legYork had suddenly become useless as a player, and as a slave. After he had been carried from the field, Commander Karg had unceremoniously cut the man's throat. For protecting the downed player rather than continuing play by taking the broc upheld toward the opposing goal, the referee had penalized their team by banning Richard from the rest of the game. They had lost as a result. "The emperor's team lost a game, too, as I hear tell," Richard said. "His Excellency had that team put to death. His new team was created from the best men in all of theOld World ." Richard shrugged. "We lose players for various reasons, too, and they get replaced. Any number have been hurt and can't play. Not long ago one of our men broke a leg. You did no less than the emperor did with his losers.

 "As I see it, the details of who used to be on his team don't matter all that much. We've each lost a game. That makes us even. That's all that really matters. We come into this contest on equal footing. They're no better than us." The commander arched an eyebrow. "You think you are their equal?" Richard didn't shrink away from the man's glare. "I am going to win us the chance to play the emperor's team, Commander, and then we will see what happens." A sly smile curved into the scales. "Hoping for your choice of a woman, Ruben?" Richard nodded without returning the smile. "As a matter of fact I am." Commander Karg had no idea that Richard already knew the woman he wanted. He wanted Kahlan. He wanted her more than life itself. He intended to do whatever was necessary to get his wife away from the nightmare of captivity by Jagang and his Sisters of the Dark. Staring down at Richard, Commander Karg finally conceded with a sigh. "I'll tell the guards that their lives depend on no one getting at my team while they sleep." After the commander had vanished into the night, Richard lay back, at last letting his aching muscles relax. He watched guards in the distance rushing to set up a tight perimeter around the captive members of the team. The realization of what could be lost to nothing more than a conniving camp follower had spurred Commander Karg to action. At least the attack had served the purpose of making it possible for Richard to get the rest he needed. It wasn't easy sleeping when anyone who wanted to could sneak up and cut your throat. Now, at least, he was temporarily safe, even if it had been necessary to surrender the knife. He still had the other one, though, the one he'd taken from the first woman. It was tucked away in his boot. Richard curled into a ball on the bare ground in an effort to stay warm as he tried to go to sleep. The ground had long ago lost any heat from the previous day. Without a bedroll or blanket, he was forced to bunch up the slack in the chain to make a pillow of sorts. The next sunrise was not far off. Out on the Azrith Plain it wasn't going to be getting warmer any time soon. Dawn would bring the first day of winter. The noise of the camp droned on. He was so tired. Thinking about Kahlan, about the first time he'd met her, about how it had lifted his heart to at last see her alive again, about how happy it made him to look into her beautiful green eyes, finally allowed sleep to gently quiet his mind and take him.


  

 CHAPTER 2

 It was a soft, otherworldly sound, like a doorway into the world of the dead opening, that woke
Richard from a deep sleep.
He looked up and saw a figure in a hooded cloak looming over him. Something about its bearing,
its very presence, made the hair on the backs of his arms stand on end.
This was no timid, frail woman. Something in the demeanor told him that this was not even a
knife-wielding attacker.
This was something far worse.
Richard knew without doubt that this was the third child of trouble and it had just found him.
He sat up and scooted back a little, gaining some precious distance. Somehow, Commander
Karg's guards had failed to stop the intruder. He glanced their way and saw them casually
walking their patrol. As closely spaced as they were, Richard didn't see how anyone could have
gotten through their perimeter, yet this latest visitor had managed it.
The hooded figure glided closer.
The cleansing has begun.
Startled, Richard blinked. The eerie voice echoed in his mind, but he wasn't at all sure that he
had actually heard it. The words just seemed to be there, in his head.
He carefully slipped two fingers down into his boot, groping for the wooden handle of the knife.
When he found it, he started drawing it out.
The cleansing has begun, the figure said again.
It wasn't like a real voice. It was neither male nor female. The words didn't seem to have been
spoken aloud, as by a voice, but rather sounded like a thousand whispers joined together. The
words seemed like they had come from another world. Richard couldn't imagine how anything
dead could speak, but the words didn't sound at all as if they had come from anything living.
He feared to imagine just what it was that stood before him.
"Who are you?" he asked, stalling for time while he appraised the situation.
A quick glance to each side revealed no one else in plain sight; as far as he could tell the visitor
had come alone. The guards were facing the other way. They were watching for anyone who
might try to get at the sleeping captives; they weren't looking inside the circle of wagons for
trouble.


The figure seemed suddenly to be closer yet, within a mere arm's length. Richard didn't know
how it had gotten that close to him. He hadn't seen it move. He wouldn't have allowed it to get
that close if he had seen it moving toward him. And yet, it had.
Having a chain attached to his collar didn't leave him much freedom to maneuver if he had to
fight. With his fingers he carefully collected links of chain into his free hand. If he had to fight,
he would loop the chain and use it as a noose. With his other hand he was still surreptitiously
fishing out the knife.
Your time starts this day, Richard Rahl.
Richard's fingers on the knife paused. It had spoken his real name. No one in the camp knew his
real name. Richard's heart hammered against his chest.
With as dark as it was, and the hood, the face inside was hidden from view. Richard could see
only blackness, like death itself, staring out at him.
It crossed his mind that that just might be exactly what it was.
He reminded himself not to let his imagination get carried away. He summoned his courage.
"What did you say?"
An arm beneath the dark cloak rose toward him. He couldn't see the hand, just the drape of the
cloth over it.
Your time starts this day, Richard Rahl, the first day of winter. You have one year to complete
the cleansing.
An unsettling image of something all too familiar came to mind: the boxes of Orden.
As if reading his mind, a thousand whispers of the dead spoke.
You are a new player, Richard Rahl. Because of that, the time of the play is now reset. It starts
anew from this day, the first day of winter.
Until a little more than three years before, Richard had been living a peaceful life inWestland .
The entire chain of events had started when his real father, Darken Rahl, had finally gotten his
hands on the boxes of Or-den and first put them in play. That had been on the first day of winter
four years ago.
The key to telling the three boxes of Orden apart and knowing the correct box to open was The
Book of Counted Shadows. Richard had memorized that book as a young man. Because he had
lost his link to his gift he could no longer remember the words of the book; to be able to read or


remember books of magic required magic. But while he didn't recall the words, he did know
from remembering his own actions some of the basic principles laid out in the book.
One of the most important elements of using The Book of Counted Shadows was verifying if the
words Richard had memorized were spoken true-verifying if that key component to opening the
boxes of Orden was genuine. The book itself stipulated the means of verification.
The means of verification was the use of a Confessor.
Kahlan was the last living Confessor.
Richard summoned his voice only with the greatest of difficulty.
"What you say is impossible. I have put nothing into play."
You are named as the player.
"Named? Named by who?"
That you have been named as a new player is what matters. You are forewarned that you have
one year from this day-and not one day longer-to complete the cleansing. Use your time well,
Richard Rahl. Your life will be the price if you fail. All life will be the price if you fail.
"But it's impossible!" Richard cried out as he lunged, locking both hands around the throat of the
figure.
The cloak collapsed.
There was nothing inside it.
He heard a small, soft sound, like a doorway into the world of the dead closing.
He could see the little clouds of his panting breath rising into the black winter night.
After what seemed an empty eternity, Richard finally lay back down, using the cloak to cover his
trembling body, but he could not force himself to close his eyes.
To the west distant lightning flickered at the horizon. To the east the dawn of the first day of
winter fast approached.
Between lightning and dawn, in the middle of an enemy numbering in the millions, Richard Rahl,
leader of the D'Haran Empire, lay chained to a wagon thinking about his captive wife, and the
third child of trouble.



 

 CHAPTER 3

 Kahlan lay on the floor in the near darkness, unable to sleep. She could hear IagangJs even breathing in the bed above her. On an ornately carved wooden chest against the far wall a single oil lamp, its wick turned down low, cast a weak glow through the gloom of the emperor's inner sanctum. The burning oil helped, if only to a small degree, to mask the stench of the encampment: the smells of soot from fires, fetid sweat, rancid refuse, the latrines, the horses and other animals, and manure all mingled together into a ubiquitous stink. In much the same way that the horrific memory of all of the maggot-infested, rotting corpses she had seen along her journey invariably brought to mind the unforgettable, unmistakable, gagging smell of death, it was impossible to contemplate the Imperial Order encampment without it also bringing to mind its singular, pervasive stink, a thing as vile as the Imperial Order itself. Since arriving in the encampment she was always reluctant to draw a breath too deeply. The smell would forever be linked in her mind to the suffering, misery, and death that the soldiers of the Imperial Order visited upon on everything they touched. As far as Kahlan was concerned, the people who believed in, supported, and fought for the convictions of the Imperial Order did not belong in the world of life among those who valued it. Through the gauze fabric covering the vents in the top of the tent, Kahlan could see the furious flashes of lightning to the west illuminating the sky overhead to announce the approaching storms. The emperor's tent, with its hangings, carpets, and padded walls, was relatively quiet, considering the constant din of the sprawling encampment out beyond, so it was hard to hear the thunder, but she could occasionally feel rumbles of it through the ground. With the cold weather settling in, the rain would make it all the more miserable. As tired as she was, Kahlan couldn't stop thinking about the man from earlier that day, the man who had looked out from that cage as it had rolled through the camp, the man with the gray eyes, the man who had seen her-actually seen her-and had called out her name. It was a galvanizing moment for her. For anyone to see her bordered on miraculous. Kahlan was invisible to almost everyone. Invisible wasn't really accurate, though, because they actually did see her. They simply forgot having seen her as soon as they had, forgot that they had been aware of her only an instant before. So, while she wasn't really invisible, she might as well have been. Kahlan knew well the icy touch of oblivion. The same spell that made people forget her as soon as they'd seen her had also wiped out every memory she had of her past. Whatever there was to her life before the Sisters of the Dark, it was now lost to her.

 Among the millions of troops sprawled out across the vast, barren plain, her captors had found only a handful of soldiers who could see her-forty-three, to be exact. These forty-three were men who, like the collar around her neck, the Sisters, and Jagang himself, stood between her and freedom. Kahlan made it her business to know every one of those forty-three men, to know their strengths, their weaknesses. She studied them silently, mentally making notes about each of them. Everyone had habits-ways of walking, of observing what was going on around them, of paying attention or failing to pay attention, of doing their job. She had learned everything she could about their individual characteristics. The Sisters believed that an anomaly in the spell they had used was responsible for a handful of people being aware of Kahlan. It was possible that out among the Order's vast army there were others who could see and remember her, but Jagang had so far not discovered any more. The forty-three soldiers were thus the only men able to serve as her guards. Jagang, of course, could see her, as well as the Sisters who had used the spell in the first place. Much to the Sisters' horror they had been captured by Jagang and they, too, had ended up with Kahlan in the wretched encampment of the Imperial Order. Other than the Sisters and Jagang, none of those few who could see her really knew her-knew her from her forgotten past, a past that even Kahlan didn't know. But that man in the cage was different. He had known her. Since she didn't remember ever seeing him before, that could only mean that he was someone who knew her from her past. Jagang had promised her that when she finally had her past back and knew who she was, when she knew everything, then the real horror for her would begin. He delighted in explaining in vivid detail exactly what he intended to do to her, how he would make her life one of endless torment. Since she didn't remember her past, his promises of retribution didn't mean as much to her as he would have liked. Still, the things he'd promised were terrifying enough in and of themselves. Whenever Jagang promised such vengeance, Kahlan returned only a blank look. It was a way of walling off her emotions from him. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her emotions, her fear. Despite what it would mean for her, Kahlan was proud to have earned the contempt of such a vile man. It gave her the confidence that whatever she had done in her past, her convictions could only have placed her in direct opposition to the will of the Order.

 Because of Jagang's ghastly oaths, Kahlan greatly feared remembering her past, yet after seeing the raw emotion in the captive man's eyes she longed to know everything about herself. His joyous reaction to seeing her stood out in sharp contrast to all those around her who despised and reviled her. She had to know who she was, who the woman was that could be held in such regard by that man. She wished she could have looked at the man for longer than the brief glimpse she had gotten. She'd had to turn away. If she had been caught showing any interest in a captive, Jagang surely would have killed him. Kahlan felt protective of the man. She didn't want to inadvertently bring trouble to someone who knew her, someone so obviously overcome by the sight of her. Yet again Kahlan tried to put her racing mind to rest. She yawned as she watched the flickers of lightning in the little patch of dark sky. Dawn was not far off and she needed sleep. With that dawn, though, came the first day of winter. She didn't know why, but the very idea of the first day of winter made her uneasy. She couldn't imagine a reason. Something about the first day of winter seemed to knot her insides with anxiety. It seemed that beneath the surface of her ability to remember lurked dangers she could not begin to imagine. Her head came up at the sound of something falling over. The noise had come from the outer room, the room outside Jagang's bedroom. Kahlan propped herself up on an elbow, but she dared not get up from her spot on the floor beside the emperor's bed. She knew well the consequences of disobeying his orders. If she was to endure the pain he could give her through the collar around her neck, it would have to be for something more than moving from the carpet. In the darkness Kahlan heard Jagang, just above her on the bed, sit up. Sudden cries and moans broke out on the other side of the padded walls of the bedroom. It sounded like it might have been Sister Ulicia. Since being captured by Jagang, Kahlan had had occasion enough to hear Sister Ulicia sobbing and crying. Kahlan herself had often enough been brought to tears, all because of those Sisters of the Dark, but especially Sister Ulicia. Jagang threw the covers off. "What's going on out there?" Kahlan knew that for the crime of disturbing Emperor Jagang Sister Ulicia was soon going to have even more reason to be moaning. Jagang stepped down onto the floor, straddling Kahlan on the carpet beside his bed. He looked down deliberately, making sure that in the dim light of the lantern glowing atop the chest, she saw him naked and exposed over her. Satisfied with his silent, implied threat, he retrieved his trousers from a nearby chair. Hopping from one foot to the other he pulled them on as he started for the doorway. He didn't bother putting on anything more. He paused before the thick hanging that covered the doorway and turned back, crooking a finger at Kahlan. He wanted to keep an eye on her. As Kahlan rose to her feet, Jagang drew back the heavy covering over the doorway. Kahlan glanced to the side and saw the latest captive woman to be brought in as a prize for the emperor cowering on the bed, the blanket held in her fists up under her chin. Like almost everyone, the woman didn't see Kahlan and had only been more confused and frightened the evening before when Jagang had spoken to the phantom in the room with him. That had been the least of the woman's cause for fright that night. Kahlan felt a jolt of pain sizzle down the nerves of her shoulders and arms, Jagang's reminder through the collar not to linger in doing as she'd been told. Without letting him see how much it hurt, she hurried after him. The sight that greeted her in the outer room was confusing. Sister Ulicia was rolling around on the floor, arms flailing as she babbled incoherently between moans and cries. Sister Armina, hunched over the woman at her feet, shuffled to and fro, following as Sister Ulicia writhed around on the floor, afraid to touch the woman, afraid not to, afraid of what might be the problem. She looked like she wanted to collect Sister Ulicia in her arms and quiet her lest she create a disturbance that would get the attention of the emperor. She didn't yet realize that it was too late for that. Usually when one of those two was in any kind of agony it was agony inflicted by Jagang through his control of their minds, but now he, too, stood watching the strange sight, apparently unsure of what could be causing such behavior. Sister Armina, already bent over the woman floundering on the floor, suddenly noticed Emperor Jagang and bowed deeper yet. "Excellency, I don't know what is wrong with her. I'm sorry that she has disturbed your sleep. I will try to quiet her." Jagang, being a dream walker, didn't need to speak to those whose minds were his domain. His consciousness wandered at will among their most intimate thoughts. Sister Ulicia thrashed around, one wildly swinging arm knocking over a chair. Guards-the guards who had been specially selected because they were the few who could see and remember Kahlan-had all backed off in a circle around the woman rolling on the floor. They had been tasked with seeing to it that Kahlan didn't leave the tent without Jagang. Sisters were not their responsibility. Other guards, Jagang's personal elite guards, huge brutes all covered in tattoos and metal studs piercing their flesh, stood like statues near the doorway of the tent. The job of the elite guard was to see to it that no one entered the tent without invitation. They looked only mildly curious about what might be happening in their midst. Off in the darker corners of the expansive tent, slaves waited in the shadows, always silently at the ready to carry out the emperor's wishes. They, too, would show little reaction no matter what might happen right before them. They were there to serve at the whim of the emperor and nothing more. It was unhealthy for any of them, individually, to distinguish themselves in any way that might bring them notice. The Sisters, sorceresses all, were Jagang's personal weapons, his personal property and marked as such with rings through their lower lips. They were not the responsibility of any of the guards unless specifically instructed. Jagang could have cut Sister Ulicia's throat, or raped her, or invited her to tea, and his elite guards would not have batted an eye. If it had been tea the emperor wanted, the slaves would have dutifully fetched it. If a # bloody murder had been committed right before their eyes, they would have waited until he was finished and then without a word cleaned up the mess. When Sister Ulicia cried out again, Kahlan realized that it didn't look, as she had at first thought, like the woman was in pain. It looked more like she was . . . possessed. Jagang's nightmare gaze passed among the dozen guards. "Has she said anything?" "No, Excellency," one of the special guards said. The rest of the soldiers, those who could see Kahlan, shook their heads in agreement. The emperor's elite guard did not dispute the account of the lesser men. "What's wrong with her?" Jagang asked the Sister, who looked ready to fall to the ground and grovel at his feet. Sister Armina winced at the anger in his voice. "I don't have any idea, Excellency, I swear." She gestured toward the far side of the room. "I was asleep, waiting until I could be of service. Sister Ulicia was asleep as well. I woke when I heard her voice. I thought she was speaking to me." "What was she saying?" Jagang asked. "I couldn't understand her, Excellency." Kahlan realized, then, that Jagang didn't know what Sister Ulicia had said. He always knew what the Sisters had said, what they'd thought, what they were planning. He was a dream walker. He wandered the landscape of their minds. He was always privy to everything.

 And yet, he was not privy to this.
Or, Kahlan surmised, perhaps he didn't want to say aloud what he already knew. He liked to test
people that way, asking questions to which he already knew the answers. It displeased him
greatly whenever he caught anyone in a lie. Only the day before he had erupted in a rage and
strangled the life out of a new captive slave who'd lied to him about having taken a bite to eat off
a tray coming in for the emperor's dinner. Jagang, as heavily muscled as any of his elite guard,
had accomplished the deed with one powerful hand around the gaunt man's throat. The rest of the
slaves had waited patiently until the emperor had finished the gruesome murder, and then
dragged the body away.
Jagang reached down and with one meaty fist hauled the Sister to her feet by her hair. "What's
this about, Ulicia?"
The woman's eyes rolled, her lips moved, and her tongue wandered aimlessly in her open mouth.
Jagang seized her by the shoulders and shook her violently. Sister Uli-cia's head whipped back
and forth. Kahlan thought he very well might break her neck. She wished he would; then there
would be one less Sister for Kahlan to worry about.
"Excellency," Sister Armina said in a confidential tone of discreet counsel, "we need her." When
the emperor glared at her, she added. "She is the player."
Jagang considered Sister Armina's words, looking none too happy about them, but not arguing,
either.
"First day ..." Sister Ulicia moaned.
Jagang pulled her a little closer. "First day what?"
"Winter . . . winter . . . winter," Sister Ulicia mumbled.
Jagang looked around, frowning at those in the room, as if asking them to explain it. One of the
soldiers lifted an arm, pointing toward the doorway out of the grand tent. "It's just dawn,
Excellency."
Jagang fixed him in a glare. "What?"
"Excellency, it's just dawn of the first day of winter."
Jagang let go of Sister Ulicia. She dropped heavily to the carpets that covered the floor.
He stared at the doorway. "So it is."
Outside, through the slight slit of an opening at the side of the heavy covering hung over the
doorway, Kahlan could see the first streaks of color in the sky. She could also see more of the


ever-present elite guard who always surrounded Jagang. None of them could see Kahlan; they
were totally unaware of her presence. The special guards inside the tent, the ones who were
always at hand, could see her just fine, though. Outside, with Jagang's elite guard, there would be
more of those special guards. Their job was to insure that Kahlan never came out of the tent
alone.
On the floor, Sister Ulicia, as if in a trance, mumbled, "One year, one year, one year."
"One year what?" Jagang yelled. Several of the closer guards flinched back.
Sister Ulicia sat up. She began rocking back and forth. "Starts over. Year starts over. Starts over.
One year. It must start over."
Jagang looked up at the other Sister. "What's she gibbering about?"
Sister Armina spread her hands. "I'm not sure, Excellency."
His glare darkened. "That's a lie, Armina."
Sister Armina, a little of the color draining from her face, licked her lips. "What I meant by that,
Excellency, is that the only thing I can imagine is that she must be referring to the boxes. She is
the player, after all."
Jagang's mouth twisted with impatience. "But we already know that we have a year from back
when Ulicia put them in play"-he flicked a hand in the direction of the towering plateau-"right
after Kahlan took them from the palace up there."
"New player!" Sister Ulicia shouted, eyes closed, as if to correct him. "New player! The year
starts over!"
Jagang looked genuinely surprised at her words.
Kahlan wondered how it was that the dream walker could be surprised by such a thing. For some
reason, though, he seemed to be unable, at the moment anyway, to use his ability on Sister Ulicia.
Unless he was simply playing a trick. Jagang didn't always reveal exactly what he knew and
what he didn't know. Kahlan had never felt that he could read her mind, but she always remained
cautious that he might want her to think just that. What if all the time he was reading her every
thought?
Still, she just didn't believe it was so. She couldn't put her finger on any one thing that made her
think that he was unable to use his ability as a dream walker on her, but rather it was an
impression based on the cumulative evidence of many small little things.


"How is it possible for there to be a new player?" Jagang asked in a tone that made Sister Armina
begin to tremble just the slightest bit.
She had to swallow twice before she was able to speak. "Excellency, we don't have ... all three
boxes. We have but two. There is the the third box, after all, the one that Tovi had."
"You mean the box that was stolen because you stupid bitches sent Tovi off by herself rather
than having her stay with the rest of you." It was an angry charge, not a question.
Sister Armina, on the verge of panic, thrust a finger out at Kahlan. "It was her fault! If she had
done as we instructed and brought all three boxes out together, we would all have been together
and we would have the three boxes. But she failed to bring them all out together. It's her fault!"
Sister Ulicia had told Kahlan to hide all three boxes in her pack and bring them out. All three
wouldn't fit, so she brought one out first, intending to go back for the others. Sister Ulicia had not
been pleased, to say the least. She had beaten Kahlan nearly to a bloody death for failing to
somehow do the impossible and fit all three in a pack that was not big enough.
Kahlan didn't bother to speak up in her own defense. She refused to lower herself to trying to
reason with people who didn't abide by reason.
Jagang looked back over his shoulder at Kahlan. She met his gaze with nothing but her blank
countenance. He turned back to Sister Armina.
"So what? Sister Ulicia put the boxes in play. That makes her the player."
"Another player!" Sister Ulicia shouted up from the floor between them. "Two players now! The
year starts over! It's impossible!" Sister Ulicia lunged. "Impossible!"
There was nothing there and her arms caught only air.
She sat back heavily on the floor, breathing rapidly. Trembling hands covered her face, as if she
was overwhelmed by what had just taken place.
Jagang turned away, lost in thought as he considered. "Can there be two people who both have
the boxes in play at the same time?" he asked himself.
Sister Armina's eyes darted about. She seemed unsure if she was supposed to attempt an answer.
In the end she remained silent.
Sister Ulicia rubbed her eyes. "He vanished."
Jagang frowned down at her. "Who vanished?"
"I couldn't see his face." She gestured vaguely. "He was just there, telling me, but he vanished. I
don't know who it was, Excellency."


The woman looked shaken to her core. "What did you see?" Jagang asked. As if jolted by an unexpected sudden shock, she shot to her feet. Her eyes had gone wide with pain. Blood trickled from one ear. "What did you see?" Jagang repeated. Kahlan had seen him give the Sisters pain in the past. Whether or not he was able to be in Sister Ulicia's mind before, it was clear that he now had no difficulty making his presence felt. "It was someone-" Sister Ulicia said with a gasp. "Someone who was just here, in the tent, Excellency. He told me that there was a new player, and because of that the year must start anew." Jagang's brow was drawn down in a tight knot. "A new player for the power of Orden?" Sister Ulicia nodded, as if fearing to admit it. "Yes, Excellency. Someone else has also put the boxes of Orden in play. We are warned that the year must start over. We now have one year from today, the first day of winter." Looking to be deep in thought, Jagang started toward the doorway. Two of the elite guards pulled open the double hanging, allowing their emperor to walk through the opening without pause. Kahlan, knowing that if she didn't stay close at hand the pain of the collar was only an instant away, followed him out before he gave her that reminder. Behind her, Sisters Ulicia and Armina hurried to keep up. The big men of the elite guard outside the tent casually stepped away to each side, making way for the emperor. The other soldiers-Kahlan's special guards-marched back and forth just beyond them. Standing close behind Jagang in the cold dawn, Kahlan rubbed her arms, trying to work up some warmth. A wall of dark clouds towered to the west. Even through the stink of the encampment, she could smell the rain carried on the damp air. The thin clouds fleeing to the east were stained bloodred in the sunrise of the first day of winter. Jagang stood silently considering the immense plateau in the distance. Atop that towering tableland was the People's Palace. While certainly a palace, it was vast almost beyond belief. It was also a city, really, a city that was the seat of power for all of D'Hara. That city stood as the last vestige of resistance to the Imperial Order's lust to rule the world and enforce their beliefs on mankind. The army of the Order spread like a poisonous black sea across the Azrith Plain around the plateau, leaving it isolated from any hope of rescue or salvation. The first rays of light were just touching the distant palace, making the marble walls, columns, and towers glow golden in the sunrise. It was a breathtakingly beautiful sight. To all these people of the Order, though, the sight of the palace, of such beauty yet untouched by their lecherous hands, only inspired jealousy and hate. They lusted to destroy the place, to blot such majesty out of existence, to insure that man never again aspired to such merit. Kahlan had been up in that palace-Lord Rahl's palace-when the four Sisters had taken her there to have her steal the boxes out of theGardenofLife . The splendor of the place was awe-inspiring. Kahlan had hated to take those boxes from Lord Rahl's garden. They didn't belong to the Sisters, and, worse, the Sisters were driven by evil intent. On that altar where the boxes had sat, Kahlan left in their place her most precious possession. It was a small carving of a woman, her head thrown back, her fists at her sides, her back arched as if opposition to a force trying to subdue her. Kahlan could not imagine where she would have gotten such a beautiful thing. She was heartbroken to have to leave that carving behind, but she had to in order to fit the last two boxes in her pack. Had she not, Sister Ulicia would have killed her. As much as she loved that small statue, she loved her life more. She hoped that Lord Rahl, when he saw it, would somehow understand that she was sorry for taking what was his. Now Jagang had captured the Sisters and he had possession of the sinister black boxes. Two of them, anyway. Sister Tovi had started ahead with the first of the three boxes. Now she was dead and the box she'd had was missing. Kahlan had killed Sister Cecilia. That left Sisters Ulicia and Armina, out of her four original captors. Of course, Jagang had other Sisters under his control. "Who could put a box in play?" Jagang asked as he stared off toward the palace atop the plateau. It wasn't entirely clear if he was asking the Sisters for an answer, or if he was merely thinking out loud. Sisters Ulicia and Armina shared a look. The elite guards stood like stone sentinels. The special guards marched slowly back and forth, the closest one taking note of Kahlan, giving her a superior, smug glance each time he turned to march in the opposite direction. Kahlan knew the man, knew his habits. He was one of her less intelligent guards, substituting arrogance for competence.

 "Well," Sister Ulicia finally said into the uneasy silence, "it would take someone with both sides
of the gift-both Additive and Subtractive Magic."
"Other than the Sisters of the Dark you have here, Excellency," Sister Armina added, "I'm not
sure who could accomplish such a task."
Jagang shot a look back over his shoulder. The soldier was not the only one who foolishly
harbored an attitude of arrogant superiority. Jagang was a lot smarter than Sister Armina; she just
wasn't smart enough to know it. She was, however, smart enough to recognize the look in
Jagang's eyes, the look that said he knew she was lying. She quailed, momentarily struck silent
by the emperor's glare.
Sister Ulicia, also a great deal smarter than Sister Armina, quickly recognized the danger of the
situation and spoke up.
"There are only a couple of people it could be, Excellency."
"It had to have been Richard Rahl," Sister Armina was quick to put in, eager to redeem herself.
"Richard Rahl," Jagang repeated in a flat tone of cold hatred. He didn't sound the least bit
surprised by the Sister's suggestion.
Sister Ulicia cleared her throat. "Or Sister Nicci. She is the only Sister you don't have who is able
to wield Subtractive Magic."
Jagang's glare fixed on her for a moment before he finally turned back to consider the People's
Palace, now lit by the sun so that it glowed like a beacon above the dark plain.
"Sister Nicci knows everything you stupid bitches did," he finally announced.
Sister Armina blinked in surprise. She couldn't resist speaking. "How is that possible,
Excellency?"
Jagang clasped his meaty hands behind his back. His heavily muscled back and neck looked
more like those of a bull than those of a man. Curly black body hair only added to the impression.
His shaved head made him look all the more menacing.
"Nicci was there with Tovi when she was dying," Jagang said, "after she had been stabbed and
the box stolen from her. It had been a very long time since I'd seen Nicci. I was surprised to see
her show up out of the blue. I was there, in Tovi's mind, watching the whole thing. Tovi didn't
know I was in her mind, though, the same as you two didn't know.
"Nicci didn't know I was there, either.


"Nicci questioned Tovi, used the woman's grievous wound to prod her into revealing your plan, Ulicia. Nicci told Tovi quite the story about wishing she could escape my control and with that lie gained Tovi's confidence. Tovi told her everything-everything about the Chainfire spell you ignited, the boxes you stole with Kahlan's help, how the boxes were meant to work in conjunction with the Chainfire spell, all of it." Sister Ulicia was looking sicker by the moment. "Then it very well could be Nicci who did this. It has to be one or the other." "Or Nicci and Richard Rahl together," Sister Armina suggested. Jagang said nothing as he stared off at the palace. Sister Ulicia leaned forward the slightest bit. "If I may ask, Excellency, why is it that you are unable to . . . well, why is Nicci not here, with you?" Jagang's completely black eyes turned to the woman. Cloudy shapes shifted in those inky eyes, a storm of his own brewing. "She was with me. She left. Unlike your clumsy and insincere attempt at trying to shield your minds from me with the bond to the Lord Rahl, the bond worked for Nicci. For reasons I can't begin to understand she was sincere, and so it worked. She gave up everything she had worked for her whole life-gave up her moral duty!" He rolled his shoulders, pulling the mantle of calm authority back around himself. "The bond worked for Nicci. I can no longer enter her mind." Sister Armina stood frozen in more than simple fear of the man; she was obviously baffled by what she'd just heard. Sister Ulicia nodded to herself, staring off into memories. "I guess that, in retrospect, it's not a surprise. I guess I always knew that she loved Richard. She never said a word to us, of course, to the other Sisters of the Dark, but back at the Palace of the Prophets she gave up a great deal- things I would never have imagined her giving up-in exchange for me naming her to be one of his six teachers. "The price she paid for that chance to be his teacher made me suspicious of her motives. A couple of the others were driven by greed. They simply wanted to suck the gift out of that man-have it for themselves. But not Nicci. That wasn't what she was after. So I watched her. "She never gave it away-dear spirits, I don't think she was even aware of it herself at the time-but there was a look in her eyes. She was in love with him. I never really understood that look back then, probably because she seemed so sure of her hatred for the man and for all that he represented, but she was in love with Richard Rahl. Even back then, she was in love with him." Jagang had gone crimson. Absorbed in her recollections, Sister Ulicia hadn't noticed his mute rage. Sister Armina surreptitiously touched the other woman's arm in warning. Sister Ulicia looked up and blanched at seeing the look on the emperor's face, and immediately changed the subject. "Like I said, she never said any such thing, so perhaps I'm just imagining it. In fact, now that I think about it, I'm sure of it. She hated the man. She wanted him dead. She hated everything he represented. She hated him. Plain as day. She hated him." Sister Ulicia closed her mouth, visibly forcing herself to stop babbling. "I gave her everything." Jagang's voice rumbled like bottled thunder. "I made her as good as a queen. As Jagang the Just, I granted her the authority to be the fist of the Fellowship of Order. Those who opposed the righteous ways of the Order came to know her as Death's Mistress. She was able to fulfill that virtuous call to duty only because of my generosity. I was foolish to have given her so much latitude. She betrayed me. Betrayed me for him." Kahlan didn't think that she would ever see Jagang in the grip of hot jealousy, but she was seeing it now. He was a man who took what he wanted. He was not used to being denied anything. Apparently, he couldn't have this woman Nicci. Apparently, Richard Rahl had her heart. Kahlan swallowed back her own confused feelings over Richard Rahl-a man she had never met-and stared at her guards marching back and forth. "But I'll have her back." Jagang held up a fist. Muscled cords stood out on his arms as the fist tightened. Veins in his temples bulged. "Sooner or later I will crush the immoral resistance offered by Richard Rahl, and then I'll deal with Nicci. She will pay for her sinful ways." Kahlan and this Nicci had something in common. If Jagang ever got his hands on Nicci, Kahlan knew, he was going to do his worst to her as well. "And the boxes of Orden, Excellency?" Sister Ulicia asked. The arm dropped. He turned a grim smile on her. "Darlin, it doesn't matter if one of them has somehow managed to put the boxes of Orden in play. It will do them no good." He pointed a thumb back over his shoulder at Kahlan. "I have her. I have what we need to put the power of Orden to use for the cause of the Fellowship of Order.

 "We have right on our side. The Creator is on our side. When we un-leash the power of Orden
we will wipe the blasphemy of magic from the world. We will make all men bow down before
the teachings of the Order. All men will submit to divine justice and be of one faith.
"It will be a new dawn for mankind, the dawn of the age of man without magic to taint men's
souls. All men will rejoice to be part of the glory that is the cause of the Order. In that new world
of man, all men will be equal. All men can then dedicate themselves in service to their fellow
man, as is the will of the Creator."
"Yes, Excellency," Sister Armina said, eager to find an opening to worm her way back into his
favor.
"Excellency," Sister Ulicia ventured, "as I've explained before, while we may have many of the
elements needed, as you have so rightly pointed out, we must still have all three boxes if we are
to accomplish the goal of accessing the power of Orden for the cause of the Fellowship of Order.
We still need that third box."
His grisly grin returned. "As I told you, I was there in Tovi's mind. I may have an idea about who
was involved in taking it."
Sisters Ulicia and Armina looked not only surprised, but curious.
"You do, Excellency?" Sister Armina asked.
He nodded. "My spiritual advisor Brother Narev had a friend he had dealings with from time to
time. I suspect she might be involved."
Sister Ulicia looked skeptical. "You think a friend of the Fellowship of Order might have been
involved?"
"No, I didn't say a friend of the Fellowship. I said a friend of Brother Narev. A woman I, too,
have had occasional dealings with in the past on Brother Narev's behalf. I think you may have
heard of her." Jagang arched an eyebrow at the woman. "She goes by the name of Six."
Sister Armina gasped and went stiff.
Sister Ulicia's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "Six . . . Excellency, surely you don't mean Six,
the witch woman?"
Jagang looked pleased by the reaction. "Ah, so you know her."
"I had occasion to cross paths with her once. We had a talk, of sorts. It was not what I would
describe as a pleasant conversation. Excellency, no one can deal with that woman."


"Well, you see, Ulicia, that's just one more area where you and I differ. You have nothing of value to offer her but your boneless carcass to feed to those with a taste for human flesh she keeps back in her lair. I, on the other hand, have a pretty good grasp on what the woman needs and wants. I'm in a position to grant her the kinds of indulgences she seeks. Unlike you, Ulicia, I can deal with her." "But if Richard Rahl or Nicci put the box in play, that can only mean that they are now in possession of it," Sister Ulicia said. "So, even if Six really did once have the box after Tovi, it's now out of her grasp." "So you think such a woman will abandon her burning desires? All the things she lusts after?" Jagang shook his head. "No, it will not sit well with Six that her plans were . . . interrupted. Six is a woman who will not be denied. She does not treat very kindly anyone who gets in her way. Am I correct, Ulicia?" Sister Ulicia swallowed before nodding. "I expect that a woman of her dark talents and boundless determination will not rest until she has corrected the injustice, and then she will have to deal with the Order. So, you see, I think everything is well in hand. That one of those two criminals, Nicci or Richard Rahl, put that box in play will mean nothing in the end. The Order will prevail." Sister Ulicia, her fingers folded tightly together to stop them from trembling ever since she first heard the name Six, bowed her head. "Yes, Excellency. I can see that you do indeed have everything well in hand." Jagang, seeing her defeated demeanor, snapped his fingers as he turned his attention toward one of the shirtless slaves standing back near the entrance to the royal tent. "I'm hungry. The Ja'La tournaments start today. I want a hearty meal before going to watch the games." The man bowed deeply from the waist. "Yes, Excellency. I will see to it at once." After he'd run off to see to the task, Jagang gazed out over the sea of men. "For now, our brave fighters need a diversion from the difficult work. One of the teams out there will eventually win a chance to play my own team. Let's hope the team that eventually wins the right to play my team is good enough to at least make my men break a sweat in beating them." "Yes, Excellency," the Sisters said together.

 Jagang, looking annoyed by their groveling, gestured to one of the special guards as the man marched by. "She's going to kill you first." The man froze, panic in his eyes. "Excellency?" Jagang tilted his head to indicate Kahlan only a half step behind him and to his right. "She's going to kill you first, and you deserve it." The man dipped his head deferentially. "I don't understand, Excellency." "Of course you don't-you're stupid. She's been counting your steps. You take the same number of paces each time before you turn to march in the opposite direction. Each time you turn you look to check on her, then march away. "She's counted your paces. When it's time for you to turn, she doesn't have to be looking in your direction because she knows exactly when you will turn. She knows that just before you turn, you'll check on her and see her looking the other way. That will put you at ease. "When you march up to us from the right and turn, you pivot the same way each time-to your right. Each time you turn, the knife on your belt at your right hip is on the side closest to her." The man looked down at the knife on his belt. He covered it protectively with a hand. "But Excellency, I wouldn't let her get my knife. I swear. I would stop her." "Stop her?" Jagang snorted a brief laugh. "She knows that she is but two strides from the spot where you turn, two strides from snatching your knife right out of its sheath." He snapped his fingers. "Quick as that, she'll have your knife. You probably won't even realize it before you die." "But I would-" "You will look to check on her, see her looking in another direction, and then turn. By the time you've taken your third step, she will have your knife. It will then be but an instant before she rams the entire length of the blade into your tender right kidney. You'll be as good as dead before you know what hit you." Despite the cold, sweat beaded on the man's forehead. Jagang glanced back at Kahlan. She showed him only a blank expression devoid of any emotion. Jagang was wrong. The man would die second. He was stupid, just as Jagang had said. Stupid men were easier to kill. It was harder to kill smart, attentive men. Kahlan knew each of her special guards. She made it her business to learn everything she could about each one of them. The other man marching before the tent was one of the smartest among her special guard.

 Wherever she was, she always analyzed the situation and envisioned how she would implement
an attempt to escape. This was not the time, or place, but she still had thought it through.
She wouldn't kill the stupid one first, but she would take his knife, just as Jagang had said. Then
she would turn to the smart one because he was more watchful and his reactions were far quicker.
The special guards' task was to prevent her from escaping; they weren't supposed to use lethal
force against her. When the smart one came at her to tackle her, she would already have the knife
and would use their closing momentum as she spun toward him to slash his throat. She would
sidestep his falling dead weight to his left side, spin, and plunge the knife into the kidney of the
stupid fellow, just as Jagang had suggested.
"You have me dead to rights," Kahlan told the emperor in a flat tone.
"Well done."
His left eye twitched just the slightest bit. He didn't know if she was telling the truth, or lying.



 

 CHAPTER 4

 Do you know the consequences of breaking the seal on those doors?" Cara asked.
Zedd looked back over his shoulder at the woman. "Need I remind you that I am First Wizard?"
Cara returned the glare in kind. "Well, excuse me. Do you know the consequences of breaking
the seal on those doors, First Wizard Zoran-der?"
Zedd straightened. "That's not what I meant."
The woman was still glaring. "You haven't answered my question."
If there was one thing that was consistent about Mord-Sith, it was that they didn't like it when
they asked questions and got evasive answers. They didn't like it one bit. It made them surly. As
a rule Zedd considered it wise not to give Mord-Sith cause to be surly, but then, he didn't like
being pestered when he was doing something important. That made him surly.
"Why does Richard put up with you, anyway?"
Cara's glare only deepened. "I have never offered Lord Rahl a choice. Now, answer my question.
Do you know the consequences of breaking the seal on those doors?"
Zedd planted his fists on his hips. "Don't you suppose that I know a thing of two about magic?"
"I would have thought so, but I'm beginning to have my doubts."
"Oh, so you think you know more about it than I do?"
"I know that magic is trouble. It would seem that in this instance I very well might know more
about it than you. I know better than to go barging through a seal of this kind. Nicci would only


have shielded this door for a good reason. I don't think it's too awfully wise, First Wizard, to go barging through her shield without knowing why it's there." "Well, I think I know a thing or two about seals and shields and such." Cara arched an eyebrow. "Zedd, Nicci can wield Subtractive Magic." Zedd glanced at the door, then looked back at Cara. The way she was leaning over him he thought she very well might seize him by his collar and haul him back from the brass-clad doors if she decided that she had to. "I suppose you have a point." He held up a finger. "But on the other hand I can sense that something serious is going on in there-something altogether ominous." Cara sighed and finally withdrew her blue-eyed Mord-Sith glare. She straightened, drawing her long blond braid through her loose fist as she checked the hallway to both sides. She tossed the braid back over her shoulder. "I don't know, Zedd. If I was in a room and had locked the door it would be for good reason and I'd not like you to pick the lock. Nicci wouldn't allow me to stay with her- and she's never asked that I leave her alone like that before. I didn't want to let her go in there by herself, but she insisted. "She was in one of those spooky, quiet moods of hers. She's been like that a lot lately." Zedd sighed. "That she has. But not without good reason. Dear spirits, Cara, we've all been in a mood lately, and we all have good reason." Cara nodded. "Nicci said she needed to be alone. I told her I didn't care and that I intended to stay with her. "I don't know what it is about her, but sometimes when she says to do something you all of a sudden find yourself doing it. Lord Rahl is the same way. I don't often pay a great deal of attention to his orders-after all, I know better than he does how to protect him-but sometimes he says something in that way he has and you just find yourself doing as he asked. I never know how he manages to do it. Nicci is the same way. They both have the odd ability to make you do things you have no intention of doing-and they don't even raise their voices. "Nicci said that it involved magic-said it in a way that made it clear she wanted to be alone. The next thing I know, I'd told her that I would wait out here in case she needed anything." Zedd tilted his head toward the woman, giving her a look from under his bushy brow. "I believe this has something to do with Richard."

 Her Mord-Sith glare returned in an instant. Zedd could see her muscles tighten beneath her red leather. "What do you mean?" "Like you said, she was acting pretty strange. She asked me if I trusted everyone's life to Richard." Cara stared at him a moment. "She asked me that very same thing." "That's been eating at me, making me wonder what she meant." Zedd waggled a long finger back toward the door. "Cara, she's in there with that thing-with that box of Orden. I can sense it." Cara nodded. "Well, you're right about that. I saw it in there just before she closed the door." Zedu pushed a stray wave of white hair back from his face. "That's part of the reason I think this has something to do with Richard. Cara, I don't go through this kind of seal lightly, but I think this is important." Cara sighed in resignation. "All right." Her mouth twisted with the displeasure of agreeing to his plan. "If she bites your head off I suppose I can always sew it back on for you." Zedd smiled as he pushed his sleeves up his arms. Taking a deep breath, he hunched back to the business of unknotting the seal Nicci had woven with magic around the lever. The immense, brass-clad doors were covered with engraved symbols that were specific to the containment field in that part of the Keep. Such a place was already hardened against tampering and shielded against casual entry, but he had grown up in the Keep and knew how various elements of the place functioned. He also knew a great many of the tricks associated with those elements. This particular field was tricky because, being a containment field for what might be inside, it was double-sided. He gently glided the first three fingers of his left hand over the area of convergence. It made the nerve in his left arm tingle up to his elbow-not a good sign. Nicci had added something to the shield, making a personal shield out of something that had been generic. Zedd was beginning to think that Cara knew more than he had given her credit for. This was a shield that seemed to respond in a unique way to the application of force. He paused a moment to consider. He would have to achieve what he wanted without applying force that would invoke that reaction. He carefully slipped a thin thread of innocent nothing through the snarl. With his right hand he eased the tangled restriction of power so that the whole thing would begin to loosen.

 He knew all too well that it would do no good to simply try to break through the seal, because the containment field was constructed in such a way that force only caused it to lock tighter. Nicci had apparently added multipliers to that quality. If he applied too much force the shield would simply tighten, like pulling the ends of a knotted rope tighter. If that happened, he would never get it undone. Besides that, Cara was right-Nicci had Subtractive Magic and there was no telling what elements of such sinister power she might have woven into the matrix to prevent the inner seal from being breached. He would not like to force his hand through the keyhole, so to speak, only to discover he had plunged it right into a cauldron of molten lead. Much less risky to untie the knot of magic than try to rip it apart. Such difficulties only made Zedd all the more determined that he was going to find a way to get through. It was a personal trait of his that had in the distant past made his father surly-especially if it had been a shield that Zedd's father had constructed specifically to keep out his inquisitive son. Zedd's tongue poked out the left corner of his mouth as he worked at threading his way through the fabric of the shield. He was already farther in than he had expected to get so quickly. He extended the invisible probe of power through the inner workings so that he could control it from inside. And then, even though he was being careful beyond all reason, the weave of the shield tightened, neatly snapping off the foray of magic. It was as if it had maneuvered him into an ambush. Zedd stood hunched before the brass-clad doors, surprised that a shield would have been able to react in that way. He was, after all, not yet trying to breach it, but merely to probe its inner workings-having a look in the keyhole, as it were. He had done the very same thing any number of times before. It always worked. It should have worked. It was the most confounding shield he had ever encountered. He was still bent over the lever, considering his next move, when the door opened inward. Zedd turned his head a little, peering up. Nicci, one hand on the inner lever, the other at her side, towered over him. "Did you ever think of knocking?" she asked.

 Zedd straightened, hoping his face wasn't going red but suspecting it had. "Well, actually, I did consider it, but then I discounted the idea. I thought you might have been working late on that book and might be asleep. I didn't want to disturb you." Her blond hair was tumbled down over the shoulders of her black dress, a dress that hugged every curve of her perfect shape. Even though she looked as if she hadn't slept a wink all night, her blue eyes were as penetrating as those of any sorceress he had ever met. The combination of her alluring beauty, aloof dignity, and keen intellect-to say nothing of the fact that she possessed enough power to turn just about anyone to ash- was both disarming and intimidating. "If I had been asleep," Nicci said in that calm, silken voice of hers, "then just how was breaking through a containment field that was buffered with a shield conjured from instructions in a three-thousand-year-old book and spiked with Subtractive counterlocks not going to wake me?" Zedd's level of alarm rose. Such shields were not constructed lightly, nor for a private nap. He spread his hands. "I only meant to have a peek to check up on you." Her cool gaze was making him start to sweat. "I spent a very long time at the Palace of the Prophets teaching boy wizards how to behave themselves and school their powers. I know how to make shields that can't be picked. As a Sister of the Dark I've had a great deal of practice at it." "Really? I'd be quite interested to learn about such arcane shields- from a strictly professional perspective, of course. Such things are rather a . . . hobby of mine." She still had a hand on the door lever. "What is it you want, Zedd?" Zedd cleared his throat. "Well, quite honestly, Nicci, I was worried about what might be going on in there with that box." Nicci finally smiled just the slightest bit. "Ah. Somehow I didn't think you were hoping to catch me cavorting naked." She stepped back into the library, implying permission to enter. It was an immense room, with two-story-high round-top windows running the entire length of the far wall. Heavy dark green velvet draperies with gold fringe along with two-story polished mahogany columns rose up between each of the windows, each of those made of hundreds of thick squares of glass. Even the dawn light flooding in through those windows wasn't enough to banish the somber atmosphere from the room.

 Some of the panes of refractory glass making up the windows that were part of the containment field in this section of the Keep had been broken in an unexpected battle back when Richard had been there. Nicci had invited lightning in through those windows to obliterate the underworld beast that had attacked Richard. Asked how she had been able to coax lightning to do her bidding, she had shrugged and said simply that she had created a void that the lightning needed to fill, so it had been compelled to do so. Zedd understood the principle, he just couldn't imagine how it could be accomplished. While grateful that she had saved Richard's life, Zedd had not been pleased that such valuable and irreplaceable glass had been destroyed, leaving the containment field breached. Nicci had offered to help with the repairs. Zedd wouldn't have known how to accomplish such a thing by himself. He wouldn't have thought that there was anyone alive who would have known how to bend forces in the way she had done, or who would have had the required power to do so. Who would ever have thought that there would be anyone alive who could re-create the glass in those windows? And yet she had. It had put Zedd in mind of nothing so much as a queen come down to the royal kitchens to deftly demonstrate how to make a rare bread with a long-forgotten recipe. While Zedd had known some very powerful sorceresses, he had never known any who were the equal of Nicci. Some of the things she could do with seeming ease were so confounding that it left him speechless. Of course, Nicci was far more than a mere sorceress. As a former Sister of the Dark she knew how to command Subtractive Magic. As a Sister of the Dark, she would have taken the power from a wizard and added it to her own, creating something altogether unique-not something he liked to contemplate. To a certain extent she frightened him. Without Richard to show her the value of her own life she would still be devoted to the cause of the Order With so much of her life a mystery to him, with all that she had done but never spoke of, with all that she had once been a part of, Zedd wasn't entirely sure of how far he could trust her. Richard trusted her, though-trusted her with his life. She had proven worthy of that trust on numerous occasions.

 Other than himself and Cara Zedd didn't know anyone as fiercely devoted to Richard as Nicci. Nicci would without question or a second thought go to the underworld itself she had to in order to save him. Richard had brought this remarkable woman back from the depths of evil, just as he had done with Cara and the other Mord-Sith. Who but Richard could accomplish such a thing? Who but Richard could even think to do such a thing? How Zedd missed that boy. Nicci glided back into the library, and Zedd saw, then, what was on the table. His ability had told him that it was there, but his ability had not told him what more there was to it. Behind him, Cara let out a low whistle. Zedd sympathized with the sentiment. The box of Orden, sitting atop one of the massive library tables, absent the decorative covering that once had contained it, was a bewitching black that seemed as if it might suck the light right out of the dawn, a black so black it almost appeared as if the box itself was nothing so much as a void in the world of life. Staring at it felt uncomfortably like looking right into the underworld, the world of the dead. But it was the containment spell that had been drawn all around the box that had him alarmed. It had been drawn in blood. There were other charms, other spells, drawn on the tabletop, and they, too, were drawn in blood. Zedd recognized some of the elements of the diagrams. He didn't know of anyone living who could have drawn such charms. Such things were not entirely stable, making them dangerous beyond belief. Any number of spells could kill in an instant if done improperly. These spells, drawn in blood no less, were among the most perilous spells in existence. Employing them successfully was not something Zedd himself, with a lifetime of knowledge, training, and practice, would ever consider attempting. Zedd had seen such terrible spells drawn only once before. Those had been drawn by Darken Rahl-Richard's father-when Darken Rahl had been completing the conjuring involved in opening the boxes of Orden. Opening one of the boxes had cost him his life. Around the box itself, in midair, lines of green and amber light traced yet more spells through space. They were somewhat reminiscent of the glowing green lines of the verification web they had done for the Chainfire spell in that very room, but this structure of three-dimensional formulas was materially different. And these glowing lines pulsed as if alive. He supposed that made sense. The power of Orden was the power of life itself.

 Other lines, connected to intersections of the green and, in places, amber light, were as black as
the box. Peering at them was like looking through slits into death itself. Subtractive Magic had
been mingled with Additive to create a network of power the likes of which Zedd had never
imagined he would see in his lifetime.
The whole web of light and darkness hung in space.
The box of Orden itself sat in the center of that web, like a fat black spider.
The Book of Life lay open nearby.
"Nicci," Zedd managed with only the greatest of difficulty, "what in the name of Creation have
you done?"
When she reached the table, Nicci turned back and stared at him for an uncomfortably long
moment.
"I have done nothing in the name of Creation. I have done it in the name of Richard Rahl."
Zedd pulled his gaze away from the terrible thing within the glowing lines to stare at her. He was
having difficulty drawing a breath.
"Nicci, what have you done?"
"The only thing I could do. The thing that had to be done. The thing that only I could do."
The confluence of both sides of the gift holding the box of Orden within its glowing web was
beyond imagining. It was the stuff of nightmares.
Zedd chose his words carefully. "Are you suggesting that you believe that you can put that box
in play?"
The manner in which she slowly shook her head tightened his chest with dread. Her blue-eyed
gaze riveted him in place.
"I have already put it in play."
Zedd felt as if the floor might come apart under him and he might never stop falling. He
wondered for just an instant if any of this was real. The whole room seemed to be swirling
around him. His legs felt wobbly.
Cara's hand came up under his arm to steady him.
"Are you out of your mind?" he asked, the heat rising in his voice as his legs stiffened.
"Zedd . . ." She took a step closer. "I had to."
He couldn't even make himself blink. "You had to? You had to?"
"Yes. I had to. It's the only way."


"The only way for what! The only way to end the world? The only way to destroy life itself?"
"No. The only way to give us a chance to survive. You know what the world is coming to. You
know what the Imperial Order is going to do- what they are on the verge of doing. The world is
at the brink. Mankind is staring into a thousand years of darkness at best. At worst, mankind may
never again emerge into the light.
"You know that we are approaching paths in prophecy beyond which everything goes dark.
Nathan has told you of those branches leading to a great void beyond which there is nothing. We
stand staring into that void."
"And have you ever thought that what you have just done very well might be the cause of it-the
very thing that takes mankind, all life, into that void of extinction?"
"Sister Ulicia has already put the boxes of Orden in play. Do you think she and her Sisters of the
Dark care about life? They work to unleash the Keeper of the underworld. If she succeeds, the
world of life is doomed. You know what the boxes are, you know their power, you know what
will happen if she is the one to rule the power of Orden."
"But that doesn't mean-"
"We have no choice." Her gaze didn't waver. "I had to."
"And do you have any idea how to invoke Orden? How to command the boxes? How to know
the correct box?"
"No, not yet," she admitted.
"You don't even have the other two!"
"We have a year to get them," she said with calm determination. "We have a year from the first
day of winter. A year from today."
Zedd lifted his hands in fury and frustration. "Even if we could find them, you think that you
would somehow be able to command the power of Orden? You think you can wield the power of
Orden?"
"Not me," she said in a near whisper.
Zedd cocked his head, unsure he had actually heard what he thought he'd heard. His suspicion
flared into hot dread.
"What do you mean, not you? You just said that you put the boxes in play."
Nicci stepped closer. She laid a hand gently on his forearm.


"When I opened the gateway I was asked to name the player. I named Richard. I put the boxes of
Orden in play on behalf of Richard."
Zedd stood thunderstruck.
He wanted to strike her dead.
He wanted to strangle her. He wanted to rip her limb from limb.
"You named Richard?"
She nodded. "It was the only way."
Zedd ran the fingers of both hands back into his unruly thatch of wavy white hair, holding his
head for fear it might come apart.
"The only way? Bags, woman! Are you out of your mind?"
"Zedd, calm down. I know it's a surprise, but this is hardly a whim. I've thought it through.
Believe me, I've thought it all through. If we are to survive, if those who care about life are to
survive, if there is to be a chance for life, if there is to be a chance for a future, then this is the
only way."
Zedd dropped heavily into one of the chairs at the table. Before he did something beyond
retrieval, before he reacted out of blind rage, he told himself that he must keep his head. He tried
to touch on all he knew about the boxes and what was happening, tried to remind himself of all
the desperate things he'd had to do in his life. He tried to see it from her perspective.
He couldn't.
"Nicci, Richard doesn't know how to use his gift."
"He will have to find a way."
"He doesn't know anything about the boxes of Orden!"
"We will have to teach him."
"We don't know enough about the boxes of Orden. We don't know for sure which is the correct
Book of Counted Shadows. Only the correct book works as the key to the boxes!"
"We will have to sort that out."
"Dear spirits, Nicci, we don't even know where Richard is!"
"We know that the witch woman tried to capture him in the sliph and failed. We know from what
Rachel told us that Six apparently cut Richard off from his gift by drawing spells in the sacred
caves in Tamarang. Rachel says that Six lost him when he was captured by the Imperial Order.


For all we know, by now he may have escaped them as well and be on his way here. If not, we will have to find him." Zedd couldn't seem to find a way to make her see and understand all that stood in their way. "What you're suggesting is impossible!" She smiled then, a sad smile. "A wizard I know and respect, a wizard Who taught Richard to be the man he is, also taught him to think of the solution, not the problem. Such advice has always served him well." Zedd was having none of it. He shot to his feet. "You had no right to do such a thing, Nicci. You have no right to decide this for his life. You had no right to name Richard to this!" Her smile vanished to reveal the iron beneath. "I know Richard. I know how he fights for life. I know what it means to him. I know that there is nothing he would not do to preserve the value of life. I know that if he knew all the things I know, he would have wanted me to do as I have done." "Nicci, you don't-" "Zedd," she said in a commanding tone of voice that cut him off, "I asked you if you trusted Richard with your life, with all life. You said that you did. Those words have meaning. You did not hem and haw, qualifying the bounds of your trust. Trusting someone with your life is as unequivocal as trust can be. "Richard is the only one who can lead us in the final battle. While Jagang and the Order might be part of it, the battle over the power of Orden is the final battle. The Sisters of the Dark who command those boxes will make it so. One way or another, they will make sure of it. The only way Richard can lead us is for him to have the boxes in play. In that way, he truly is the fulfillment of prophecy: fuer grissa ostdrauka-the bringer of death. "But this is more than prophecy. Prophecy only expresses what we already know, that Richard is the one who has been leading us in defending the values we hold dear, the values that promote life. "Richard himself named the terms of the engagement when he spoke to the D'Haran troops. As the Lord Rahl, the leader of the D'Haran Empire, he told those men how the war would be fought from now on: All or nothing. "This can be no different. Richard is true to the core and would not expect everyone else to do what he himself would not do. He is the heart of all we believe. He would not betray us.

 "We are now in it all the way. It now truly is all or nothing." Zedd threw his arms up. "But naming Richard the player is not the only way he can lead this battle, not the only way for him to succeed-but it very well might instead be the cause of him failing. What you have done could lead us all to ruin." Nicci's blue eyes filled with the kind of conviction, resolve, and rage that told him she might reduce him to ash if he stood in the way of what she believed was necessary. For the first time he was seeing Death's Mistress as those who stood in her way, stood before her full fury, saw her. "Your love for your grandson is blinding you. He is more than your grandson." "My love for him doesn't-" Nicci thrust an arm out to point to the east, toward D'Hara. "Those Sisters of the Dark ignited the Chainfire event! Chainfire is burning unchecked through all of our memories. Such an event means far more than simply losing our memory of Kahlan. "Who we are, what we are, what we can be, is moment by moment disintegrating. It's not just about forgetting Kahlan. The vortex of that spell grows daily. The damage is multiplying on itself. We are unaware of the full extent of all we have lost already while day by day we lose yet more. Our very minds, or ability to think, to reason, are being eroded by that vile spell. "Worse, the Chainfire spell is contaminated. Richard himself showed it to us. The contamination of the chimes is buried deep within the Chainfire spell that has infected everyone. The contamination carried by the Chainfire spell is burning through the world of life. Besides destroying the nature of who and what we are, it's destroying the fabric of magic itself. Without Richard we wouldn't even be aware of it. "The world not only stands at the brink due to Jagang and the Imperial Order, but it is being destroyed by the silent, unseen work of the Chainfire spell and the contamination within it." Nicci jabbed a finger at her temple. "Has that contamination already destroyed your ability to see what is at stake? Has it already taken your ability to think? "The only counter to the Chainfire event is the boxes of Orden. That is the reason the boxes were created-they were created specifically as the only salvation should the Chainfire event ever be ignited. "Those Sisters ignited Chainfire. To compound what they did, to make it irreversible, they themselves put the boxes in play, put the counter in play, naming themselves as the player. They believe that there is now no way for anyone to stop them. They may be right. I've read The Book of Life, the instructions for how Orden functions. It provides no way to halt the play once initiated. We can't shut down Chainfire. We can't halt the play of Orden. The world of life is about to spin out of control-just as they want. "What is Richard fighting for? What are we all fighting for? Should we simply give up, say that it's too hard, too risky to try to prevent our total annihilation? Should we shrink from the only chance we have? Shall we surrender everything that matters? Should we let Jagang slaughter all those who wish to be free? Let the Fellowship of Order enslave the world? Allow Chainfire to run rampant and destroy our memory of everything good? Let the contamination within that spell wipe magic from the world along with everything that depends on it for life? Shall we just sit down and give up? Shall we let the world end at the hands of people who would destroy it all? "Sister Ulicia opened the gateway to the power of Orden. She put the boxes in play. What is Richard supposed to do? He has to have the weapons he needs to fight this battle. I have just given him what he needs. "The struggle is now truly in balance. The two sides of this battle are now fully engaged in the struggle that will decide it all. "We have to trust Richard in this struggle. "There was a time a few years back when you were faced with similar decisions. You knew your choices, your responsibilities, the risks, and the lethal consequences of inaction. You named Richard the Seeker of Truth." Zedd nodded, hardly able to summon his voice. "Yes, I did indeed." "And he lived up to everything you believed of him, and more, didn't he?" He couldn't make himself stop trembling. "Yes, the boy did all I ever expected and more." "This is no different, Zedd. The Sisters of the Dark no longer have exclusive access to the power of Orden." She brought an arm up and made a fist. "I have given Richard a chance-I have given us all a chance. In that sense, I have just put Richard into play, giving him what he must have to win this struggle." Through his watery vision Zedd gazed into her eyes. Besides the resolve, the fury, the determination, there was something else. He saw there in her blue eyes a shadow of pain. "And . . . ?" She drew back. "And what?"

 "As complete as your rationale has been, there is something more to this, something that you
have not said."
Nicci turned away, the fingers of one hand trailing along the tabletop, trailing through spells
drawn in her own blood, spells she had risked her life to invoke.
Her back to him, Nicci gestured vaguely, a self-conscious flick of her hand, a simple motion
gracefully betraying unimaginable anguish.
"You're right," she said in a voice on the ragged edge of control. "I have given Richard one other
thing."
Zedd stood for a moment, considering the woman turned away from him. "And what would that
be?"
She turned back. A tear traced a slow path down her cheek.
"I have just given him the only chance he has of getting back the woman he loves. The boxes of
Orden are the only counter to the Chainfire spell that took Kahlan from him. If he is to have her
back, the boxes of Orden are the only way.
"I have given him the only chance he has to have what he loves most in life."
Zedd sank back down in the chair and put his face in his hands.



 

 CHAPTER 5

 Nicci stood, her back stiff and straight, as Zedd, slumped in the chair before her, wept into his hands. She had locked her knees for fear that her legs would give way beneath her. She told herself that she would not allow a single tear to escape her control. She had almost succeeded. When she had invoked the power of Orden, putting the box in play in Richard's name, that power had done something to her. It had, to a degree, countered the damage of the Chainfire spell infecting her. When Nicci named Richard the player, completing the links to the power she had invoked, Nicci had suddenly known Kahlan. It was not a rebuilding of her lost memory of Kahlan-that was gone- but rather it was a simple reconnection to the awareness of the reality of Kahlan's existence, to the here and now. For ages, it seemed, Nicci had thought that Richard was deluded in his belief in the existence of a woman no one but he remembered. Even later, when Richard had found the Chainfire book and had proven to them what had really happened, Nicci had at last believed him, but she had based that belief only on her belief in Richard and the facts he had uncovered. It was an intellectual conviction based on indirect evidence alone. That conviction had no basis in her own memories or perceptions. She had no personal recollection of Kahlan, only Richard's memory to go on, his word, and the evidence at hand. In that secondhand manner she believed in the existence of this woman, Kahlan, because she believed Richard. But now Nicci knew-really knew-that Kahlan was real. Nicci still had no memory of anything about the woman, but she viscerally knew that Kahlan was real, that she existed. She no longer needed to rely on Richard's word to know it. It was self-evident, almost as if she perceived it directly. It was somewhat like remembering meeting someone in the past but not being able to remember their face. While that person's face would not be recalled, that person's existence was not in doubt. Nicci knew that, now, because of the connection to the power of Orden, because of what it had done within her, Kahlan would no longer seem to be invisible. Nicci would be able to see her just as she could see everyone else. The Chainfire spell still resided within Nicci, but Orden had at least partially countered the spell, halted the continuing damage, allowing her to be aware of the truth. Her memory of Kahlan was still not vital, but Kahlan was. Nicci now knew, really knew, that Richard's love was real. Nicci felt an aching joy for Richard's heart, even as her own had broken. Cara stepped up close beside her and did something Nicci could never have imagined a Mord-Sith doing: she put an arm gently around Nicci's waist, drawing her close. At least, it was something no Mord-Sith would ever have done until Richard had come along. Richard had changed everything. Cara, like Nicci, had been brought back from the brink of madness by Richard's passion for life. The two of them shared a unique understanding of Richard, a special connection, a perspective that Nicci doubted anyone else, even Zedd, could truly appreciate. More than that, no one but Cara could grasp all that Nicci had just given up. "You did good, Nicci," Cara whispered.

 Zedd rose. "Yes, she did. I'm sorry, my dear, if I've been unfairly hard on you. I can see now that you did in fact think it through. You did what you thought was right. I must admit that, given the circumstances, you did the only thing that made sense. "I apologize for jumping to foolish assumptions. I've had reason to know many of the profound dangers surrounding the ilse of the power of Orden-I probably know more about it than anyone alive today. I've even seen the magic of Orden called forth by Darken Rahl. Because of that, I have a somewhat different view than you've presented. "While I don't necessarily completely agree with you, what you did was an act of great intellect and courage, to say nothing of desperation. I'm familiar, too, with acts of desperation in the face of incredible odds and I can appreciate how they are sometimes necessary. "I hope you are right in what you've done. Even if it means I am wrong, I would choose for you to be the one who was right. "But it doesn't matter, now. Done is done. You have put the boxes of Orden in play and named Richard the player. Despite what I may believe, we are all of a mind in our cause. Now that it is done, we must do our best to see to it that this works. We will all need to do our utmost to help Richard. If he fails, we all fail. All life fails." Nicci couldn't help but feel a certain degree of relief. "Thank you, Zedd. With your help, we will make this work." He shook his head sadly. "My help? Perhaps I'm merely a hindrance. I just wish you had consulted me first." "I did," Nicci said. "I asked you if you trusted Richard with your life, with all life. What more consultation could there be than that?" Zedd smiled through the sadness lingering on his face. "I guess you're right. It could just be that the combination of the Chainfire spell and the contamination of the chimes has already eroded my ability to think." "I don't believe that for a moment, Zedd. I think it's that you love Richard and are worried for him. I wouldn't have sought your counsel had it not been important. You told me what I needed to know." "If you get confused again," Cara said to him, "I'll straighten you out." Zedd scowled at the woman. "How reassuring."

 "Well, Nicci made a long story of it," Cara said, "but it's not really all that complicated. Anyone should be able to see it-even you, Zedd." Zedd frowned. "What do you mean?" Cara shrugged one shoulder. "We are the steel against steel. Lord Rahl is the magic against magic." To Cara, it was no more complicated than that. Nicci wondered if the Mord-Sith didn't really grasp that she was only scratching the surface, or if she understood the entire concept better than anyone. Perhaps she was right and it really wasn't any more complicated than that. Zedd laid a hand gently on Nicci's shoulder. It reminded her of Richard's gentle touch. "Well, despite what Cara says, this may be the death of us all. If it is to have a chance to work, though, we have a lot of work to do. Richard is going to need our help. You and I know a great deal about magic. Richard knows next to nothing." Nicci smiled to herself. "He knows more about it than you think he does. It was Richard who deciphered the taint in the Chainfire spell. None of us understood all that business about the language of symbols, but Richard picked it up on his own. By himself he learned to understand ancient drawings, designs, and emblems. "I could never teach him anything about his gift, but he often surprised me with how much he grasped that was beyond the conventional understanding of magic. He taught me things I could never have imagined." Zedd was nodding. "He drives me crazy, too." Rikka, the other Mord-Sith living at the Wizard's Keep, stuck her head in the doorway. "Zedd, I just thought you ought to know about something." She pointed a finger skyward. "I was a few levels up and there must be some kind of broken window or something. The wind is making a strange noise." Zedd frowned. "What kind of noise?" Rikka put her hands on her hips and stared at the floor, thinking it over. "I don't know." She looked up again. "It's hard to describe. It reminded me a little of wind blowing through a narrow passage." "A howling noise?" Zedd asked. Rikka shook her head. "No. More like the way it sounds out on the ramparts when the wind blows through the crenellations."

 Nicci glanced toward the windows. "It's just dawn. I've been casting webs. The wind hasn't come
up yet."
Rikka shrugged. "I don't know what it could have been, then."
"The Keep sometimes makes noises when it breathes."
Rikka wrinkled her nose. "Breathes?"
"Yes," the wizard said. "When the temperature changes, like now when the nights are getting
colder, the air down in the thousands of rooms will move around. Forced into the constrictions of
the passageways it sometimes moans through the halls of the Keep when there is no wind
outside."
"Well, I haven't been here long enough to have experienced such a thing, but that must be it, then.
The Keep must be breathing." Rikka started away.
"Rikka," Zedd called, waiting for her to halt. "What were you doing up there in that section
anyway?"
"Chase is looking for Rachel," Rikka said back over her shoulder. "I was just helping out. You
haven't seen her, have you?"
Zedd shook his head. "Not this morning. I saw her last night before she went off to bed."
"All right, I'll tell Chase." Rikka peered into the room a moment and then leaned a hand against
the doorway. "What's that thing on the table, anyway? What are you three up to?"
"Trouble," Cara said.
Rikka nodded knowingly. "Magic."
"You have that right," Cara said.
Rikka tapped the palm of her hand against the doorframe. "Well, I'd better go find Rachel before
Chase finds her first and gives her a talking-to for going off exploring in such a place."
"That child is a born Keep rat." Zedd sighed. "Sometimes I think she knows the Keep as well as I
do."
"I know." Rikka said. "I've been on patrol and have come across her in places I couldn't believe.
Once I thought for certain that she had to be lost. She insisted she wasn't. I made her lead me
back to prove it. She marched back to her room without ever making a wrong turn, then grinned
up at me and said 'See?'"


Smiling, Zedd scratched his temple. "I had a similar experience with her. Children are quick to
learn such things. Chase encourages her to learn things, to know where she is so that she isn't so
easily lost. I guess, since I grew up here, that's why I don't get lost in the place."
Rikka turned toward the hallway but then turned back when Zedd called her name.
"The wind noise?" He waggled a finger toward the ceiling. "You said it was up there?"
Rikka nodded.
"Do you mean the speckled hallway that runs past the row of libraries? The place with the sitting
areas spaced along the hall outside the rooms?"
"That's the place. I was checking the libraries for Rachel. She likes to look through books. As
you said, it must be the Keep breathing."
"The only problem is that that's one of several areas where the Keep doesn't tend to make any
sound when it breathes. The dead ends off that hall divert the movement of air elsewhere,
preventing enough air moving through that area fast enough to make much of a sound."
"It might have been coming from farther away and I only thought it was in those halls."
Zedd planted a fist on one bony hip as he considered. "And you say it sounded like a moaning
sound?"
"Well, now that I think about it, it seemed more of a growl."
Zedd's brow creased. "A growl?" He crossed the thick carpet and poked his head out of the
doorway, listening.
"Well, not a growl like an animal," Rikka said. "More of a rolling rumble. Like I mentioned-it
reminded me of the sound the wind makes going through the crenellations. You know, a
rumbling, fluttering kind of sound."
"I don't hear anything," Zedd muttered. Rikka made a face. "Well, you can't hear it way down
here." Nicci met them at the doorway. "Then why do I feel something vibrating in the center of
my chest?"
Zedd stared at Nicci for a moment. "Perhaps something to do with all the conjuring involving the
box?"
Nicci shrugged. "Could be, I suppose. I've never dealt with some of those elements before. Much
of it was new to me. There is no telling what some of the ancillary effects might be."
"Do you remember when Friedrich accidentally set off that alarm?" he asked, turning to Rikka.
She nodded. "Did it sound anything like that?"


Rikka shook her head adamantly. "Not unless you put the alarm under water." "The alarms are constructed magic." Zedd rubbed his chin in thought. "You can't put them under water." Cara spun her Agiel up into her fist. "Enough talk." She pushed between them to make it through the doorway. "I say we go have a look." Zedd and Rikka followed after her. Nicci didn't. She gestured toward the box of Orden sitting on the table within the glowing web of light. "I'd better stay close." Besides watching over the box, she needed to study The Book of Life, along with other volumes, further. There were still parts of Ordenic theory that she hadn't been able to fully understand. She was distracted by a number of unanswered questions. If she was eventually to be of any help to Richard she would need to know the answers to those questions. What concerned her most was an issue at the center of Ordenic theory having to do with the connections between Orden and the subject of the Chainfire event-Kahlan. Nicci needed to better understand the nature of requirements for connections based on primary foundations. She needed to fully grasp how those foundations were established. She was troubled by the constraints on predetermined protocols-their need of a sterile field in order to re-create memory. She also needed to learn more about the precise conditions in which the forces needed to be applied. At the center of it all, though, was that cautionary requirement of a sterile field. She needed to understand the precise nature of the sterile field Orden required and, more importantly, why Ordenic protocols needed it. "I have all the shields up," Zedd told her. "The entrances to the Keep are sealed. If anyone had entered without permission alarms would be going off all over the place. We'd all be plugging our ears until we found the cause." "There are gifted people who know about such things," Nicci reminded him. Zedd didn't need to consider for long. "You have a point. Considering all that's going on, and all we don't yet know, we can't be too careful. It wouldn't be a bad idea for you to keep an eye on the box." Nicci nodded as she followed them out of the doorway. "Let me know as soon as all is clear." The towering hall outside, while not more than a dozen feet wide, rose nearly out of sight high overhead. The passageway formed a long, narrow rift deep within the mountain down in the lower part of the Keep. To the left side rose a natural rock wall that had been chiseled right out

 of the granite of the mountain itself. Even thousands of years later, the marks left by cutting tools
could still be seen.
The wall on the side with the rooms was made up of tightly fit, enormous stone blocks. They
formed the wall opposing the chiseled granite, rising up together sixty or more feet. That
seemingly endless split through the mountain constituted part of the boundary of the containment
field. The rooms within the containment area were all lined up along the very outer edge of the
Keep that rose up out of the mountain itself.
Nicci followed the others only a short way through the seemingly endless hall, watching them
until they reached the first intersection.
"This is no time to get sloppy or lenient," she called after them. "Too much is at risk."
Zedd accepted her warning with a nod. "We'll be back after I look into it."
Cara cast Nicci a look back over her shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll be there and I'm not in the mood
to be lenient. In fact, I'm not going to be in a good mood again until I see Lord Rahl alive and
safe."
"You have good moods?" Zedd asked as they hurried away.
Cara scowled at him. "I'm frequently cheerful and pleasant. Are you suggesting that I'm not?"
Zedd held up his hands in surrender. "No, no. Cheerful describes you perfectly."
"Good, then."
"In fact, cheerful would come even before bloodthirsty in my book."
"Come to think of it, I think I like bloodthirsty even better."
Nicci couldn't share the spirit of their banter. She wasn't good at making people laugh. She
frequently found herself perplexed by the way Zedd and others could ease tension with such
exchanges.
Nicci knew all too well the nature of the people who were trying to kill them. She had once been
one of those people of the Order. She had been as merciless as she had been deadly.
She had never once seen Emperor Jagang being jovial or lighthearted. He was hardly a man
given to repartee. She had spent a great deal of time with him, and he was never anything but
consistently lethal. His cause was deadly serious to him and he was fanatically dedicated to it.
Knowing the kind of people coming for them, people like she herself had once been, and
understanding their heartless nature, Nicci didn't feel that she could be any less serious than they.


She watched Zedd, Cara, and Rikka hurry down the first hall to the right, heading for the
stairway.
As they started up, Nicci suddenly understood the sound, the vibration she felt.
It was an alarm, of sorts.
She knew why Rikka didn't recognize it.
She opened her mouth to call out to the others just as the world seemed to come grinding to a
halt.
A dark cloud poured down the stairwell. It was like a million-speckled suggestion of a snake in
midair, rolling, turning, twisting, thinning, thickening as it came roaring down the stairwell. The
rolling, fluttering rumble was deafening.
Thousands of bats poured around the corner, a fat snake of them in midair, a thing alive made up
of untold numbers of the little creatures. The sight of so many thousands of them coalesced into a
single moving shape was riveting. The racket reverberated off the walls, filling the split in the
mountain with a riot of noise. The bats seemed to be flying in a panic, their fused form coiling
around the corner in a rush as they bolted from something.
Zedd, Cara, and Rikka seemed frozen where they had begun to climb the stairs.
And then the fleeing bats were gone, driven before some terror coming through the Keep behind
them. The soft, fluttering sound they left in their wake echoed its muted alarm through the hall as
the bats fled into deeper darkness.
That distant sound was what Rikka had heard but not understood.
Staring at the stairs from where the bats had come, Nicci felt as if she were frozen and immobile
in an expectant, silent moment in time, waiting to breathe, waiting for something unimaginable.
With a rising sense of panic, she realized that in fact she really couldn't move.
And then a dark shape came sweeping down the stairs like an ill wind. Yet, at the same time, it
inexplicably appeared to hang motionless. It seemed composed of swirling black shapes and
flowing shadows, creating an inky eddy of obscurity. The dizzying shape of it, the entwining
currents of darkness, implied movement that it didn't have.
Nicci blinked, and it was gone.
She urgently renewed her effort to move, but she felt as if she was suspended in warm wax. She
could breathe to a small extent, and make headway, but only in the most impossibly slow fashion.


Every inch took monumental effort and seemed to take an eternity. The world had become
impossibly thick as everything slowed toward a halt.
In the passageway, just behind the others in the hall at the bottom of the stairs, the shape
appeared again, suspended in midair above the stone floor. It looked like a woman in a flowing
black dress floating underwater.
Even in the midst of growing terror, Nicci found the exotic sight strangely fascinating. The
others, with the intruder already past them, were in mid-stride ascending the stairs, as still as if
caught in a painting.
The woman's wiry black hair lifted lazily out all around her bloodless face. The loose fabric of
the black dress swirled as if in whirls of water. Within the slow turbulence of black cloth and
hair, the woman herself seemed nearly unmoving.
It looked like nothing so much as if she were floating under murky water.
Then the figure was gone again.
No, not underwater, Nicci realized.
In the sliph.
That's how Nicci felt, too. It was that kind of strange, otherworldly, suspended sensation of
drifting. It was impossibly slow and at the same time blindingly fast.
The figure suddenly appeared again, closer this time.
Nicci tried to call out, but she couldn't. She tried to lift her arms to casi a web, but she drifted too
slowly. She thought it might take an entire day just to lift her arm.
Sparkling shards of light glimmered and flashed in the air between Nicci and the others. Magic,
she knew, cast by the wizard. It fell far short of the intruder. Even though the brief spate of
power sputtered out without having any effect, Nicci was astounded that Zedd had managed to
ignite it at all. She had tried much the same thing without any result.
Dark trailers of cloth drifted, fluidly flapping through the hallway. Snaking shapes and shadows
curled around as they moved ever so slow The figure wasn't walking, or running. It glided,
floated, flowed, almost unmoving within the swirling cloth of the dress.
Then it was gone again.
In a blink, it reappeared, much closer yet. The ghostlike skin stretched tight over a bony face
looking as if it had never been touched by sunlight. Snarls of weightless black hair rose up with
wisps of the flowing black dress.


It was as disorienting a sight as Nicci had ever seen. She felt as if she were drowning. Panic welled up in her at the feeling of not being able to breathe fast enough, of trying to get the air she needed. Her burning lungs were unable to work any faster than the rest of her. When Nicci focused her gaze, the figure of the woman was gone. It occurred to her that her eyes, too, were too slow. The hallway was empty again. It seemed that her focus could not keep up with the movement. Nicci thought that maybe she was having some kind of hallucination brought on by the spells she had cast, by the power of Orden she had tapped into. She wondered if it could be some kind of aftereffect of the spells. Maybe it was Orden itself come to claim her for tampering with such forbidden powers. That had to be it-something to do with all the dangerous things she had conjured. The woman appeared again, as if floating up through the murky deep, emerging suddenly into view out of the dark abyss. This time Nicci could clearly see the woman's austere, angular features. Blanched blue eyes fixed on Nicci as if there was nothing else in her world. That scrutiny touched Nicci's very soul with icy dread. The woman's eyes were so pale that they seemed as if they had to be sightless, but Nicci knew that this woman could see just fine, not only in the light, but also in the blackest cave, or under a rock where the light of day never touched her. The woman smiled as wicked a grin as Nicci had ever seen. It was the smile of someone who had no fear but enjoyed causing it, a woman who knew she had everything under her mastery. It was a smile that sent a slow shiver through Nicci. And then the woman was gone. In the distance more of Zedd's magic sparked and sputtered briefly before it died out. Nicci struggled to move, but the world was too thick, the way it sometimes felt in those terrible dreams she had, dreams where she struggled to move but simply couldn't despite how hard she tried. It was the dream where she was trying to run from Jagang. He was always close, coming for her, reaching for her. He was like death itself, intent on the most unimaginable cruelty, as he came toward her. She always wanted desperately to run in those dreams but, despite extraordinary effort, her legs wouldn't move nearly fast enough. Those dreams always put her in a state of trembling panic. It was a dream that made death so real she could taste its terror.

 She'd had that dream one time in camp. Richard had been there. He woke her, asking what was
wrong. She gasped back tears as she told him. He cupped her face and told her that it was only a
dream and she was all right. She would have given anything to have had him hold her in his arms
and tell her that she was safe, but he didn't. Still, his hand on her face, covered with both of hers,
and his gentle words, his empathy, had been a comfort that calmed her terror.
This, though, was no dream.
Nicci tried to gasp a breath, to call out to Zedd, but could do neither. She tried to call her Han,
her gift, but couldn't seem to connect to it. It was as if her gift was impossibly fast and she was
impossibly slow. The two wouldn't mesh.
The woman, her flesh the pallid color of the freshly dead, her hair and dress as black as the
underworld, was suddenly right there, right beside Nicci.
The woman's arm floated out, reaching through the swirling black cloth. Parched flesh stretched
tightly over her knuckles served to emphasize the skeleton beneath. Her bony fingers brushed
along the underside of Nicci's jaw. It was a haughty touch, an arrogant act of triumph.
At the touch, the vibration in Nicci's chest felt as if it might tear her apart.
The woman laughed a hollow, slow, burbling underwater laugh that echoed painfully through the
stone halls of the Keep.
Nicci knew without doubt what the woman wanted, what she had come for. Nicci tried
desperately to ignite her power, to grab the woman, lunge, to do anything to stop her, but she
could do nothing. Her power seemed impossibly distant, crackling so far away that it would take
forever to reach it.
As the finger brushed along the length of Nicci's jaw, the woman was gone again, vanishing
gently back into the dark depths.
The next time she appeared, she was back at the brass-clad doors leading open to the room with
the box. The woman drifted through the doorway, her feet never touching the ground, her dress
washing lightly around her.
Again she vanished out of Nicci's focus.
The next time she appeared, she was between the room and Nicci.
She had the box of Orden under an arm..
As that terrible laughter echoed through Nicci's mind, the world melted into blackness.



 

 CHAPTER 6

 Rachel didn't know who the horse belonged to, and she didn't really care. She wanted it. She had been running all night and she was exhausted. She had never stopped to consider why she might be running. It somehow didn't seem important. It mattered only that she keep going, keep making progress. She needed to hurry. She needed to keep going. She needed to go faster. She needed the horse. She was certain of the direction in which she had to go. She didn't know why she felt so certain about it. She didn't give that matter any serious thought. It remained only a question from somewhere deep in the back of her mind that never completely surfaced into full conscious concern. As she crouched in the dry, brittle brush, she tried to remain still as a shadow as she figured out what to do. It was hard to stay still because she was so cold. She tried not to shiver for fear of giving herself away. She wanted to rub her arms, but she knew not to because any movement might draw attention. As cold as she was, what concerned her the most was getting the horse. Whoever owned the horse didn't seem to be nearby at the moment. At least, if he was, she couldn't see him. He might be sleeping in the long, brown grass and be too low for her to see where he was. He might be off scouting. Or, he might be waiting, watching for her, maybe with an arrow nocked and at the ready so that once she bolted from cover he could take aim and shoot her down. As scary as such a thought was, her fear of such a thing couldn't compare to her need to keep going, her need to hurry. Rachel checked the sun off through the thick stand of trees, checking her bearings, making sure she knew the direction she needed to go. She surveyed her choices of escape routes. There was a wide path, not quite a road, that would be a good place for a fast getaway. There was also a shallow, gravel-bottomed stream that ran through part of the open meadow. On the other side of the meadow the stream joined the road and ran beside it as both made their way southeast through the trees. The sun, low, huge-looking, and red, hung just above the horizon. The color matched the color of the scratches all over her arms from running through the brush. Before Rachel realized it, before she had finished thinking it through, her legs were moving. They almost seemed to have a mind of their own. Only a few steps out of the brush she was running, bolting out across the open ground toward the horse.

 Out of the corner of her eye Rachel caught sight of the man as he suddenly sat up in the tall grass. Just as she had suspected, he had been sleeping. With his leather vest and studded straps holding knives, he looked like one of those Imperial Order men. He appeared to be alone. Probably on a scouting mission. That's what Chase had taught her. Imperial Order troops out alone were likely scouts. She didn't really care who he was. She wanted the horse. She thought that maybe she should be afraid of the man, but she wasn't. She was afraid only of not getting the horse, of not hurrying. The man threw his blanket aside as he shot to his feet. He scrambled into a dead run. He was coming fast, but Rachel's legs had grown long over the summer and she was a fast runner. The soldier yelled at her. She paid him no never mind as she raced toward the bay mare. The man threw something at her. She saw it streak by over her left shoulder. It was a knife. At such a distance she knew that it had been a foolish throw-a throw-and-pray, as Chase called it. He taught her to focus, to aim. He'd taught her a lot about knives. She also knew that a running target was difficult to hit with a knife. She was right. The knife missed her by a good margin. With a soft thunk it stuck in a fallen log lying along the way between her and the horse. She yanked the knife out of the rotting log as she ran by and stuck it through her belt as she slowed. The knife was hers now. Chase had taught her to take the enemy's weapons whenever possible and be prepared to use them, especially if the weapon was superior to what she had. He had taught her that in a survival situation she had to use whatever was at hand. Gulping air, she ran under the horse's nose, snatching up the loose ends of the reins, but they were tied to a branch of the fallen log. Her fingers worked frantically to undo the tight knot, but they were numb with cold. They slipped on the leather as she clawed at it. She wanted to scream with frustration, but instead she kept tugging, working the knot. It seemed to take forever to get it loose. As soon as the reins were free she gathered them together in one hand. It was then that she noticed the saddle not far away. She glanced up as the man yelled again calling her a name. He was coming fast. She wouldn't have near enough time to even think about saddling the horse. Saddlebags-probably full of supplies-leaned against the saddle. She slipped her arm under the flat piece of leather connecting the two halves of the saddlebag and ducked under the startled horse's neck.

 Rounding the far side she grabbed a fistful of mane and hung on tightly to help her vault up onto the animal's bare back. The saddlebags were heavy and she almost dropped them, but she held on tight and pulled them up behind her. Even though the horse hadn't been saddled, at least it had on its bridle. Somewhere in the dim recesses of her mind Rachel relished the warmth of the animal. She laid the hefty packs across the horse's withers in front of her legs. There would be food and water inside. She would need both if she was to be able to continue for long. She just assumed that it would be a long journey. The horse snorted, tossing its head. Rachel didn't take the time to gentle the animal as Chase had taught her. She laid the reins over as she thumped the horse's ribs with her heels. The horse danced sideways, not sure about its strange new rider. Rachel glanced over a shoulder and saw the man almost there. Holding a fistful of mane tightly with one hand and the reins with the other, Rachel leaned forward and again thumped her heels into the horse's sides, farther back. The horse bolted into a dead run. The man, cursing, made a frantic dive for the bridle. Rachel jerked the reins to the side and the horse followed. The soldier flew past them and landed on his face, grunting with the force of the impact. Suddenly seeing the thundering hooves so close he cried out, his anger switching to fright as he rolled out of the way. He missed being trampled by inches. Rachel felt no sense of triumph. She felt only the compulsion to hurry, to run southeast. The horse obliged. She guided the racing mare to the stream at the far side of the grassy clearing. Trees closed in around them as they ran up the wide swath of shallow water, the man disappearing far behind. Water splashed as the horse ran. The gravel bottom seemed to suit the horse's gait. Chase had taught her how to use water to hide her tracks. Every galloping stride was one stride closer, and that was all that mattered.


  

 CHAPTER 7

 When the soldier walking past the wagons tossed the hard-boiled eggs, Richard caught as many
as he could. As soon as he had scooped the rest of them up off the ground he gathered them all in
the crook of his arm and crawled back under the wagon to get out of the rain. It was a cold,
miserable excuse for a shelter, but it was still better than sitting in the rain.
After having collected his own booty of eggs, Johnrock, pulling his chain behind, scurried back
under the other end of the wagon.


"Eggs again," Johnrock said in disgust. "That's all they ever feed us. Eggs!"
"It could be worse," Richard told him.
"How?" Johnrock demanded, not at all happy about his diet.
Richard wiped eggs on his pants, trying to clean the mud off the shells as best he could. "They
could be feeding usYork ."
Johnrock frowned over at Richard. "York?"
"Your teammate who broke his leg," Richard said as he started peeling one of his eggs. "The one
Snake-face murdered."
"Oh. ThatYork ." Johnrock considered a moment. "You really think these soldiers eat people?"
Richard glanced over. "If they run out of food they will turn to eating the dead. If they are
hungry enough and run out of dead, they will harvest a new crop."
"You think they will run out of food?"
Richard knew they would, but he didn't want to say so. He had instructed the D'Haran forces not
only to destroy any supply train from the Old World, but to destroy theOld World 's ability to
provide for their massive invasion force to the north.
"I'm just saying that it could be worse than eggs."
Johnrock looked at his eggs in a new light, finally grumbling his agreement.
As Johnrock started in peeling an egg of his own, he changed the subject. "You think they'll
make us play Ja'La in the rain?"
Richard swallowed a mouthful of egg before he answered. "Probably. But I'd rather be playing a
game and get warm than sit here freezing all day."
"I suppose," Johnrock said.
"Besides," Richard told him, "the sooner we can start defeating the teams come for the
tournaments, the sooner we work our way up in the standings, and the sooner we get to play the
emperor's team." Johnrock grinned at that prospect.
Richard was starving, but he forced himself to slow down and savor the meal. As they peeled
shells and ate in silence, he kept an eye on the activity in the distance. Even in the rain, men were
busy at every sort of work. The sound of hammers at forges rang through the drone of rain and
clamor of conversation, yelling, arguing, laughing, and orders being shouted.
The vast encampment spread across the flat Azrith Plain to what Richard could see of the
horizon. Sitting on the ground it was hard to see a great deal of the larger camp out beyond. He


could see wagons and a little farther away the larger tents in the middle distance. Horses rode past while wagons pulled by mules made their way through the milling masses. Men on foot, looking miserable in the rain, stood in lines waiting for food at cook tents. In the distance the People's Palace, sitting on a high plateau, towered over everything. Even in the murk of the gray day, the magnificent stone walls, grand towers, and tiled roofs of the palace stood out above the grimy army come to destroy it. With the steamy vapor rising from the Imperial Order camp, along with the rain and the overcast, the plateau and the palace atop it looked like a distant, noble apparition. There were times when cloud and mist drew across like a curtain and the entire plateau vanished in the gray gloom, as if it had seen enough of the seething horde come to defile it. There was no easy way for any enemy to attack the palace high on the plateau. The road up the side of the cliff walls was far too narrow for any kind of meaningful assault. Besides that, there was a drawbridge that Richard was certain would have already been raised and, even if it weren't, there were massive walls at the top that were formidable in their own right and little space outside of them to gather any sizable assault force. Except in times of war, the People's Palace drew commerce from all over D'Hara. Supplies for all the people living there were constantly being brought in. Because it was a trade center, great numbers of people came to the palace to buy and sell goods. For all those people, the primary way up to the city palace was through the inside of the plateau itself. Stairs and walkways accommodated the large number of visitors and vendors. There were also wide ramps for horses and wagons. Because so many people traveled up the inside of the plateau, there were shops and stands all along the way. Large numbers of people came for those market stands and never made the journey all the way up to the city at the top. The entire inside of the plateau was honeycombed with rooms of every sort. Some of the interior spaces were public, but some were not. There were large numbers of soldiers of the First File-the palace guard- barracked there. The problem, from the perspective of the Imperial Order, was that the great doors to those inner access areas were closed. Those doors had been made to stand against any kind of attack, and there were enough supplies stored inside for a long siege. Outside, the Azrith Plain was not at all a hospitable place for forces to gather for a siege. While deep wells inside the plateau provided water for the inhabitants, outside on the Azrith Plain there was no steady supply of water nearby, except the occasional rain, and there was no close source of firewood. On top of that, the weather out on the plain was harsh. The Imperial Order did have plenty of gifted with them, but they couldn't be much help in breaching the palace defenses. The very construction of the palace was in the form of a protection spell that magnified the power of the ruling Lord Rahl while at the same time hindering the power of others. Inside that plateau, and in the city atop it, the ability of any gifted but a Rahl was severely blunted by that spell. Because he was a Rahl, such a spell would ordinarily be a benefit for Richard, if it were not for the fact that he had somehow been cut off from his gift. He was pretty sure how that had been accomplished. Chained to a wagon, in the middle of an enemy force numbering in the millions, though, he couldn't do a whole lot about it. Other than the plateau and the palace atop it, the thing that stood out highest of all out on the Azrith Plain was the ramp that the Imperial Order was constructing. Without an easy way to attack the seat of power of the D'Haran Empire, the last obstacle standing in the way of their total domination of theNew World , Jagang had apparently come up with a plan to build an enormous ramp to get enough forces to the top of the plateau to breach the walls. He planned not simply to besiege the People's Palace, but to assault it. At first Richard had thought such a task impossible, but as he had studied what Jagang's army was doing, he'd quickly become disheartened to realize that it just might work. While the plateau was an imposing height, towering high above the Azrith Plain, the Imperial Order surrounding it had millions of men to devote to the undertaking. From Jagang's perspective, this was his last objective, the last place he needed to crush in order to establish the unopposed rule of the Imperial Order. As far as the emperor was concerned, he had no other battles to fight, no more armies to destroy, no more cities to capture. The city on top of the plateau was all that stood in their way. The Imperial Order-the brutes who enforced the faith demanded by the Fellowship of Order-could not allow the people of theNew World to live outside the control of the Order, because it put the lie to the teachings of their spiritual leaders. The Brothers of the Order taught that individual choice was immoral because it was ruinous to mankind. The very existence of a prosperous, independent, free people stood in stark contrast to the foundational doctrines of the

 Order. The Order had condemned the people of theNew World as selfish and evil, and required
them to convert to the beliefs of the Order, or die.
Having millions of soldiers with time on their hands as they waited to enforce faith in the Order's
beliefs was no doubt troublesome. Jagang had found a task to keep them all busy, a sacrifice to
the cause; they were all now devoted to working in shifts every hour of the day and night at the
construction of the ramp.
While Richard couldn't see the men down lower, he knew that they had to be digging dirt and
rock. As those excavation pits grew ever larger, other men carried the dirt to the site of the ramp.
In such massive numbers, working without pause, they were up to such a daunting undertaking.
Richard hadn't been in the camp for long, but he imagined that day by day he would soon be able
to see the sloping ramp growing inexorably toward the top of the plateau.
"How will you die?" Johnrock asked.
Richard was sick of watching the distant ramp, of contemplating the dark and savage future the
Order would enforce on everyone. Johnrock's question, though, wasn't exactly a ray of sunshine
in the gloom. Richard slumped back against the inside of the wheel on the far side of the wagon
as he ate eggs.
"You think I will have a choice?" he finally asked. "A say in the matter?" Richard rested a
forearm over his knee, gesturing with half an egg. "We make choices about how we will live,
Johnrock. I don't think we have nearly so much say, about how we will die."
Johnrock looked surprised by the answer. "You think we have a choice about how we live?
Ruben, we have no choice."
"We have choices," Richard said without explanation. He popped the half of an egg in his mouth.
Johnrock lifted the chain attached to his collar. "How can I make any choice?" He gestured out at
the encampment. "They are our masters."
"Masters? They have chosen not to think for themselves and instead to live according to the
teachings of the Order. In so doing they are not even the masters of their own lives."
Johnrock shook his head in astonishment. "Sometimes, Ruben, you say the strangest things. I am
a slave. I am the one with no choice, not them."
"There are chains stronger than those attached to the collar around your neck, Johnrock. My life
means a great deal to me. I would give my life to save the life of someone I hold dear, someone I
value."


"Those men out there have chosen to sacrifice their lives to a mindless cause that produces only
suffering-they have already given up their lives and gotten nothing of any value in return. Is that
choosing to live? I don't think so. They wear chains that they have put around their own necks,
chains of a different kind, but chains nonetheless."
"I fought when they came to take me. The Imperial Order won. Now I am chained here. Those
men live, but if we try to be free we will die."
Richard wiped the remaining bits of shell off an egg. "We all have to die, Johnrock-every one of
us. It is how we choose to live that matters. After all, it's the only life each one of us will ever
have, so how we live is of paramount importance."
Johnrock chewed for a moment as he thought it over. Finally, with a grin, he seemed to dismiss
the whole matter. "Well, if I do end up having to choose how I will die, I wish it to be to the
cheers of the crowd for how well I played the game." He glanced over at Richard. "And you,
Ruben? If you have to choose?"
Richard had other things on his mind-important things. "I hope not to have to decide the matter
this day."
Johnrock sighed heavily. The eggs looked tiny in the man's meaty fists. "Maybe not today, but I
think this place is the end of the games ... I think that in this place we finally lose our lives."
Richard didn't answer, so Johnrock spoke again into the drone of the downpour. "I'm serious."
He frowned. "Ruben, are you listening, or are you still dreaming about that woman you think you
saw when we came into camp yesterday?"
Richard realized that he was, and that he was smiling. Despite everything, he was smiling.
Despite how true Johnrock's words were-that they very well might die in this place-he was
smiling. Still, he didn't want to discuss Kahlan with the man.
"I saw a lot of things when we rolled into this camp."
"Soon enough, after the games," Johnrock said, "and if we do well, there will be women enough.
Snake-face has promised us. But now there are just soldiers and more soldiers. You must have
been seeing phantoms yesterday."
Richard stared off at nothing, nodding. "I guess you're far from the first to think that she's a
phantom."


Johnrock heaved a length of chain out of his way and scooted closer to Richard. "Ruben, you'd
better get your head straight or we're going to get ourselves killed before we even get a chance to
play the emperor's team."
Richard looked up. "I thought you were ready to die."
"I don't want to die. Not today, anyway."
"There you go, Johnrock, you have made a choice. Even chained up, you have made a choice
about your life."
Johnrock shook a thick finger at Richard. "Look here, Ruben, if I end up getting killed playing
Ja'La, I don't want it to be because you have your head in the clouds, dreaming of women."
"Just one woman, Johnrock."
The big man leaned back and flicked eggshells off his fingers. "I remember. You said that you
saw the woman you want to be your wife."
Richard didn't correct him. "I just want for us to play well and win all our games so that we can
have the chance to play the emperor's team."
Johnrock's grin returned. "Do you really think we can beat the emperor's team, Ruben? Do you
think we can survive such a game with those men?"
Richard cracked the shell of another egg on the side of his heel. "You're the one who wants to die
to cheers of the crowds for how well you've played."
Johnrock gave Richard a sidelong glance. "Maybe I will do as you say and choose to live free,
yes?"
Richard only smiled before biting the egg in half.
Not long after Richard and Johnrock had finished the last of their meal, Commander Karg
appeared, his boots splashing as he marched toward them through the mud.
"Get out here! All of you!"
Richard and Johnrock crawled out from under the wagon into the drizzle. Other captives at
wagons to either side stood up, waiting to hear what the commander wanted. Soldiers who were
on the team gathered closer.
"We're going to have visitors," Commander Karg announced.
"What kind of visitors?" one of the soldiers asked.
"The emperor is touring the teams that arrived for the tournament. Emperor Jagang and I go way
back. I expect you to show him that I've done well in selecting a worthy team. Any man who


doesn't reflect well on me, or who fails to show the proper respect for our emperor, will be of no use to me." Without further word, the commander hurried away. Richard could feel himself swaying on his feet as his heart pounded. He wondered if Kahlan would be with Jagang, as she had been the day before. While he desperately wanted to see her again, he hated to think of her being anywhere near that man. For that matter, he hated to think of her being anywhere near any of these men. Over the winter, when Nicci had captured Richard and taken him down to theOld World , Kahlan, in his place, had led the D'Haran forces. She was the one responsible for keeping Jagang from having the victory back then that he might otherwise have had. She had been responsible for whittling down the ranks of Order soldiers, even if the endless supplies from theOld World had included reinforcements that more than replenished all the men lost. Kahlan had not only delayed the invaders, but earned their undying hatred for all the pain she had inflicted upon them. Were it not for Kahlan the Order probably would have caught the D'Haran army and slaughtered them. She had kept them one step ahead of Jagang and just out of his reach. Trying to look composed, Richard leaned back against the wagon and folded his arms as he waited. Before long he caught sight of an entourage off to the left making their way through the encampment. They were moving down the line of teams in the distance, pausing at regular intervals along the way to take a closer look. Judging by the types of soldiers Richard could see making up the group, it could be none other than the emperor that they escorted. Richard recognized the royal guard from the day before when he had rolled through the camp and right past Jagang. That was when he had briefly seen Kahlan. The emperor's guards were intimidating in their mail and leather and with their well-made weapons, but it was the size of the men and their bulging, rain-slicked muscles that was truly daunting. These were men who even struck fear into the hearts of the regular brutes of the Order. Those regular troops all fell back well clear of the royal guard. Richard didn't imagine that such men were at all tolerant of anything they believed might potentially be a threat to the emperor. Johnrock stepped forward to join the other men waiting in a line for the emperor to review them. It was when Richard saw Jagang's shaved head off in the center of the ranks of muscled guards that the sudden realization hit him. Jagang would recognize him.

 Jagang, as a dream walker, had been in the minds of various people and he had seen Richard though their eyes. Richard could hardly believe how careless he had been not to even consider that when he played the emperor's team in order to get close enough to Kahlan, Jagang would be there, and Jagang would recognize him. Distracted by the thought of actually getting to Kahlan, he hadn't taken such a prospect into consideration. Richard noticed something else, then-a Sister. It looked like Sister Ulicia, but if it was, she had aged a great deal since he'd last seen her. She was farther away, back at the tail end of all the guards following Jagang, but Richard could still see the sagging creases in her face. The last time he had seen her she'd been an attractive woman, although Richard had difficulty separating a person's looks from their personality, and Sister Ulicia was one sinister woman. No matter how superficially attractive a person was, a cruel personality tainted Richard's image of them. Corrupt character colored his appraisal of a person to such an extent that he could not see them as attractive separate from their vicious nature. That was also one of the reasons Kahlan was so beautiful to him-she was not simply stunningly attractive, but exemplary in every way. Her intelligence and insight were matched by her passion for life. It was as if her captivating looks perfectly reflected everything else about her. Sister Ulicia, despite how physically attractive she once had been, now appeared to reflect only the rot at her core. Richard realized then that not only would Jagang and Sister Ulicia recognize him, but there would be other Sisters in the camp who also knew him. He suddenly felt very vulnerable. Any of those Sisters could happen by at any time. He had nowhere to hide. When he got close enough, Jagang would not fail to see that Lord Rahl, the very man he was after, was right there in his midst. Chained as he was, without his ability to use his Han, even as difficult as it had been for him to call forth his gift when he'd had access to it, Richard would be at Jagang's mercy. He had a sickening flash of a vision that Shota the witch woman had given him. It had been a vision of being executed. It had been raining in that vision, much as it was raining now. Kahlan had been there. In tearful terror she had watched as his wrists had been bound behind his back and he was made to kneel in the mud. As he knelt there, with Kahlan screaming his name, a big

 brute of a soldier came up behind him, promising to have Kahlan for himself as he brought a
long knife around before Richard's face, and then with a mighty effort cut deep through his throat.
Richard realized that he was touching his throat, as if to comfort the gaping wound. He was
panting in a panic.
He felt a hot wave of nausea welling up through him. Was this to be Shota's vision come to life?
Was this what she had been warning him about? Was this to be the day he died?
It was all happening too fast. He hadn't been ready for this. But what could he have done to get
ready?
"Ruben!" Commander Karg yelled. "Get up here!"
Richard struggled to get control of his emotions. He took a deep breath and worked to calm
himself as he started moving, knowing that if he didn't it was only going to get ugly even faster.
Not far away, the clot of men had stopped at the next team up the line. Richard could hear only
the murmur of conversation over the sound of rain.
His mind raced, trying to think of what he could do before Jagang recognized him. He knew that
he couldn't hide behind the other men. He was point man. Jagang would want to see the team's
point man.
And then he caught a glimpse of Kahlan.
Richard moved as if in a dream. The whole cluster of men around the emperor and Kahlan had
started turning in the direction of Richard and his team.
Knowing that he had to get up with the other men, Richard started to step over the chain attached
to Johnrock's collar. Just then he had an idea. He hurried forward and deliberately let his foot
catch the chain. He fell face-first in the mud.
Commander Karg went red with rage. "Ruben-you clumsy idiot! Get on your feet!"
Richard scrambled to his feet as Jagang's guards began parting for the emperor. Richard stood up
tall next to Johnrock. With a finger, he wiped mud from his eyes.
He blinked to clear his vision. It was then that he spotted Kahlan. She was walking just behind
Jagang. The hood of her cloak, pulled up to protect her against the rain, partially hid her face.
Richard recognized every familiar movement of her body. No one moved quite the way she
moved.
Their eyes met. He thought his heart might stop.


He remembered the first time he had seen her. She had looked so noble in that white dress. He remembered the way she had looked directly at him without speaking-a gaze that was questioning and at the same time guarded, a gaze that instantly and clearly conveyed her intelligence. He had never seen anyone before that moment who looked so . . . valiant. He thought that he had probably been in love with her from that first instant, from that first look into her beautiful green eyes. He had been sure that in that first look into those eyes he had seen her soul. Now there was all that, along with a hint of confused concern in her expression. Because of the way his gaze fixed on her, followed her, she was aware that he could see her. Being the object of the Chainfire spell, she wouldn't remember who he was or, for that matter, who she was. Other than Richard and the Sisters who had taken her prisoner and ignited the Chainfire spell, no one could remember her. Obviously, Jagang was not affected by the spell. Richard surmised that it probably had something to do with a connection to the Sisters. But Kahlan would be invisible to everyone else. She recognized, though, that Richard could see her. In the isolation imposed by the spell, that had to be something profoundly important and meaningful for her. In fact, by the look on her face, he could see that it was. Before Jagang could begin to get close enough to inspect the team, a man called out as he ran up to the group. The emperor gestured him forward in a manner that suggested the man was well known. The guards parted for him as he made his way through their inner circle of protection. Since he carried only minimal weapons-a couple of knives-Richard reasoned that he was probably a messenger. He was winded but seemed to be in a great hurry. When he made it to the emperor, the man bent close, speaking excitedly but in a low voice. At one point in his report, he gestured across the camp toward the area where the construction of the ramp was taking place. Kahlan, pulling her gaze from Richard, looked over at the man speaking with Jagang. Richard surveyed a cadre of other guards, closer in, who surrounded her. They weren't the royal guard, and in fact they were careful to stay out of the way of the imposing royal guards. These men looked more like the regular soldiers of the camp. Their weapons weren't well made. They had no chain mail or armor. Their clothes seemed to be a collection of whatever they could find that looked the part of the rest of the army. They were big men, young and strong, but they were not the match of the emperor's guards. They looked more like common thugs. Richard realized, then, that they could only be guarding Kahlan. Unlike Jagang's guards, who seemed unmindful of her presence, these men frequently glanced at Kahlan, checking on her every move. That could only mean that these men could see her. Jagang's guards never looked at Kahlan, but these men did. Somehow, they were able to see her. Somehow, Jagang had found men to guard her who were not affected by the spell. At first questioning if he was really right that they could see her, and confused by how such a thing was possible, Richard finally realized that it actually did make sense. The Chainfire spell, like the world of magic itself, had been contaminated by the chimes. That contamination eroded the ability of magic to function. The whole purpose of the chimes was to destroy magic. Because of the taint left by their presence in the world of life, the Chainfire spell's very makeup had been impaired. When Zedd and Nicci had run the verification web, Richard had discovered the damage to the structure of the spell itself. Because of that contamination within the Chainfire spell, it didn't function as designed. It was flawed. It only made sense that such a flaw might allow a few people to escape its effects. Richard remembered how the plague, sweeping through the population like a wildfire, didn't touch everyone. There were a few people-even some who cared for the sick and dying-who never contracted the plague themselves. This must be something like that. There were bound to be a few people who weren't affected by the Chainfire event and would therefore be able to see Kahlan. It would certainly explain why there were guards who could see her. As those special guards, distracted by the man speaking to Jagang with such urgency, turned to try to see better what was happening with the emperor, Kahlan made a small move to turn with them. It looked perfectly natural; Richard knew it was anything but. As she turned, Kahlan adjusted the hood of her cloak against the rain, and as her hand came back down it passed close to one of her guards. Richard saw that the sheath at the man's belt was empty. As Kahlan's hand disappeared back under her cloak, Richard caught a brief glint of reflection off the blade. He wanted to laugh out loud, to cheer, but he didn't dare move a muscle. Kahlan caught him looking at her and realized that he had to have seen what she'd just done. She watched him a moment to see if he might betray her. She was using the hood of her cloak to hide her face from those guarding her, to prevent them from seeing that she was looking obliquely at

 Richard. When he didn't move, she turned and along with the guards watched what was going on
between the messenger and the emperor.
Jagang suddenly swung around and started away, returning back the way he'd come, the
messenger right on his heels. Kahlan briefly glanced back over a shoulder to catch one last
glimpse of Richard before the guards could all close in around the emperor and his captive.
As she did so, and the hood of her cloak moved just enough, Richard saw the dark bruise on her
left cheek.
Hot anger blazed through him. Every fiber of his being wanted to do something, to act, to get her
away from Jagang, to get her out of this camp. His mind raced to come up with something,
anything, but, chained as he was, there was nothing he could do. This was not the time or place
he could act.
Worse, he knew that if he did nothing Jagang's abuse of her would only continue. If he did
nothing, and Kahlan suffered worse, Richard knew that he would never forgive himself. 
Despite how desperately he wanted to do something, though, he could do nothing.
He stood silent and still, enduring the rage storming through him, a wrath that was the twin to the
Sword of Truth, the sword he'd given up in order to find Kahlan.
Kahlan, the emperor, and all the guards vanished back into the churning grime of the
encampment. Curtains of mist seemed to draw in behind them.
Richard stood trembling in bitter frustration. Not even the cold rain could cool his bottled fury.
Even as his mind raced through every possible action, he knew that there was nothing he could
do. Not now, anyway.
At the same time his heart ached for Kahlan. Agony for what she must be facing at the hands of
such a man knotted his insides. His knees felt weak with his fear for her. He had to stiffen his
resolve to keep himself from falling to the ground in tears.
If only he could get his hands on Jagang. If only . . .
Commander Karg strode up close in front of Richard. "You're lucky," he growled. "The emperor
obviously had more important things to do than review my team and my clumsy point man."
"I need some paint," Richard said.
Commander Karg blinked in surprise. "What?"
"Paint. I need some."
"You expect me to fetch paint for you?"


"Yes. I told you, I need it."
"What for?"
Richard wagged a finger at the man's face, resisting mightily the urge to whip a length of chain
around the commander's neck and strangle the life out of him. "Why do you have those tattoos?"
Confused, Commander Karg hesitated for a moment, considering the question as if it might have
thorns in it.
"To make me look all the more fierce to the enemy," he said at last. "Such a look gives me power.
When the enemy sees our men, they see ferocious fighters. It strikes terror into their hearts.
When they freeze for a moment in fear, we triumph."
"That's why I want the paint," Richard said. "I want to paint the faces of our team so that it
strikes fear into the hearts of our opponents. It will help us defeat them. It will help your team to
triumph."
Commander Karg studied Richard's eyes for a moment, as if to gauge if he was serious or up to
something.
"I have a better idea," the commander said. "I will have tattoo artists come around and tattoo my
entire team." He tapped a finger on the scales covering the side of his face. "I will have them
tattoo you all with scales and such all over your faces. It will make you all look like my men.
When you all have tattoos like mine you will look like my team. Everyone will know you belong
to me."
The commander gave Richard a grim smile, pleased with his idea. "I will have you all pierced as
well. You all will have tattoos and metal studs in your faces. You will all look like inhuman
animals."
Richard waited until the man was finished and then shook his head. "No. That won't do. It's not
good enough."
Commander Karg planted his fists on his hips. "What do you mean it's not good enough?"
"Well," Richard said, "you can't see those kinds of tattoos from far enough away. I'm sure that
they work just fine in battle, when you are in a face-to-face confrontation with the enemy, but it
won't be that way in the Ja'La games. Such tattoos would too easily be missed."
"You are often as close on the Ja'La field as you are in battle," Commander Karg said.
"Maybe," Richard conceded, "but I want us to stand out not only to our opponents at the moment,
not just to the men on the field, but also to other teams who will be watching-to everyone who is


watching. I want everyone to see our painted faces and instantly recognize us. I want such a sight
to plant fear in the minds of other teams. I want them to remember us and to worry."
Commander Karg folded his muscled arms. "I want you to be tattooed so that you look like my
team. So that all will know that it is Commander Karg's team."
"And if we lose? If we lose in a humiliating fashion?"
The commander leaned in a little as he glared. "Then you will be whipped at the least, and no
longer of any use to me at worst. I think you know by now what becomes of captives who are of
no use."
"If that happens," Richard said, "everyone will remember that the team you put to death for being
inferior were all tattooed just like you. If we fail, they will remember the snake pattern of your
tattoo on all of us. It would link us to you, but also you to us. If we lose, you will be stigmatized
by that tattoo. If we lose, every time they see your tattooed face they will laugh at you.
"If we should for some reason happen to lose, paint can be washed off before we are whipped or
worse."
Commander Karg was beginning to grasp just what Richard meant. He visibly cooled as he
scratched his jaw.
"I'll see if I can't come up with some paint."
"Make it red."
"Red? Why?"
"Red stands out. It will be memorable. Red also reminds people of blood. I want them to see us
and before anything else wonder why we want to look like we are painted in blood. I want the
other teams to worry about that the night before a game. I want them to sweat and lose sleep
thinking about it. When they finally come to play us they will be tired and then we will make
them bleed."
A slow smile spread on Commander Karg's face. "You know, Ruben, were you born on the right
side of this war, along with me, I bet we would be good friends."
Richard doubted that the man truly understood the concept of friendship, or could even
appreciate such values.
"I'll need enough paint for all the men," Richard said.
Commander Karg nodded as he started away. "You will have it."



 

 CHAPTER 8

 Kahlan hurried to stay close to Jagang as he marched through the camp lest he give her a stunning shock of pain through the collar. Of course, as he had demonstrated any number of times, he needed no excuse. She knew, though, that right then she had better not even look like she might give him cause, because he was in a hurry due to the strange news the man had brought. She didn't care so much about the news, though. Her mind was on the man she had finally seen again, the captive who had been brought in the day before. As she moved through the encampment, thinking about the man, she watched not only her guards but also the common soldiers in the camp, looking for reactions that might indicate that they could see her, listening for any obscene remark that would betray them. All around, startled men stared at the heavily armed group making their way through the midst of their daily life, but she didn't see a single man look directly at her, or show any other signs of seeing her. Despite being men in an army led by the emperor himself, these men had probably never seen Jagang this close before. The army, all in one place, constituted a population that was larger than almost any city. If these men had ever seen the emperor before, it was likely only at a great distance. Now, as he passed close by, they stared at him in open awe. Kahlan noted in their reaction, and Jagang's attitude toward them, the contradiction to the Order's teachings of the absolute equality of all men. For his part, Jagang never showed any penchant for sharing the common life of his men, a daily existence in the filth and mud. They lived in a camp that was virtually lawless, involved in crimes of every sort with their unruly fellows, while Jagang always enjoyed protection from those theoretically equal to him in every way. Kahlan supposed that if they shared one thing, it was that they, like their emperor, lived lives of almost constant, irrational violence and complete indifference to human life. Kahlan, invisible to the soldiers all around, stepped carefully over puddles and dung. She clutched the knife tightly in a fist under her cloak, unsure, yet, exactly what she would do with it. The opportunity to take the knife had suddenly presented itself and she had acted. In such rough surroundings it felt good to have a weapon. The encampment was a frightening place, despite how invisible she was to nearly all the soldiers. Even though she knew that she had no hope of using the knife to escape Jagang, all of her special guards, and the Sisters, it still felt good to have a weapon. A weapon gave her a modicum of control, a way to defend herself-at least to a degree. More than that, though, a weapon symbolized how much she valued her life. Having it was a declaration to herself that she had not, and would not, give up. If she had a chance, Kahlan would use the knife to try to kill Jagang. She knew that if she were to actually accomplish such a deed it would mean a sure death for her as well. She knew, too, that the Order would not falter because of the loss of the man. They were like ants. Stepping on one would not send the colony into retreat. Still, she knew that sooner or later she was going to be put to death- and probably made to suffer greatly along the way by Jagang's own hand. She had already seen him murder several people for little or no excuse, so putting an end to him would at least serve to satisfy her sense of justice. Kahlan's memory of her past life was gone. Her total awareness since the Sisters had taken that memory was that of a world gone mad. She might not be able to set the world right, but if she could kill Jagang she might be able to see justice done in one little part of it. It wouldn't be easy, though. Jagang was not only physically powerful and skilled at combat, he was a very clever individual. Sometimes Kahlan thought that he really could read her mind. In another way, since Jagang was a warrior and he was often able to anticipate what she would do next, Kahlan thought that in the past she could not remember she must have been a warrior, too. Alerted by the urgent whispers of their friends, men in the camp all around came out of tents, rubbed sleep from their eyes, and stood in the drizzle staring at the swift procession in their midst. Other men turned from work at caring for animals to watch. Riders reined in their horses to wait until the emperor passed. Wagons rumbled to a halt. No matter where she was in the camp it stank, but in among the men it was a degree worse. The cook fires added greasy soot to the smell of the latrines. She didn't think that the hastily dug latrines were going to be adequate for long. By the foul look of the little streams of water wending their way through the camp, they were already overflowing. The smell proclaimed that she was right. She couldn't imagine how much worse it was going to become over the coming months of the siege. Even with the stench and the revolting sights of some of the things going on in the camp, Kahlan noted it all only dimly in the back of her mind. Her thoughts were on other things. Or rather, on one thing: that man with the gray eyes. She hadn't known which team he would be with. When she had seen his face the day before he had been in a cage on a transport wagon. She knew only, from catching bits of Jagang's conversations with officers, that the cages held some of the men who were on a team come to play in the tournaments. Jagang had been eager to tour the teams before any of the games were to begin. As they went from team to team, she had been looking for the man. At first, she hadn't even realized that she was doing it. She found herself staying close to Jagang as he inspected the players so that she could also see them. He knew a great deal about some of the teams. He commented to his guards about what he expected he would see before he reached each new team. When he arrived at a new group he would ask to see the point man, along with the wing men. Several times he wanted to have a look at the men of the blocking line. It reminded Kahlan of a housewife at market, inspecting cuts of meat. Kahlan had searched all the faces she saw, looking at every man. She had not been gauging their height, weight, and muscle, as Jagang had been doing. She had found herself looking at their faces, trying to find the man she had seen in the cage the day before. She was beginning to lose heart, thinking that he must not be among the teams. She had begun to suppose that maybe he had ended up being sent to work as slave labor at the ramp site along with many other captives. And then when she finally did spot the man, he did the strangest thing: he fell face-first into the mud. They were still some distance off and no one but Kahlan had really been looking at him yet. Everyone else thought the man was just clumsy as he tripped over the chain lying there on the ground. As they'd approached the team some of the guards had laughed, whispering among themselves about how quickly such a man was going to get his neck broken on the Ja'La field. Kahlan hadn't thought it was funny, though. She alone had been looking at the man and she knew that he hadn't tripped accidentally. She knew that it had been deliberate. The fall had looked real enough. No one else imagined that it had been by design. Kahlan knew it was. She knew what it was to be a captive and have to instancy do something no matter how risky because you had no choice. She just couldn't imagine why the man had done it. What could be the purpose of such a thing? What danger could he have been trying to avoid? In some circumstances people did such things to get a laugh-and some of the guards had laughed-but that wasn't the purpose behind what this man had done.

 To Kahlan's mind it had been not only deliberate, but done with haste, as if he thought of it only a second before and there was no time to come up with something better. It had been an act of desperation. But why? Why fall on your face in the mud? What could it possibly accomplish? It suddenly hit her. It was in a way something like what she had been doing-using the hood of her cloak to hide what she was doing, where she was looking, who she was looking at. He must have wanted to cover his face. It could only be because he thought that someone would recognize him. It must have been that the man feared that Jagang himself would recognize him. Or possibly Sister Ulicia. At any rate, it had to be that he was trying to keep from being recognized. She supposed that it did make some sense. After all, the man was a captive. Only enemies of the Order would be captives. She wondered if he was a high-ranking officer or something like that. And he had known Kahlan. From the first instant their eyes met the day before, when he had been in that cage, she could see that he recognized her. As she had approached his team with Jagang, she and the man had shared a look. In that look she saw that they both knew the plight the other was in, and they both had done nothing to betray the other, as if they'd made a silent pact. It lifted Kahlan's heart to know that among all these murderous men, there was one who was not an enemy. At least, she didn't think he was. She reminded herself not to substitute her imagination for the truth. With her memory gone she had no real way of knowing if he was an enemy or not. She supposed that he could be someone who had been hunting her. She wondered if it could be possible that he, like Jagang, had some motive to want to see her suffer. That he was a captive of Jagang didn't automatically mean that he was on her side. After all, the Sisters had hardly been on Jagang's side. But if he was trying to hide his face to keep from being recognized, what was going to happen once the Ja'La games started? He might be able to stay muddy for a day or two, but once the rain stopped the mud was going to dry up. She wondered what he would do then. She couldn't help feeling a pang of worry for him. At the end of visiting the teams, as they had left to see what the messenger had to show Jagang, she had seen one other thing in the man's eyes: rage. As she had turned back for a last, quick look at him, the hood of her cloak had pulled back and he had seen the black bruise Jagang had left on her face.

 Kahlan had thought that he looked like he might use his bare hands to rip apart the chain holding him. She was at least relieved that he was smart enough not to try to do anything. Commander Karg would have killed him in a blink. From the conversations between Jagang and the commander as Jagang had started out to inspect the teams, the two were old acquaintances. They mentioned battles they had been in together. In that brief conversation she had taken appraisal of the commander. Like Jagang himself, the commander was not a man to be underestimated. Such a man would not have wanted to be embarrassed before his emperor, and would have killed his point man without hesitation had he allowed his anger to slip its bounds. She supposed that it was that, his anger at seeing what Jagang had done to her, that made her think the man could not be her enemy. But the man was dangerous as well. The way he stood, the way he balanced, the way he moved, told Kahlan a great deal about him. She could clearly see the intelligence in his raptor gaze. In the measured way he moved she saw that he also was a man not to be underestimated. She would know for sure if she was correct once the games started, but a man like Commander Karg would not have a captive be his point man unless there was a very good reason. Kahlan would know soon enough when she saw the man play, but to her he looked like coiled fury, and like he knew how to uncoil. "Over this way, Excellency," the messenger said as he pointed off through the gray drizzle. They followed the messenger, leaving the dark sea of the camp, emerging out onto the open ground of the Azrith Plain. Kahlan had been so preoccupied thinking about the man with the gray eyes that she hadn't even noticed that they were coming up on the site of the construction. The ramp rose high overhead. Beyond, the plateau towered above them. Up this close the plateau truly was imposing. Up this close she could see far less of the magnificent palace atop it. When it had started to rain she had hoped that maybe it would cause the ramp to collapse, but she could see, now that they were there beside it, that it was not only reinforced with rock but being well compacted as material was added. Gangs of men with heavy weights tamped the dirt and rock as it was placed. This was not a haphazard effort. While the soldiers in camp-like the ones guarding her-were little more than ignorant brutes mindlessly devoted to a senseless cause, there were some men among the Imperial Order who were intelligent. They were the ones supervising the construction; the brutes merely handled the dirt. As ignorant and unaware as the general population of soldiers was, Jagang surrounded himself with competent men. His personal guards, as big and powerful as they were, were hardly idiots. Those overseeing the construction of the ramp were likewise intelligent men. The men supervising the project knew what they were doing and were confident enough to contradict Jagang when he suggested something that wouldn't work. Jagang had initially wanted to make the base of the ramp narrower so that they could build height more quickly. While respectful, they were not afraid to tell him that it wouldn't work, and why. He had listened carefully and, when satisfied that they were right, let them proceed with their plans even though those plans had been contrary to his initial desire. When Jagang thought he was right, though, he was as determined as a bull to have his way. Numerous lines of men, each twelve or fifteen men deep, stretched back away from the colossal ramp. Some of the men passed baskets filled with dirt and rock, and some passed back empty baskets. Other men wheeled carts carrying rock. Mules pulled trains of wagons hauling larger rock. The project was massive almost beyond belief, but with so many men constantly adding to it, the ramp grew steadily. Kahlan followed as the emperor hurried through the site, the messenger constantly pointing the way among the confusion of activity. The lines of men parted as the royal procession marched through, then melted back together. As they made their way past throngs of workers, Kahlan finally saw the pits where men in astounding numbers dug material for the ramp. There seemed to be countless numbers of vast pits in the ground, each with one sloping end where men were carrying material out as others brought empty baskets, carts, and wagons back down in to be loaded. The array of pits stretched as far as she could see into the gray drizzle. Jagang and his party made their way along the wide tracks between the pits arranged in a grid across the plain. Those pathways between were wide enough to accommodate wagons going in opposite directions. "Down here, Excellency. This is the place." Jagang paused, peering down the long, sloping ramp into the pit. It appeared to be the only excavation that was deserted. He looked around at the other pits nearby.

 "Clear this one, here, as well," he said, gesturing at the next pit lying in the direction of the plateau. "And don't start any new digging beyond in the same direction." Some of the supervisors who had gathered hurried to carry out his instructions. "Let's go," Jagang said. "I want to see if this is really something or not." "I'm sure you will find it as I described, Excellency." Jagang ignored the angular messenger as he started down the sloping track into the pit. Kahlan stayed close. A glance back revealed Sister Ulicia not a dozen steps behind. The Sister, without a hood on her cloak and with her wet hair plastered to her head, did not look at all pleased to be out in the rain. Kahlan turned back to watch her footing on the slick, muddy slope. The bottom of the pit was an uneven mess where thousands of men had toiled at digging and loading. Since some of the ground was softer and easier to dig, those places were deeper. In other spots, where it was more rocky and harder to dig, there were mounds nearly twice Kahlan's height that had yet to be reduced. Following the messenger through the disorder, Jagang descended into one of the deeper areas. Kahlan followed them down into the muck, her guards staying close around her. She wanted to stay close to Jagang in case he became distracted by whatever was in the pit. If she got a chance, no matter the risk, she would try to kill him. The messenger squatted down as they came to a halt. "This is it, Excellency." He slapped his hand on something just peeking up from the ground. Kahlan frowned, looking along with everyone else at the smooth expanse that had been exposed. The messenger had been right, it definitely did not look natural. She could see what looked like joints. It did look like a structure buried deep in the ground. "Clean it off," Jagang said to some of the foremen from the project who had come down into the pit. Apparently, as per standing orders, when the structure had been discovered all work was abandoned and the workers pulled out until Jagang could personally inspect the find. The form was slightly rounded, as if they had uncovered the very top portion of a massive, long, rounded shape. As men worked with shovels and brooms, Jagang directing where they dug, it quickly became apparent that the messenger had been accurate in his report: it did look like the exterior of a barrel-vaulted ceiling.

 As the men cleaned it off, Kahlan could see that the structure was made of large stones cut to precise shapes to make up the curve of the arch. It reminded her of nothing so much as a buried building, except that there was no roof, just the exposed outer structure of an interior vaulted ceiling. Kahlan could not imagine what such a thing could be doing buried all the way out here on the Azrith Plain. There was no telling how many hundreds of even thousands of years whatever was inside had been entombed. When enough of the dirt and debris had been cleared off, Jagang crouched down and ran his hand over the wet stone. His fingers traced a few of the joints. They were so tight that not even a thin knife blade would have slipped between them. "Get some tools down here-pry bars and such," he said. "I want this opened. I want to know what's down inside it." "At once, Excellency," one of the construction bosses said. "Use your assistants instead of the laborers." Jagang stood, sweeping an arm around at the general area. "I want this whole place cordoned off. I don't want any of the regular soldiers anywhere near here. I will have some of my guards stationed here to watch the site at all times. This area is to be as restricted as my own tents." Kahlan knew that if any of the soldiers were to get into a tomb-or whatever ancient thing it was that they'd found-they would loot everything of value. The plundered rings he wore said that Jagang knew the same thing. Kahlan glanced up when she noticed some of Jagang's guards rushing down the slope into the pit. They pushed their way through the construction foremen and other guards to get in near the emperor. "We got her," one of the breathless men reported. Jagang smiled a slow, wicked grin. "Where is she?" The man pointed. "Just up there, Excellency." Jagang glanced briefly at Kahlan. She didn't know what he was up to, but the look he gave her ran a chill up her spine. "Bring her down here, now," Jagang told the man. He and another of the guards hurried back up the slope to get whoever it was they had. Kahlan could not imagine who the men had been talking about, and why it gave Jagang such satisfaction. As they waited, the construction supervisors continued to expose more of the buried structure. In short order, a stretch of the stone nearly fifty feet long had been exposed. All of it that they had uncovered ran in a straight line, the arch uniform along the entire length.

 Other men worked at widening the excavation around the smooth stonework. The more of it they
uncovered, the more the shape-and scale-of it came into view. This was no small thing. If the
stone really was a ceiling of something beneath, then that room, or tomb, would have to be
nearly twenty feet across. Since it showed no sign of terminating, there was no telling how long
it was. From what she could see of it, it looked something like a buried hallway.
At the sounds of muted cries and a scuffle, Kahlan looked up. The big guards were bringing a
struggling, slender figure down the muddy slope.
Kahlan's eyes went wide. Her knees went weak.
The men each held a thin, spindly arm of a girl not half their height.
It was Jillian, the girl from back in the ancient ruins in the city ofCaska , the girl Kahlan had
helped to escape. Kahlan had killed two of Jagang's guards and Sister Cecilia so that Jillian could
get away.
As the guards brought the helpless girl forward, her copper-colored eyes finally caught sight of
Kahlan. Those eyes filled with tears at all that had been lost, at her failure to evade the men of
the Order.
The guards brought her in close and stood her up before the emperor.
"Well, well," Jagang said with a shallow, gruff chuckle, "look what we have here."
"I'm sorry," the girl whispered up at Kahlan.
Jagang glanced over at Kahlan. "I've had men searching for your little friend, here. Quite the
dramatic escape you pulled off for her." Jagang cupped Jillian's chin, his thick fingers squeezing
her cheeks. "Too bad it was all for nothing."
Kahlan thought that it wasn't for nothing. She had at least killed two of his guards and Sister
Cecilia. She had at least done her best to gain freedom for Jillian. She had tried her best. Her
efforts had cost her dearly, but she would do the same thing again.
Jagang seized the girl's thin arm in his big hand and pulled her forward. Again he grinned at
Kahlan. "Do you know what we have here?"
Kahlan didn't answer. She was not about to join his game.
"What we have here," he said in answer to his own question, "is someone who can help you
behave."
She gave him a blank look and didn't ask.


Jagang unexpectedly pointed at the waist of one of Kahlan's special guards, the one standing just
to her right. "Where's your knife?"
The man looked down at his belt as if he was afraid a snake might be about to sink its fangs into
him. He looked back up from the empty scabbard.
"Excellency ... I, I must have lost it."
Jagang's icy look made the man's face pale. "You lost it, all right."
Jagang spun and backhanded Jillian hard enough to send her flying -through the air. She landed
in the mud, screaming in shock and pain. A red stain spread in the puddle around her face.
Jagang turned back to Kahlan and held out his hand. "Give me the knife."
His completely black eyes were so deadly-looking that Kahlan thought she might have to take a
step back out of sheer fright.
Jagang waggled his fingers. "If I have to ask again, I'll kick her teeth in."
In a flash Kahlan ran through everything she could think of. She felt like the man with the gray
eyes must have felt when he deliberately fell face-first into the mud. She had no choice either.
Kahlan laid the knife in Jagang's upturned palm.
He grinned in triumph. "Why, thank you, darlin."
Without pause he turned, as if driving his fist in a mighty blow, and slammed the knife right
through the face of the man it belonged to. The damp air rang with a loud crack as bone shattered.
The man collapsed dead into the mud. The flood of blood was shocking in the gray light. The
man never even had time to scream before he died.
"There's your knife back," Jagang called down to the corpse.
His attention focused on the stunned faces of Kahlan's special guards. "I'd suggest that you keep
better track of your weapons than he did. If she takes a weapon from any of you, and she doesn't
kill you with it, I will. Is that simple enough for you all to understand?"
As one they all said, "Yes, Excellency."
Jagang bent and yanked the sobbing Jillian to her feet. He effortlessly held her up so that only
her toes were touching the ground.
"Do you know how many bones are in the human body?"
Kahlan choked back her tears. "No."
He shrugged. "Neither do I. But I have a way to find out. We can start breaking her bones, one at
a time, counting each one as it snaps."


"Please . . ." Kahlan begged, trying mightily to contain her sob.
Jagang shoved the girl at Kahlan as if he were giving her a life-size doll.
"You are now responsible for her life. WheneVer you give me any cause to be displeased, I am
going to break one of her bones. I don't know the exact number of bones in her frail little body,
but I'm sure that it's a great many." He arched an eyebrow. "And I do know that I'm easily
displeased.
"If you do more than simply displease me I will have her tortured before your eyes. I have men
who are experts in the fine art of torture." The storms of gray shapes shifted in his inky eyes.
"They are very good at keeping people alive for a long time as they endure unimaginable agony,
but if she should happen to die under torture, then I will have to start in on you."
Kahlan clutched the poor girl's bleeding head tightly to her chest. Jillian sobbed softly to Kahlan
how sorry she was for getting caught. Kahlan gently shushed her.
"Do you understand me?" Jagang demanded in a deadly calm voice.
Kahlan swallowed. "Yes."
He grabbed Jillian's hair in his big fist and started pulling her back. Jillian screamed with
renewed terror.
"Yes, Excellency!" Kahlan shouted.
Jagang smiled as he released the girl's hair. "That's better."
Kahlan wanted more than anything for the nightmare to end, but she knew that it was only just
beginning.


Chapter 9

 "Stop being a big baby and hold still," Richard said.
Johnrock blinked frantically. "Don't get it in my eyes."
"I'm not going to get it in your eyes."
Johnrock took an anxious breath. "Why do I have to be first?"
"Because you are my right wing man."
Johnrock didn't have an immediate answer. He pulled his chin away from Richard's grip. "Do
you really think this will help us win?"
"It will," Richard said as he straightened, "if we all follow through with the rest of it. Paint all by
itself isn't going to win games for us, but the paint will add something important, something that


merely winning could not accomplish-it will help to forge a reputation. That reputation will unsettle those who have to face us next." "Come on, Johnrock," one of the other men said as he impatiently folded his arms. The rest of the team gathered around watching nodded their agreement. None of them really wanted to be first. Most of them, but not all, had at least been won over by Richard's explanation of what the paint would do for them. Johnrock, looking around at all the men waiting, finally grimaced. "All right, go ahead." Richard glanced past his wing man to the guards with arrows nocked and at the ready. Now that the chains had been removed from the captives, the guards watched for any sign of trouble as they waited to take the team to their first match. Commander Karg always stationed a heavy guard whenever Richard and the other captives were not chained. Richard noted, though, that most of the arrows were pointed in his direction. Focusing again on Johnrock, he spread his fingers and grabbed the top of the man's head to hold him still. Richard had been fretting about what he would paint on the faces of the team. When he'd first come up with the idea, he had thought that maybe he would simply have each man paint his own face in whatever manner he wanted. After brief consideration he realized that he couldn't leave it up to the men. Too much was at risk. Besides that, they all wanted Richard to do it. He was the point man. It had been his idea. He figured that most of them had been hesitant because they believed that they were going to be laughed at, and so they had wanted it to be by his hand rather than their own. Richard dipped his finger in the small bucket of red paint. He had decided against using the brush Commander Karg had brought along with the paint. Richard wanted to feel the act of drawing directly. In the little time he'd had, he'd given a great deal of thought to what he would paint. He knew that it had to be something that would accomplish what he'd intended in the first place. In order to make it work the way he'd described, he had to draw the things he knew. He had to draw the dance with death. The dance with death, after all, was ultimately centered on life, yet the meaning of the dance with death was not merely the singular concept of survival. The purpose of the forms was to be able to meet evil and destroy it. in that manner enabling one to preserve life, even one's own. It was a fine distinction, but an important one: it required recognizing the existence of evil in order to be able to fight for life. While the vital necessity of recognizing the existence of evil was obvious to Richard, it was clearly a concept that many people willfully refused to face. They chose to be blind, to live in a fantasy world. The dance with death would not allow such lethal fantasies. Survival required the clear and conscious recognition of reality; therefore the dance with death required that one recognize truth. It was all part of a whole and would not succeed if parts were ignored or left out. The elements of the dance with death-their forms-were at their base the components of every manner of combat, from a debate, to a game, to nghting to the death. Drawn in a language of emblems, those components built the concepts making up the dance. Using those concepts involved seeing what was really happening-in part and in whole-in order to counter it. The ultimate purpose of the dance with death was winning life. The translation of Ja'La dh Jin was "the Game of Life." The things that belonged to a war wizard all played some part in the dance with death. In that way a war wizard was devoted to life. Among other items, the symbols on the amulet Richard had worn were a picture, a condensed diagram, forming the core concept of the dance. He knew those moves from fighting with the Sword of Truth. Even if he didn't have the sword any longer, he grasped the totality of what was involved in the meaning of the dance with death, and therefore the knowledge he'd gained from using the sword remained with him whether or not he had the sword itself. As Zedd had often reminded him in the beginning, the sword was just a tool; it was the mind behind the weapon that mattered. Along the way, since Zedd had first given Richard the sword, he had come to understand the language of emblems. He knew their meaning. They spoke to him. He recognized the symbols belonging to a war wizard, and understood what they meant. Using his finger, Richard began laying down those lines on Johnrock's face. They were the lines of parts of the dance, the forms used to meet the enemy. Each combination of lines making up an element had meaning. Cut, sidestep, thrust, twist, spin, slash, follow through, deliver death swiftly even as you prepare to meet the next target. The lines he put on Johnrock's right cheek were admonitions to watch for all that would come at you, without focusing too narrowly. Besides the elements of the dance, Richard found himself drawing parts of spells he had seen. At first he didn't realize he was doing it. At first, as he drew those components, he had trouble recalling where he'd seen them before. Then he remembered that they were parts of the spells that Darken Rahl had drawn in the sorcerer's sand in theGardenofLife as he had invoked the magic necessary to open the boxes of Orden. Richard realized only then that the visit by the strange, ghostly figure the previous night still weighed heavily on his mind. The voice had told him that he'd been named a player. This was the first day of winter. He had one year to open the correct box of Orden. Richard had been exhausted, but he could think of little else after that encounter. He had been unable to get much sleep. Being distracted by the pain of the wound in his leg and the one on his back kept him from fully devoting his mind to reasoning it out. The first day of winter had brought the inspection by Jagang. With his sudden concern over how to avoid being recognized by Jagang and all the Sisters in the Order's encampment, Richard hadn't been able to consider how it was possible for him to be a player for the boxes of Orden. He wondered if it could be some kind of mistake-some misdirection of magic caused by the contamination left by the chimes. Even if he had the knowledge, which he didn't, his gift had been cut off by that witch woman, Six, so he didn't see how he could have somehow inadvertently put the boxes in play. He couldn't imagine how such a thing as opening the correct box would be able to be accomplished without his gift. He wondered if Six could be at the center of it all, if it could be some part of a plot he didn't yet understand. Back when Darken Rahl had been drawing those spells just before he opened one of the boxes, Richard had not understood anything about their composition. Zedd had told him that drawing such spells was dangerous in the extreme, and that one misplaced line, drawn by the right person, in the right circumstance, in the right medium, could invoke disaster. At the time all the drawings had seemed like arcane motifs executed with mysterious elements that were all part of some complex foreign language. As Richard had come to learn more about magical designs and emblems, he had come to grasp the meaning behind some of their elements-in much the same way he had at first learned the ancient language of High D'Haran by first coming to recognize individual words. As his understanding of words grew, he was able to grasp the ideas the words were expressing. In much that same way, he had come to learn that some of the parts of the spells Darken Rahl had drawn to open the boxes of Orden were also parts of the dance with death.

 In a way that made sense. Zedd had once told him that the power of Orden was the power of life itself. The dance with death was really about preserving life, and Orden itself was centered around life and preserving it from the rampages of the Chainfire spell. Richard dunked his finger back in the red paint and laid down an arcing line across Johnrock's forehead, then supported it with lines that created a symbol for centering strength. He was using elements he understood, but combining them in new ways to alter them. He didn't want a Sister to see the drawings and recognize their direct meaning. While the designs he was painting were composed of elements he knew, they were original. The men who had gathered all around leaned in a little, spellbound by not just the process, but by the drawing itself. It had a kind of poetry to it. While they didn't understand the meaning of the lines, they experienced the totality of them as expressive of meaningful purpose, as important, and as exactly what they were: threatening. "You know what this whole thing, this drawing, reminds me of?" one of the men asked. "What?" Richard murmured as he added more to the emblem that stood for a powerful strike meant to break an opponent's strength. "In a way it reminds me of the play of the game. I don't know why, but the lines kind of look like the movements of certain attacks in Ja'La." Surprised that the man-another captive-could pick up such a significant trait from the drawing, Richard shot the man a questioning frown. "When I was a farrier," the man explained, "I had to understand horses if I was to shoe them. You can't ask a horse what's bothering him, but if you pay attention you can learn to pick up on things, like the way the horse moves, and after a time you start to understand the meaning behind certain body language. If you pay attention to those little movements you can avoid getting kicked, or bitten." "That's very good," Richard said. "That's something like what I'm doing. I'm going to give each of you a kind of visual picture of power." "And how would you know so much about drawing symbols of power?" one of the men, Bruce, asked in a suspicious tone. He was one of the Order soldiers on the team-one of the men who slept in his own tent and resented having to follow the orders of a point man who was an unenlightened heathen, a man who was kept chained at night like an animal. "You people up here put a lot of stock in the outdated beliefs of magic and such, rather than devoting your minds to proper things, to matters of the Creator, to your responsibilities and duty to your fellow man." Richard shrugged. "I guess that what I meant by that is that it's my vision, my idea, of symbols of power. My intention is to draw on each man what I think makes them look more powerful, that's all." Bruce didn't look satisfied by the answer. He gestured at Johnrock's face. "What makes you think all them squiggly lines and such look like visions of power?" "Well, I don't know," Richard said, trying to come up with something to make the man stop asking questions without having to actually reveal anything important, "the form of the lines just seem powerful to me." "That's nonsense," Bruce said. "Drawings don't mean anything." Some of the soldiers on the team watched Bruce and waited for Richard's answer as if considering a rebellion against their point man. Richard smiled. "If you think so, Bruce, if you're convinced that drawings don't mean anything, then how about if I paint a flower on your forehead." All the men laughed-even the soldiers. Bruce, suddenly looking a little less sure of himself as his gaze darted around at his chuckling teammates, cleared his throat. "I guess, now that you put it that way, I can see some of what you mean. I guess I'd like to have some of your power drawings, too." He thumped his chest with a fist. "I want the other teams to fear me." Richard nodded. "They will, if you all do as I say. Keep in mind that before this first game the men on the other teams will probably see this red paint on all our faces and think it's foolish. You have to be prepared for that. When you hear them laughing at you, let that laughter make you angry. Let it fill your hearts with the desire to jam that laughter right back down their throats. "In that very first moment when we step onto the field, the other team, as well as many of those watching, will probably not just laugh, but call us names. Let them. We want that. Let them underestimate us. When they do that, when they laugh at you or call you names, I want you to save up the anger you're feeling. Fill your hearts with it." Richard met the eyes of each man in turn. "Keep in mind that we are here to be victorious in the tournaments. We are here to win the chance to play the emperor's team. We alone are worthy of that chance. Those men who are laughing at you are the worthless dregs of Ja'La players. We must sweep them aside so that we can get at the emperor's team. The men in the first games are in our way. They are in our way and they are laughing at us. "When you step onto the field of play let their laughter ring in your ears. Soak it in, but keep silent. Let them see no emotion from you. Hold it inside until the right moment. "Let them think us fools. Let them be distracted by believing that we will be easy marks, rather than focusing on how to play us. Let them lower their guard. "Then, the instant the game begins, in a focused, coordinated manner unleash your rage against those who laughed at you. We have to hit them with our full force. We have to crush them. We have to make this game as important as if it were the emperor's team we were playing. "We can't simply win this first game by a point or two as is usually the way it goes. That's not good enough. We can't be satisfied with that kind of piddling victory. We must be unyielding. We must overwhelm them. We must hammer them into the ground. "We must beat them by at least ten points." The men's jaws dropped. Eyebrows went up. Such lopsided victories happened only in children's mismatched games. A Ja'La team on this level winning by more than four or five points was virtually unheard of. "Every member of the losing team gets a lash of the whip for each point they lose by," Richard said. "I want that bloody whipping to be on every tongue of every other team in this camp. "From that moment on, no one will laugh. Instead, each team who has to face us will worry. When men worry, they make mistakes. Every time they make one of those mistakes we will be ready to pounce. We will make their worry warranted. We will bring their worst fears to life. We will prove every sleepless moment of cold sweat to have been justified. "The second team we beat by twelve points. "And then, the next team will be even more fearful of us." Richard waved his red finger in the direction of the soldiers on the team. "You know the effectiveness of such tactics. You crushed any city that stood against you so that those yet to be conquered trembled in fear as they waited for you to come. Those people knew your reputation and they greatly feared your arrival. Their fear allowed you to more easily conquer them." The soldiers grinned. They could now put Richard's plan in a frame of reference that they understood.

 "We want to make all the other teams afraid of the team with the red, painted faces." Richard fisted his free hand. "Then, we will crush each of them in turn." In the sudden silence, the men all made fists to match his and thumped them to their chests in oaths that they would make it so. These men all wanted to win, each for his own reason. None of those reasons was anything like Richard's reason. He hoped not to ever have to play the emperor's team-he hoped to get his chance long before then-but he had to be prepared to go that far, if necessary. He knew that a good chance might not come along before then. Should it not, he had to insure that they reached the final game of the tournament, when he was more confident of getting the chance he would need. Richard finally turned back to Johnrock and in short order completed the drawing with a few emblems that symbolized massive weight behind an attack, drawing them down each of Johnrock's heavily muscled arms. "Do me next, will you, Ruben?" one of the men asked. "Then me," another called out. "One at a time," Richard said. "Now, as I'm working, we need to go over our strategy. I want each man to go into this game knowing exactly what to do. We all have to know the plan so that we can all follow it. We all have to know the signals. I want for us to be ready to rush the opponent from the first instant. I want to knock the wind out of them while they're still laughing." Each man in turn sat on the overturned bucket and let Richard paint his face. Richard approached each man as if the drawing was a matter of life and death. In a way it was. The men had all been pulled in by Richard's sober lecture. A solemn mood settled over them as they sat silently watching their point man draw what only Richard knew were some of the most deadly concepts he knew how to create. Even if they didn't understand the language behind those symbols, they understood the meaning behind what Richard was doing. They could see that each man looked fearsome. As each man was completed, Richard realized that it was like looking at a nearly complete collection of the designs that made up the dance with death, with elements of the boxes of Orden thrown in for good measure. The only symbols he'd left out were the ones he was saving for himself, the elements of the dance that invoked the most deadly of cuts-the ones that cut into the enemy's very soul.

 One of the soldiers on his team offered Richard a polished piece of metal so that he could see himself as he began to apply the elements of the dance with death. He dunked his finger in the red paint, thinking of it as blood. The men all watched in rapt attention. This was their leader in battle, the one they followed in Ja'La dh Jin. This was his new face and they were all serious about learning it. As a final element, Richard added the lightning bolts of the Con Dar, the symbols representing a power Kahlan had invoked when the two of them had been trying to stop Darken Rahl from opening the boxes of Or-den and she thought that Richard had been killed. It was a power meant for vengeance. Thinking about Kahlan, her memory lost, her identity taken from her, being at the mercy of Jagang and the evil beliefs of the Order, as well as picturing her in his mind with that lurid bruise on her face, made his blood boil with rage. Con Dar meant "Blood Rage."


  

 CHAPTER 10

 Kahlan kept an arm protectively around Jillian as they followed closely behind Jagang. The emperor's entourage made its way through the sprawling encampment to the silent awe of some, and the cheers of many. Some chanted Jagang's name as he passed, shouting encouragement for his leadership in their fight to exterminate opposition to the Imperial Order, while many more lauded him as "Jagang the Just." It never failed to dishearten her that so many could view him-or the Fellowship of Order itself-as custodians of justice. From time to time Jillian's trusting, copper-colored eyes gazed up at Kahlan with gratitude for the shelter. Kahlan felt somewhat ashamed of her pretense of protection when she knew that in reality she could offer little safety to the girl. Worse, Kahlan might very well end up being the cause of any harm that came to Jillian. No. She reminded herself that she would not be the cause of such harm, should it come to pass. Jagang, as advocate for the corrupt beliefs of the Fellowship of Order and the champion of unjust justice, would be the cause. The twisted beliefs of the Order justified, in their minds, any injustice in aid to their ends. Kahlan was not responsible-in part or in whole-for evil committed by others. They were answerable for their own actions.

 She told herself that she mustn't allow herself to shift blame from the guilty to the victim. One of the hallmarks of the people plying evil beliefs was to always blame the victim. That was their game and she would not allow herself to play it. Still, it broke Kahlan's heart that Jillian was once more a terrified captive of these brutes. These people from theOld World who would harm innocent people in the name of a greater good were traitors to the very concept of good. They were not capable of sincere feelings of heartache because they did not value good; they resented it. Rather than seeking values, it was a kind of corrosive envy that guided their actions. Kahlan's only real satisfaction since being captured by Jagang had been that she had managed to engineer an escape for Jillian. Now even that was lost. As they marched through the camp, Jillian's arm tightly circled Kahlan's waist, her fingers clutched at Kahlan's shirt. It was obvious that while the sinister nature of the soldiers all around them frightened her, she was more terrified of Jagang's personal guards. It had been men like these who had hunted her down. She had managed to evade them for quite a while but, despite how well she knew the deserted ruins of the ancient city ofCaska , she was still a child and no match for a search carried out by such determined and experienced men. Now that Jillian was a prisoner in the sprawling encampment, Kahlan knew that she had little chance of again helping the girl escape the clutches of the Order's men. As they walked through the mud and refuse, weaving around the disorder of tents, wagons, and piles of gear and supplies, Kahlan turned Jillian's face up and saw that at least the cut had stopped bleeding. One of the collection of plundered rings that Jagang wore had been responsible for the jagged gash over the bone of Jillian's cheek. If only that were her biggest worry. Kahlan smoothed her hand over the girl's head in response to a brave smile. Jagang had momentarily been quite pleased to have back a girl who had dared escape from him-and to have yet another means to torment and control Kahlan-but he had been more interested in learning all he could about the discovery down in the pit. It seemed to Kahlan that he knew something more about whatever it was that was buried than he was revealing. For one thing, he had not been as surprised by the find as she would have expected. He seemed to take the discovery in stride. Once he had seen to it that the area had been cordoned off and cleared of the regular soldiers, he gave strict instructions to the officers to seek him out immediately once they had breached the stone walls and gotten inside whatever it was that was planted so deep in the Azrith Plain. Once he was satisfied that everyone understood exactly how he wanted the discovery handled, and that everyone there was working diligently toward those ends, his attention had quickly turned to seeing a bit of the opening games of the tournaments. He was eager to appraise some of the eventual competition to his own team. Kahlan had been forced to go with him to Ja'La games before. She wasn't looking forward to going again, primarily because the excitement and violence of the games put him in a stormy mood laced with savage carnal desires. Ordinarily the man was terrifying enough, capable of instantaneous and brutal violence, but when he was in an agitated, aroused mood after a day at Ja'La games he was altogether more intractable and willful. After the first time they'd gone to watch games the focus of his depraved lust had been Kahlan. She had fought her panic, finally coming to accept that he was going to do what he was going to do and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She had finally gone numb to the terror of being under him, resigning herself to the inevitable. She had turned her eyes away from his lecherous gaze and freed her mind go to another place, telling herself that she would save her hot rage until the time was right, until a time when it would serve some purpose. But then he'd stopped short. "I want you to know who you are when I do this," he had told her. "I want you to know what I mean to you when I do this. I want you to hate this more than you have ever hated anything in your entire life. "But you have to remember who you are, you have to know everything, if this is to truly be rape . . . and I intend it to be the worst rape you can suffer, a rape that will give you a child that he will see as a reminder, as a monster." Kahlan didn't know who the "he" was. "For it to be all of that," Jagang had told her, "you have to be fully aware of who you are, and everything this will mean to you, everything it will touch, everything it will harm, everything it will taint for all time." The idea of how much worse such a violation would be for her then was more important to him than sating his immediate urges. That alone spoke volumes about the man's craving for revenge, and about how much she had engendered his lust for it.

 Patience was a quality that made Jagang all the more dangerous. He could easily be impulsive, but it was a mistake to think that he could be lured into becoming reckless. Feeling the need to make her understand his greater purpose, Jagang had explained that it was much the same as the way he punished people who angered him. If he killed such people, he'd pointed out, they would be dead and unable to suffer, but if he made them endure agonizing pain then they would wish for death and he could deny it. Witnessing their endless torment, he could be sure of their great regret for their crimes, of their insufferable grief for all that was lost to them. That, he'd told her, was what he had in store for her: the torture of regret and utter loss. Her lack of memory left her dead to those things, so he would wait until the proper time. Having reined in his immediate urges in favor of greater ambitions when she finally remembered everything, he had filled his bed with a variety of other women captives. Kahlan hoped that Jillian was too young for his tastes. She wouldn't be, Kahlan knew, if she were to do anything to give him cause. As they moved through crowds of soldiers cheering for a game already under way, the royal guards forcefully shoved any men out of the way they judged to be too close to the emperor. Several men who didn't move willingly enough, or quickly enough, got an elbow that nearly cracked their skulls. One burly drunk in a sour disposition, who didn't intend on being shoved aside for anyone, even an emperor, turned on the advancing royal guards. As the soldier stood his ground, growling bold threats, he was eviscerated with one swift scything cut from a curved knife. The incident didn't slow the royal party a single step. Kahlan shielded Jillian's eyes from the sight of the man's insides spilled in their path. Since it had stopped raining, Kahlan pushed the hood of her cloak back off her head. Dark clouds scudded low over the Azrith Plain, adding to the suffocating feeling of being closed in. The thick, murky overcast suggested that the first damp, cold day of winter would offer no chance of sunlight. It felt like the whole world was gradually descending into a cold, numb, everlasting gloom. When they reached the edge of the Ja'La field, Kahlan rose up on her toes, looking over or around the shoulders of the guards, trying to see the faces of the men already in the thick of play. When she realized that she was stretching in order to see the game, she immediately lowered herself back down. The last thing she wanted was for Jagang to ask her why she was suddenly so interested in Ja'La. She wasn't really interested in the game, but she was interested in seeing if she could spot the man with the gray eyes, the man who had deliberately tripped and fallen in the mud so as to hide his face from Jagang-or maybe Sister Ulicia. If the rain didn't return, it was soon going to be hard for the man to maintain a muddy face to hide his identity. Even with rain and mud Jagang would quickly become suspicious if the point man for Commander Karg's team walked around all the time with a muddy face. Then the man would find that the mud, rather than hiding him, only attracted Jagang's suspicion. Kahlan fretted about what would happen then. Many of the men watching the game cheered and shouted encouragement when the point man for one of the teams made it into the opposing team's territory. Blockers rushed in to prevent the man from gaining any more ground. The onlookers roared as the players toppled one another while other men scrambled to protect their territory. Ja'La was a game in which men ran, dodged, and darted past one another, or blocked, or chased the man with the broc-a heavy, leather-covered ball a little smaller than a man's head-trying to capture it, or attack with it, or score with it. Men often fell or were knocked from their feet. Rolling across the ground without shirts, many were soon left slick not just with sweat, but with blood. The square Ja'La fields were marked out in a grid. In each corner was a goal, two for each team. The only man who could score, and only when it was his team's timed turn, was the point man, and even then he had to do so from within a specific section of the grid on the opponents' side of the field. From that scoring zone, an area running across the width of the field, he could throw the broc toward either of the rivals' goal nets. It wasn't easy to score. It was a throw of some distance and the goal nets weren't large. To make it all the more difficult, the opposing players could block the throw of the heavy broc. They could also knock the point man back out of the shooting zone-or even tackle him-as he tried to score. The broc could also be used as a kind of weapon to knock interfering players out of the way. The point man's team could try to clear the opposing players from in front of a goal net, or they could protect him from blockers so that he could try to find an opening in one net or the other so that he could make a shot, or they could split up and try to do both. Each strategy for each side had its advantages and disadvantages. There was also a line far back from the regular shooting zone from where the point man could attempt a throw. If such a shot went in, his team scored two points rather than the usual single point, but shots were rarely wasted at such a distance because the chance for interception was so much greater, while at the same time the chance of making such the shot was negligible. Such attempts were usually made only out of desperation, such as a last-ditch effort by the team that was behind, trying to score before time ran out. If the opposing team tackled the point man, then, and only then, were his wing men allowed to recover the broc and attempt to score. If any attempt to score missed the net and the broc went out of bounds, then the team on offense got the broc back, but it was returned to them on their own side of the field. From there they had to start the running attack all over again. All the while their timed turn with the broc continued to run down. On a few squares on the field the attacking point man was safe from the threat of being tackled and having the broc stripped away from him. Those squares, though, could easily become dangerous islands where he could become trapped and unable to advance. He could, though, pass the broc to a wing man and once on the charge get it back again. On the rest of the squares, and in the regular scoring zone, the defending team could capture or steal the broc in an attempt to prevent the attacking team from scoring. If the defending team captured the broc, though, they couldn't score with it until their turn of the hourglass, their turn at attack, but they could try to keep possession in order to deny the team whose turn it was a chance to score. The attacking team had to get it back if they were to score. Fights over possession of the broc could get bloody. An hourglass timed each team's turn of play-each side's timed chance to score. If an hourglass wasn't available, other timing means, such as a bucket of water with a hole in it, could be used. The rules of the game could in certain instances be rather complicated, but in general they were very loose. It often seem to Kahlan that there were no rules-other than the major rule that a team could score only during their timed turn. The timed-play rule prevented any one team from dominating the possession of the broc and kept the game moving. It was a fast-paced, exhausting game, with constant back-and-forth play and no real time to rest.

 Because it was so difficult to make a point, teams rarely scored more than three or four points in a game. At this level of play the concluding gap in the final score was usually only a point or two. A prescribed number of turns of the hourglass for each side made up the official time of the game, but if the score was even at the end of those turns then play continued, no matter how many more turns of the hourglass were needed, until one team scored another point. When that finally happened the other team then had but one turn of the hourglass to try to match the point. If they failed, the game was over. If they made the point, the other team got another turn. The extended play went on in that fashion until a team scored without an answering point within the one-following-play rule. For that reason, no Ja'La dh Jin game could ever end in a tie. There was always a winner, always a loser. With or without tie-breaking play, when the game was over the losing team was brought out onto the field and each man was flogged. A terrible whip made up of a bundle of knotted leather cords bound together at the handle end was used to mete out the punishment. Each of those leather cords was tipped with heavy nuggets of metal. The men were given one lash for each point by which they'd lost. The crowd enthusiastically counted out each lash to each man on the losing team kneeling in the center of the field. The winners often cavorted around the perimeter of the field, showing off for the crowd, while the losers, with bowed heads, received their whipping. With such bitter rivalry between teams the flogging always ended up being a grim sight. The players, after all, had been selected specifically for their belligerent brutality, not merely their skill at playing. The crowds who watched the Ja'La games expected bloody matches. The female camp followers watching from the sidelines weren't in the least bit put off by the blood. If anything, it made them all the more eager to catch the attention of favorite players. To the people of theOld World , blood and sex were inextricably linked-whether it was a Ja'La match, or the sacking of a city. If there wasn't much blood during the game the crowd could get riled, believing that the teams weren't really trying hard enough. Kahlan once saw Jagang order the execution of a team because he thought they hadn't fought hard enough. The teams who had played on the bloody field after the executions had thrown themselves into the match. The more brutal the players were-from the crowd's standpoint-the better. Legs and arms were frequently broken, as were skulls. Those who had previously killed an opponent in a Ja"La match were well known and widely acclaimed. Such men were idolized and entered the field at the beginning of games to the wild cheers of the spectators. The women seeking to be with the players after a match strongly favored being with such dominant men. To the Imperial Order, the Game of Life was a blood sport. Kahlan moved up close behind Jagang as he stood near the edge of the field at midpoint. The game had already gotten under way while they had still been back at the construction site. The royal guards flanked Jagang's sides and guarded his back. Kahlan's own special guards surrounded her close enough to be sure she didn't try to wander away. She suspected that the heated emotions of the fans, as well as their drinking, held the potential for more than a little trouble. Still, Jagang, despite the show of force by his guards, was a man who did not fear trouble. He had won rule by brute force; he held on to it by being absolutely ruthless. There were few, even among the largest of his guard, who were his equal in sheer brawn, to say nothing of his skill and experience as a warrior. Kahlan suspected that he could easily crush a man's skull in one bare hand. On top of that, the man was a dream walker. He could probably have strolled alone among the meanest of drunken soldiers and had nothing to fear. Out on the field the teams came together in a great crash of bone and muscle. Kahlan watched the point man as he lost the broc when hit from both sides at once. On one knee, he held a hand over his ribs as he panted, trying to catch his breath. He wasn't the man she was looking for. The horn blew, signifying the end of that turn of play. The fans of the other team cheered wildly at the failure to score. The referee walked the broc to the other end of the field and gave it to the point man on the other team. Kahlan let out a silent sigh. That wasn't him, either. As the hourglass was turned over the horn blew again. The point man and his team started their run downfield. The opposing team started their run to defend their goals. The crash of flesh was horrific. One of the players screamed in pain. Jil-lian, behind the wall of guards and unable to see much of what was happening on the field, still shrank from the sound of the screams. She pressed herself all the harder against Kahlan. Play continued even as the fallen player was dragged from the field by the referee's assistants. Jagang, having seen enough, turned and started off toward the next Ja'La field. The men in the crowd, all pushing and shoving as they tried to see the game, parted for the emperor leaving their game. The crowd was huge, even though in such a camp it constituted only a small fraction of the men.

 The construction of the ramp continued despite the games. Most of the men working on it would have plenty of time, once their shift was over, to see other games that were to go on throughout the day and evening. From what Kahlan could gather from bits of conversation, there were a lot of teams contending for the right to eventually play the emperor's team. The tournaments constituted a welcome diversion for men with nothing to do but endure endless days of working and the interminable siege of the People's Palace. It was a long trek through the cheering, shouting, booing men watching the game the emperor was leaving behind. Making their way through the muddy, filthy, reeking camp, they eventually arrived at the next Ja'La field. An area had been roped off for the emperor and his party of guards. Jagang and a number of officers who had joined him talked at length about the teams who were about to play. Apparently, the game they'd left was between lesser-ranked teams. This game, though, was supposed to be between men who were for some reason expected to offer a better show. The two point men were just arriving at center field to draw straws to determine which team would get the chance at first play. A hush fell over the crowd as they waited. The point men both drew a straw from a bunch the referee held out in his fist. The two men held up their straws. The man with the short straw cursed. The winning point man held the straw high as he cried out in triumph. His fellow players and the crowd favoring his team sent up a thunderous cheer. The long straw give him the choice of taking the broc on the first play or giving it to the man who had pulled the short straw. Of course, no team ever gave up their chance to be first to score a point. Scoring first augured well for their prospect of victory. From what Kahlan overheard from the soldiers and guards around her, it was believed by most that the Game of Life was won or lost by that very first draw of a straw. That straw, they believed, revealed what fate had in store. Neither point man was the one Kahlan was looking for. As the game started, it became obvious that these men were better than those playing in the last game. The tackles were wild efforts. Men threw themselves through the air in desperate attempts to make contact-either to take out the point man or to protect him. The point man, besides running with the broc, used its weight to help knock a man out of his way. As another man closed on him, he heaved the broc with all his might at close range. The blocker grunted with the weight of the impact of the broc and fell. The fans rooted and hooted. One of the wing men scooped up the broc and tossed it to the point man as they charged across the field. "I'm sorry," Jillian whispered up to Kahlan while the guards, officers, and Jagang all watched the game, some of them commenting on the players. "It wasn't your fault, Jillian. You did your best." "But you did so much. I wish I was as good as you and then-" "Shush, now. I'm a captive, too. We both are no match for these men." Jillian smiled just a little, then. "I'm at least glad to be with you." Kahlan returned the smile in kind. She glanced at her guards. They were caught up in watching the excitement of the game. "I'll try to think of a way to get us out of this," she whispered. From time to time Jillian peeked out between the big men to try to see what was happening on the field. When Kahlan noticed Jillian rubbing her bare arms and that she was beginning to shiver in the cold, she wrapped her cloak protectively around the girl, sharing her warmth with her. As time wore on, each team scored a point. With the game tied, time almost out, and both teams unable to gain much of an advantage, Kahlan knew that it might last quite a while in overtime play until a winner was decided. It didn't take as long as she'd thought it would nor did it need to go into overtime. The point man of one team was tackled low from behind while at the same time another blocker, in a coordinated attack, flew in from the front, hitting him square in the chest with a lowered shoulder. The point man went limp and hit the ground hard. The tackle looked like it might very well have broken the man's back. The crowd went wild. Kahlan turned Jillian's face away and pressed it in against her instead. "Don't watch." Jillian, on the edge of tears, nodded. "I don't know why they like such cruel games." "Because they are cruel people," Kahlan murmured. Another man was designated point man as their fallen leader was carried away to a deafening roar of satisfaction on the one side, and angry yells on the other. The two sides of onlookers seemed on the verge of combat, but when play swiftly resumed they were quickly caught up in the fast-paced action. The team who had lost the point man fought desperately, but it soon became apparent that they were fighting a losing battle. The new point man was not the equal of the man they'd lost. When the last regular play of the hourglass was finished they had lost by two points-a resounding victory for the other team. Such a point spread, as well as eliminating the opposing point man in such savage fashion, would add greatly to the winning team's reputation. Jagang and the officers looked to be pleased with the results of the game. It had proven to have had all the elements of brutality, blood, and ruthless triumph that they believed Ja'La dh Jin should have. The guards, intoxicated with the murderous ferocity of the play, whispered among themselves, going over what they had liked best about some of the more violent clashes. The crowd, already worked up by the game, was excited all the more by the ensuing whippings. They were fired up, eagerly anticipating the next game. As they waited, they began a rhythmic chant, impatiently urging the next teams out. They clapped their hands in time to their monotone cries for action. One of the teams emerged from the crowd at the far end of the field on the right. By the way they cheered, the crowd recognized a favored team. Each player raised a fist over his head as they strutted in a circle around the field, showing off for their fans. Men in the crowd, as well as the women camp followers, cheered the team they knew and supported. One of Jagang's guards standing not far in front of Kahlan commented to the man next to him that this team was more than merely good, and he expected that they would badly maul their foe. By the hooting of the crowd, most onlookers seemed to be of the same mind. Apparently, this was a popular team with the kind of hostile reputation the men of Imperial Order liked and remembered. After the previous game, the mob of soldiers was aroused and eager for blood. The vast crush of soldiers all stretched, craning their necks to see the other team as they finally made their way out through the crowd on the left. They emerged in single file, no fists raised, no show of bravado. Kahlan stared in surprise along with everyone else. A hush fell over the crowd. No one cheered. They were too astonished to cheer.


  

 CHAPTER 11

 The men, all without shirts, marched in single file out from the middle of a thick knot of grim guards, all with arrows at the ready. Each man in the column making his way toward the center of the field was painted with strange red symbols. The lines, whorls, circles, and arcs covered their faces, chests, shoulders, and arms. They looked like they had been marked in blood by the Keeper of the underworld himself.

 Kahlan noticed that the man at the lead had designs drawn on him that, while similar, were slightly different. In addition, he alone had twin lightning bolts on his face. Starting from the temple on each side, in a mirror image of each other, the top part of each bolt zigzagged over the eyebrow, the center lobe of each lightning bolt passing over the eyelid, with the bottom of the zigzag slashing over the cheekbones, finally terminating in a point at the hollow of each cheek. Kahlan found the effect viscerally frightening. Glaring out from the raptor gaze at the center of those twin lightning bolts were penetrating gray eyes. It was hard to make out what the man looked like beneath the distraction of lines. The strange symbols, and especially the lightning bolts, confused the features beneath. Kahlan suddenly realized that he had found a way to hide his identity without the mud. She didn't let so much as a smile slip onto her features. While relieved, at the same time she wished that she could see his face, really see it, see what he looked like. He was not as big as some of the other hulking players, but he was still a big man-tall and muscular, but not muscled the way some of the thick, heavy, bull-like men were muscled. This man was built in a way that was all the right proportions. As she stared at him, Kahlan suddenly feared that everyone might see her transfixed by the man. She could feel her face flushing. Still, she stared. She couldn't seem to help herself. This was the first time she'd really gotten a good look at the man. He looked exactly the way she somehow knew he would. Or maybe it was that he looked just the way she dreamed he would. The cold first day of winter suddenly felt warm to her. She wondered who this man was to her. She made herself rein in her imagination. She dared not daydream about things that she knew could never be. While the other point man laughed, the man with the gray eyes waited before the referee, his cutting gaze fixed on his counterpart. She had known the instant she'd seen the painted designs that it would be viewed by these soldiers as empty bravado. The painted designs were the sort of visual statement that, if not backed up by a man of the right nature, would in such circumstances be the worst kind of presumption, the kind of provocation that would bring him brutal, if not lethal, treatment.

 Hiding his face was one thing, but this was altogether something else. He was putting himself and his team at great risk by making such a proclamation in paint. It almost seemed that the lightning bolts were meant to insure that no one could miss that he was the point man, as if he meant to direct the other team's focus and attention to him. She couldn't imagine why he would do such a thing. Following their point man's lead, the team that wasn't painted had all started laughing. The crowd, too, had joined in, laughing, hooting, and calling the painted men, and in particular the point man with the lightning bolts, names. Kahlan knew without a doubt that there was no more dangerous mistake to be made than to laugh at this man. The painted team stood as still as stone, waiting while the crowd went into a riot of laughter and mockery. The other team shouted insults and taunts. Some of the women camp followers threw small things-chicken bones, rotten food, and even dirt when nothing else could be found. The players on the other team called the man with lightning bolts the kind of names that caused Kahlan to absently cover Jillian's ear with a hand, pressing her head to Kahlan's chest. She wrapped her cloak around Jillian. She didn't know what was going to happen, but she knew for sure that this game was not going to be a place for a girl. The point man with the twin lightning bolts stood with an expressionless look that showed nothing of what he might be feeling. It reminded Kahlan of herself when she put on a blank expression when facing certain kinds of terrible challenges, a blank look that betrayed nothing of what was building inside her. And yet, in this man's calm demeanor Kahlan saw coiled fury. He never looked her way-his gaze was fixed on his counterpart-but just seeing him standing there, seeing all of him, seeing his face, even though it was covered in painted lines, seeing the way he held himself, seeing him at length without having to quickly look away . . . made Kahlan's knees weak. Commander Karg nudged his way in through the wall of guards to join Emperor Jagang at the side of the field. He folded his muscled arms, apparently not at all concerned about the uproar his team was causing. Kahlan noticed that Jagang was not laughing along with everyone else. He didn't even smile. The commander and the emperor tipped their heads close together and spoke in words Kahlan couldn't hear over the jeering, laughing, and vulgar insults being shouted by the crowd. As Jagang and Commander Karg spoke at length, the other team took to dancing around the field, arms raised, the recipients of the mob's esteem even though they had yet to score a point. They had become heroes without having done anything. These soldiers, devoted to dogmatic beliefs, were motivated by hate. They saw any individual's quiet confidence as arrogance, his competence as unjust, and such inequity as oppression. Kahlan recalled Jagang's words: "The Fellowship of Order teaches us that to be better than someone is to be worse than everyone." The men watching believed in that creed and so they hated men for appearing to proclaim with paint that they were better. At the same time, they were there to see a team triumph, to see men best other men. It was unavoidable that beliefs as irrational as those taught by the Fellowship of Order would produce endless tangles of contradictions, desires, and emotions. Shortcomings made evident by even the most basic common sense were plastered over with a liberal application of faith. Anyone who questioned matters of faith was held to be a sinner. These men were here in theNew World to eliminate sinners. Order was finally restored by the referee calling for the crowd to settle down so that the game could start. As the spectators quieted, to a degree at least, the man with the gray eyes gestured to the referee's fistful of straws, inviting his opponent to draw first. The man drew a straw, smiling at his choice when it came out looking like it surely had to be a winning length. The man with the gray eyes drew a straw that was longer. As the crowd hooted their disapproval, the referee gave the broc to the point man with the painted face. Instead of going to his side of the field to start his charge, he waited a moment until the crowd quieted a little and then graciously handed the broc to the other point man, forfeiting the first turn at an attempt to score. The crowd erupted in wild laughter at such an unexpected turn of events. They clearly thought the painted point man was a fool who had just handed victory to the other team. They cheered as if their team had just been victorious. None of the painted team showed any reaction to what their point man had just done. Instead, they moved off in a businesslike manner, taking up their places on the left side of the field, ready to defend against the first attack.

 When the hourglass was turned over and the horn blew, the attacking team wasted no time. Eager to score quickly, their charge was instantaneous. They all yelled battle cries as they rushed across the field. The painted team raced toward the center of the field to meet the charge. The roar from the crowd was deafening. Kahlan's muscles tensed in anticipation of a terrible collision of flesh and bone. It didn't happen the way she expected. The painted team-the red team as the guards had already taken to calling them-deviated in their direction of charge, splitting in two and pouring to either side around the advance blockers, going instead for the rear guard. Such an unexpected and amateurish mistake was^a stroke of luck for the team trying to score. Following his blockers and wing men, the point man with the broc went through the gap the red team had left open, racing straight up the field. In an instant both wings of the red team pivoted and the opening snapped closed like great jaws, tumbling the charging blockers inward. The painted point man charged right up the middle-toward the center blockers coining for him. Just as they were about to tackle him, he sidestepped one man and whirled around, slipping between two others. Kahlan blinked in disbelief at what she had just seen. It looked as if he had squirted like a melon seed right through half a dozen men converging on him. One of the bigger men on the red team, likely one of the wing men, went for the charging point man with the broc. Just before reaching him, though, he dove at him too soon, so that his diving block was too low. The man with the broc jumped right over him. The crowd cheered at how deftly their man had just evaded a tackle. But the man with the twin lightning bolts also made a flying leap over his downed wing man, using his back like a step to launch himself. He met the other point man in midflight, hooking him with an arm and upending him in midair. The reversal of direction was forceful enough to dislodge the broc. As he came crashing to the ground the man with the gray eyes caught the loose broc while it was still in the air. His foot came down on the back of the fallen point man's head, driving his face into the mud. Kahlan knew without a doubt that he could have easily broken the man's neck, but he had deliberately avoided doing so.

 Blockers from every direction dove for the painted man who now had their broc. He pivoted, changing direction. They landed where he had been but he was already gone. They crashed down instead atop their own point man. The red team now had possession of the broc. Even though they couldn't score until it was their turn, they could keep the other team from scoring. For some reason, though, the man with the gray eyes charged across the field, flanked by his two wing men and half his blockers. They were formed into a perfect wedge as they crossed the field. When the painted men reached the scoring area on the opposite side of the field, the point man heaved the broc into one of the nets-even though it was not their turn and the point would not count. He followed the broc, recovered it from the net, and then, rather than keeping possession in an effort to deny the other team an opportunity to score, he trotted back up the field and with an easy underarm throw tossed the broc back to the point man still on his knees spitting out mud. The crowd gasped in confused astonishment. What Kahlan had just seen confirmed what she had believed from the first moment she'd looked into the man's raptor gaze-this was the most dangerous man alive. More dangerous than Jagang, dangerous in a different way, but more dangerous than Jagang. More dangerous than anyone. This was a man too dangerous to be allowed to live. Once Jagang realized what she already knew-if he didn't already know it-he might very well decide to have this man put to death. The team with first turn took the broc back to their starting point on the right and, in a fury to redeem themselves and score a point that would count, charged across the field. Surprisingly, the red team waited rather than running to stop the advance as far away from their goal as possible. A mistake, it would seem, but Kahlan didn't think so. When the attackers reached the red team they threw themselves into the defenders. The red team abruptly bolted in every direction, evading the overconfident blockers. As they ran, the red team came around and their own blockers formed into a crescent formation. As they raced across the field they scythed down the opposing wing men and blockers, as well as the point man. The big painted wing man stripped the broc from him, then tossed it as high as he could into the air. The man with the lightning bolts, who had already dodged, darted, and threaded his way through the line of charging men, came through at a dead run and caught the broc before it hit the ground. By himself he had outrun all the men of the other team chasing him. When he reached the opposite end of the field he heaved the broc into the net in the corner opposite to the one he'd

 thrown it into the first time. The blockers dove for him but he effortlessly sidestepped and they
crashed to the ground in a heap beside him. He trotted to the net and retrieved the broc.
"Who is that man?" Jagang asked in a low voice.
Kahlan knew that Jagang meant the point man with the lightning bolts painted on his face, the
man with the gray eyes.
"His name is Ruben," Commander Karg said.
It was a lie.
Kahlan knew that wasn't the man's name. She didn't have any idea what his name really was, but
it was not Ruben. Ruben was a disguise, just like the mud had been, just like the red paint was
now. Ruben was not his real name.
She suddenly wondered what made her think such a thing.
She knew from the way he'd looked at her that first time their eyes had met the day before that he
knew her. That meant that he probably had to be someone from her past. She didn't remember
him, and she didn't know his real name, but she knew it was not Ruben. The name just didn't fit
him.
The horn blew, marking the end of the first play. The hourglass was turned over and the horn
blew again. The red team was already down at their end of the field, back beyond their starting
point. They didn't bother to give themselves the advantage of getting up to the sections of the
grid where they were allowed to start their attack.
Instead, the man Commander Karg had said was named Ruben, already in possession of the broc,
gave a slight hand signal to his men. Kahlan's brow twitched as she watched carefully. She had
never seen a point man use such hand signals.
Men playing Ja'La usually seemed to function as a loosely coordinated mob, carrying out the
designated job of their position-blockers, or wing men, or guards, as seemed fitting to each man
in each circumstance that came up. The prevailing wisdom was that only if each man acted as he
saw fit could the team expect to deal with the unexpected variations that came about during play.
They were, in a way, each reacting to what fate dealt them.
Ruben's team was different. At the completion of the signal, they pivoted and in a coordinated
fashion charged ahead of him in formation. They were not acting as a loosely coordinated mob;
they were behaving like a well-disciplined army going into a battle.


The men of the other team, by now enraged, each man driven by the desire for revenge, rushed to intercept the team with the broc. Crossing midfield, the red team turned as one, going for the net to their right. The defending team all went for them like bears on a tear. Their blockers knew that their job was to block, and they meant to stop the advancing red team before they could reach the scoring zone. But Ruben didn't follow his men. He broke left at the last moment. All by himself, without even his wing men for protection, he alone went diagonally the other way across the field, heading for the net to the left. The bulk of the two teams collided in a great heap, some of the defenders not even aware that the man they were after wasn't under the pile. Only one guard had been lagging back, saw what Ruben was doing, and was able to turn in time to block. Ruben lowered a shoulder and caught the guard square in the chest, knocking the wind from him and sending him sprawling. Without pause as he reached the scoring area of the field, Ruben heaved the broc into the net. The red team sprinted back to their side of the field, forming up for a second attack while they still had time left. As they waited for the referee trotting with the broc across the field, they all looked to their panting leader for his hand signal. It was quick and simple, a sign that, to Kahlan, didn't look like it meant anything. When the referee tossed Ruben the broc he immediately broke into a dead run. His team was ready and sprang out ahead to fan out in a short, tight line before him. When the angry, disorderly cluster of men of the other team were almost upon them, the red team pivoted left, scooping up the blocking charge, deflecting its momentum left. Ruben, not far behind his line of men, broke right and raced alone across open ground. Before any of the blockers could reach him, he yelled with the effort of heaving the broc from way behind the regular scoring zone. It was exceedingly difficult to make a shot from that far back. Thrown from there, a shot that went in was worth two points rather than one. The broc arced through the air over the heads of net guards jumping wildly for it. Confused by the strange single-line charge, they hadn't expected such a long-shot attempt to score and hadn't been ready for it. The broc just made it into the net. The horn blew, signifying the end of the red team's scoring period. The crowd stood stunned, mouths hanging agape. In their first turn at play, the red team had scored three points-not to mention the two points Ruben had made that didn't count.

 A hush fell over the field as the other team huddled in a confidential discussion of what to do about the sudden turn of events. Their point man made what appeared to be an angry proposal. All his men, grinning at what he suggested, nodded and then broke up to begin their turn with the broc. Seeing that they had obviously cooked up a plan^the crowd again started cheering encouragement. Over the cheers, the point man growled orders to his men. Two of his guards nodded at words Kahlan couldn't hear. At his yell, they charged across the field, gathering into a tight knot of muscle and fury. Rather than going for the scoring zone, the point man abruptly hooked right, leading the charge oddly off course. Ruben and his defenders shifted to meet the charge but weren't able to bring their full weight to bear in time. It was a brutal impact. The strike had deliberately targeted Ruben's left wing man to the exclusion of all the other men, abandoning even the show of an attempt to score in favor of doing damage to one man in order to harm the red team's ability to play effectively. As the crowd cheered in anticipation of first blood, the pile of men got up one at a time. Players painted red yanked their opponents back out of the way, trying to reach the men at the bottom of the heap. The left wing man for the red team was the only man who did not get up. As the team with the broc ran back to form up another charge, Ruben knelt beside the downed man, checking on him. It was obvious by his lack of urgency that there was nothing to be done. His left wing man was dead. The crowd cheered as the fallen player was dragged away, leaving a thick trail of blood across the field. Ruben's raptor gaze swept the sidelines. Kahlan recognized the appraisal. She could almost feel what he was thinking because she had also appraised opposition and weighed odds. The guards with arrows put tension to their bows as Ruben rose up. "What's going on?" Jillian whispered as she peeked out from under Kahlan's cloak. "I can't see past all of Jagang's guards." "A man was hurt," Kahlan said. "Just stay warm, there's nothing worth seeing." Jillian nodded and remained huddled under Kahlan's protective arm and the warmth of her cloak. The play of Ja'La was not halted for anything, even a death on the field. Kahlan felt great sadness that the death of a man was all part of the game, and cheered by the spectators. The men with bows stationed around the field, watching over the captives who played on the red team, all seemed to be pointing their nocked arrows toward one man. She and the man with the lightning bolts painted on his face had something in common: they each had their own special guards. As the crowd chanted for play, Kahlan felt an odd, tense, foreboding in the air. The broc was returned to the team with time left in their turn at play. As they formed up, she knew that the moment had passed. Kahlan saw a grim Ruben give his men a stealthy signal. Each of his men returned a slight nod. Then, just enough for them to catch his meaning, Ruben stealthily showed them three fingers. The men immediately assembled up into an odd formation. They waited briefly as the other team started across the field at a dead run, yelling battle cries inspired by their brutal accomplishment. They believed they now had a tactical advantage that gave them the upper hand. They were confident that they could now dictate the course of the game. As the team with the broc charged across the field, the red team broke into three separate wedges. Ruben led the smaller center wedge, heading for the point man with the broc. His two wing men-his big right wing man and the newly designated left wing man-led the majority of the blockers in the two side wedges. Some of the men on the team with the broc shifted to each side as they charged ahead to block the odd outrigger formation should they try to turn in toward their point man. The strange defensive tactic drew scorn from Jagang's guards. From the comments Kahlan could hear they were convinced that the red team, by splitting up into three groups, would not have the weight of enough blockers left in the center to stop the point man with the broc, much less handle all the men coming at them. The guards thought that such an ineffective defense would give the aggressors an easy score and probably cost the life of another member of the red team in the center group-very possibly the point man himself, since he was now virtually unprotected. The two outer red-team wedges cut through the sides of the charge, not blocking in the expected manner. The legs of men on the attacking team flipped up through the air as men were violently upended. Ruben's center wedge smashed into the main group of blockers defending the point man with the broc. He tucked the broc tightly against his stomach and, following behind some of his guards, leaped over the tumbling tangle of men. Ruben, at the rear of the center wedge, running at full speed, deftly evaded the onrushing line of guards and sprang over the pileup of his blockers. As he jumped, he pushed off with one foot,

 twisting as he leaped off from the ground so that he spiraled through the air. In midair, as they
came together, Ruben hooked his right arm around the other point man's head as if to tackle him,
but the momentum of his spin suddenly and violently twisted the man's head around.
Kahlan could hear the sound of the pop as the point man's neck broke. They both crashed to the
ground, Ruben on top, his arm still around the other man's neck.
When men from both teams scrambled to their feet, two men from the attacking team were down,
one on each side of the field. Both men rolled in pain with broken limbs.
Ruben rose up over the point man lying dead in the center of the field. The man's head lay
twisted back at a gruesome angle.
Ruben scooped the loose broc up off the ground, trotted through the stunned, confused players,
and threw a point that didn't count.
The meaning of what he'd just done was clear: if another team played specifically to harm
anyone on his team, then he would retaliate with a withering response. He was giving notice that
by their own actions they were choosing for themselves what would happen to them.
Kahlan now knew without doubt that Ruben's red paint was no hollow display. The men on the
other team lived only by his grace.
Surrounded by nearly uncountable captors, with dozens of arrows pointed at him, this one man
had just laid down his own laws, laws that could not be avoided or dismissed. He had just told
his opponents how they would play against him and his team. It was a clear message that, by
their own actions, Ruben's opponents chose their own fate.
Kahlan had to school her features and keep herself from smiling, from shouting with joy at what
he had just accomplished-from being the only one in the crowd to cheer this one man.
She wished he would look at her, but he never did.
With their point man dead and two other players now out of play-the ones primarily responsible
for what could only be described as the murder of the red team's left wing man-it looked like the
favored team was on the verge of an unprecedented loss.
Kahlan wondered just how many points the red team was going to win by. She expected it was
going to be a rout.
Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the messenger rushing up, waving an arm to
get the emperor's attention as he shoved his way through the big guards.


"Excellency," the excited man said in a breathless voice, "the men have gotten in. The Sisters
there at the site asked for you to come at once."
Jagang asked no questions and wasted no time. As the play on the field resumed he started away.
Kahlan glanced back just in time to see Ruben tackle the new opposing point man hard enough
to rattle his teeth. All of the big guards swarmed around the emperor, opening a clear pathway
before him. Kahlan knew better than to draw his attention by not following close behind.
"We're leaving," she said to JiUian, still huddling for warmth under Kahlan's cloak.
Holding hands so that they wouldn't become separated, they turned to follow Jagang. Kahlan
looked back over her shoulder.
For a brief moment, their eyes met. In that fleeting instant, Kahlan realized that even though he
hadn't looked her way once throughout the game, he had known exactly where she had been the
entire time.



 

 CHAPTER 12

 Nicci's eyes popped open. She gasped in panic. Dim shapes swam in her vision. She could make no sense of the indistinct forms she saw. In an effort to get her bearings her mind snatched at memories of every sort, frantically searching through their ever-changing essence, trying to find ones that seemed relevant, ones that fit. The great store of all of her thoughts seemed in as much disarray as a library full of books scattered by the twisting winds of a thunderstorm. Nothing seemed to make sense to her. She couldn't understand where she was. "Nicci, it's me, Cara. You're safe. Calm down." A different voice in the murky, blurry distance said, "I'll go get Zedd." Nicci saw the dark shape move and then vanish into yet more darkness. She realized that it had to be the person who had spoken going through a doorway. That was the only thing that made sense. She thought she might cry with relief at finally being able, out of all the shapes and shadows, to grasp the simple concept of a doorway, and the vastly more complex concept of a person. "Nicci, calm down," Cara repeated. Nicci only then realized that she was struggling mightily, trying to move her arms, and that she was being held down. It was as if her mind and body were both jumbled, trying to function through turmoil and confusion, trying to get a grip on something solid.

 But she was beginning to make sense of things.
"Six," she said with great effort. "Six."
The black memory loomed up in her mind as if she had summoned it and it had returned to finish
her.
She fixated on the meaning of that word, that name, that dark form floating there in her mind.
She pulled random bits inward, building them together around it. When one memory fit-the
memory of the hallway with Rikka, Zedd, and Cara up ahead frozen in place on the stairs-she
went on to the next and worked to add another piece.
By the sheer force of her will, order began tumbling into place. Her thoughts fused into
coherence. Her memories began to coalesce.
"You're safe," Cara said, still holding Nicci's arms. "Be still, now."
Nicci wasn't safe. None of them were safe. She had to do something.
"Six is here," she managed through gritted teeth as she struggled to push Cara out of the way. "I
have to stop her. She has the box."
"She's gone, Nicci. Just calm down."
Nicci blinked, still trying to clear her vision, still trying to catch her breath. "Gone?"
"Yes. We're safe for the time being."
"Gone?" Nicci clutched a fistful of red leather, pulling the Mord-Sith closer. "Gone? She's gone?
How long has she been gone?"
"Since yesterday."
The memory of the dark figure seemed to stretch away into the distance, out of reach.
"Yesterday," Nicci breathed as she sank back against the pillow. "Dear spirits."
Cara finally straightened. Nicci no longer cared if she got up.
Everything had been for nothing.
She thought she might not ever want to get up again.
She stared off at nothing. "Was anyone else hurt?"
"No. Just you."
"Just me," Nicci repeated in a flat tone. "She should have killed me."
Cara frowned. "What?"
"Six should have killed me."


"Well, I'm sure she probably would have liked to, but she didn't manage to accomplish it. You're
safe."
Cara hadn't understood what Nicci had meant.
"All for nothing," Nicci mumbled to herself.
Everything was lost. All the work had been for nothing. All that Nicci had accomplished had
unraveled, melting away in a dark shadow's echoing laughter. All the studying, the piecing
together, the monumental effort to finally understand how it all actually functioned, the work to
invoke such power, to control it, to direct it-all of it had been in vain.
It had been one of the most difficult things she had ever done . . . and now it was all in ashes.
Cara dunked a cloth in a basin of water on a side table. Water ran back as she wrung the cloth.
The sound of each drop falling back into the basin was pronounced, penetrating, painful.
Rather than a blur of shapes and shadows, as it had been when she'd first awakened, now
everything had focused into raw sharpness. Colors seemed blindingly bright, sounds strident.
The dozen candles in the nearby stand shone like twelve little suns.
Cara pressed the damp cloth to Nicci's forehead. The red color of the Mord-Sith's leather outfit
hurt Nicci's eyes, so she closed them. The cloth felt like a thorned hedge being pressed against
her tender flesh.
"There is other trouble," Cara said in a quiet, confidential voice.
Nicci opened her eyes. "Other trouble?"
Cara nodded as she blotted the cloth on the sides of Nicci's neck.
"Trouble with the Keep."
Nicci glanced past the foot of her bed to the heavy dark blue and gold drapes over the narrow
window. The drapes were drawn closed, but there was no light at all leaking in, so she realized
that it had to be nighttime.
As she looked back at Cara, Nicci frowned even though doing so hurt. "What do you mean,
trouble with the Keep? What sort of trouble?"
Cara opened her mouth to speak, but then turned at the sound of a commotion coming from
behind her across the room.
Zedd swooped into the room without knocking, his elbows pumping up and out to the sides in
time with each long stride, his simple robes billowing behind him as if he were the king of the
place come to see to kingly business. Nicci supposed that, in a way, he was.


"Is she awake?" he demanded of Cara before he had even arrived at the bedside. His wavy white
hair seemed especially disheveled.
"I'm awake," Nicci answered for herself.
Zedd came to an abrupt halt, looming over her. He leaned down, scowling, having a look for
himself as if not trusting her word for it.
He pressed the tips of his long, bony fingers to her forehead. "Your fever has broken," he
announced.
"I had a fever?"
"Of a sort."
"What do you mean, of a sort? A fever is a fever."
"Not always. The fever you had was induced by the exertion of forces, rather than by illness. In
this case, to be precise, your own forces. The fever was your body's reaction to the stress of it.
Rather like the way a piece of metal gets hot when you bend it back and forth."
Nicci pushed herself up on her elbows. "You mean I had a fever caused by what Six did to me?"
Zedd straightened his robes on his angular shoulders. "In a way. The stress of exerting force
against all that witchery she was doing threw your body into a feverish condition."
Nicci looked from one to the other. "Why weren't you affected? Or Cara?"
Zedd impatiently tapped his temple. "Because I was smart enough to cast a web. It protected
Cara and me, but you were too far away. At that distance its protective properties weren't
adequate to keep you from harm, but I dared not try any harder. Even though it wasn't enough to
protect you from all harm, it was enough to at least save your life."
"Your spell protected me?"
Zedd shook a finger at her as if she had misbehaved. "You certainly weren't doing anything to
defend yourself."
Nicci blinked in surprise. "Zedd, I was trying. I don't think I've ever tried harder to use my Han. I
tried with all my strength to cast my power-I swear. It just wouldn't work."
"Of course not." He threw his arms up in exasperation. "That was your problem."
"What was my problem?"
"You were trying too hard!"
Nicci sat up the rest of the way. The world suddenly started spinning. She had to put a hand over
her eyes. The spinning was making her sick to her stomach.


"What are you talking about?" She lifted her hand just enough to squint up at him in the
candlelight. "What do you mean I was trying too hard?"
She thought she might throw up. As if annoyed by the distraction, Zedd pushed his sleeves up his
arms and then reached out, pressing a finger of each hand to the opposite sides of her forehead.
Nicci recognized the tingling sensation of Additive Magic crawling under her skin. It felt a little
odd to her not to feel any of the Subtractive side as an element of his power, but he had no
Subtractive Magic.
The sick feeling lifted.
"Better?" he asked in a tone that suggested he thought it had all been her own fault.
Nicci turned her head this way and that, stretching the muscles of her neck, testing her
equilibrium. She tried to feel the nausea, fearing it would well up suddenly, but it didn't.
"Yes, I guess I am."
Zedd smiled at the small triumph. "Good."
"What do you mean I was trying too hard?"
"You can't fight a witch woman the way you were trying to do it- especially not a witch woman
as powerful as that one. You were pushing too hard."
"Pushing too hard?" She felt as uncomfortable as she had as a novice when she'd been unable to
grasp a lesson being taught by an impatient Sister. "What do you mean?"
Zedd gestured vaguely. "When you use your force to try to push against what she's doing, she
simply turns it back around on you. You can't reach her with your power because the force you
use hasn't yet established a foundational link between the two of you, between principal and
object; it's still in its free-floating, formative stage."
Nicci understood what he was saying, in theory, she just didn't know if it fit in this case.
"Are you trying to say that it's like lightning needing to find a tree, or something tall, to anchor
its connection to the ground so it can ignite? That if there is no place within range to link to, it
simply jumps back and ignites within the cloud? Turns in on itself?"
"I never thought of it in those terms, but I guess you could say that it's something like that. You
might say that your power turned back in on you, like lightning turns back within a cloud when it
isn't able to make it to ground. A witch woman is one of the few people who instinctively
understands the precise nature of the exertion of force, the intricacies of its needs for connections,
and the ways in which specific spells link at both ends."


"You mean she knows how lightning works," Cara said, "and she pulled the rug out from under
Nicci."
Zedd shot the woman a dumbfounded look. "You really don't know anything about magic, do
you? Or about a mixed-up token turn of a phrase."
Cara's expression darkened. "If I pull that rug out from under you, I think you'll understand it
well enough."
Zedd rolled his eyes. "Well, it's an oversimplification, but I guess you could put it that way. . . .
Sort of," he added under his breath.
Nicci wasn't really listening; her mind was elsewhere. She remembered that she herself had done
something involving those same relationships of power and connections when the beast had been
attacking Richard in the shielded part of the Keep. She had created a linking node but denied that
link the power to complete it. That expectancy, without being fulfilled, drew the nearest power-
lightning-to the beast, eliminating it for the moment. Because the beast was not really alive,
though, it couldn't actually be destroyed, in much the same way a corpse, because it was already
dead, couldn't be killed, or made any more dead.
But this was different. This was well beyond what Nicci had done with the beast. This, in a way,
was the opposite of what she had done.
"Zedd, I don't understand how such a thing is possible. It's like throwing a rock; once thrown, the
trajectory is set. The rock would follow that trajectory to a termination point."
"She hit you on the head with your own rock before you'd even thrown it," Cara said.
Zedd fixed her in a murderous scowl, as if she were an impetuous student who had just spoken
out of turn. Cara's mouth took on an obstinate twist, but she kept it closed.
Nicci ignored the interruption as she went on. "She would have needed to act on specific power
as it was engendered-before it was even fully formed-as it began to ignite. That's when the
foundational node is formed as well. At that point the full nature and power of the spell wouldn't
even have come into being, yet."
Zedd gave Cara a sidelong glance to make sure she intended to keep quiet. When she folded her
arms and remained mute, Zedd turned back to Nicci.
"That's precisely what she does," he said.
Having never actually encountered a witch woman before, the explicit mechanisms they used
were a mystery to Nicci. "How?"


"A witch woman rides eddies of time. She sees the flow of events into the future. Their ability is in many ways an ancillary form of prophecy. That means she is ready for the spell before you cast it. She knows what is coming. Her own ability, her own gift, allows her to act against you before you can complete what you are doing to her. "It all comes naturally to them-like lifting an arm when someone throws a punch at you. Her block is there as your web forms-as you begin to throw your punch. She is denying you a foundational link so that your web can't even begin to form. As I said, she has the ability to turn it back before that link between principal and object is established. Your power falls inward on itself-on you. "It doesn't take great power on her part. Her strength is your strength. The harder you try to do something, the more difficult it becomes. She doesn't increase her effort, she merely denies yours a completing node. The harder you push, the more force it feeds back at you from her block. "A witch woman uses you. That force, your force, folds back in on you, over and over, as you try all the harder. Much the way bending a piece of metal back and forth makes it hot, your own force bent back in on you, over and over as you tried to conjure your ability to overpower her, sent your body into a fever." "Zedd, that can't be. You used magic. I saw you, I saw the web you cast and it didn't harm you. It merely fizzled out." The old wizard smiled. "No, it did not fizzle out. It was a fizzle from the beginning. I was using so little power that she couldn't draw strength from it. Since she couldn't draw strength from it, she couldn't block it or bend it back. There wasn't enough for her to grab hold of." "What kind of spell can do such a thing?" "I cast a protection web laced inside a simple tranquillity spell. You should have done the same." Nicci wiped a hand across her face. "Zedd, I've been a sorceress for a very long time. I've never even heard of a tranquillity spell." He shrugged. "Well, I guess you don't know everything, now, do you? I used a tranquillity spell for the shell because if I misjudged and made it just a little too strong, and she cast it back at me, well, she would simply be making me more tranquil. Being even more calm would have helped me. I would then know the threshold had been surpassed, and I would be more calm to try again and have a better chance at success the second time."

 Nicci shook her head in amazement. "It's for sure that I didn't know enough to deal with the likes
of Six. What you did may not have been able to reach me, but at least it was enough to keep her
from killing me."
Zedd only smiled.
She looked up at him. "Where did you learn such a trick?"
He shrugged. "Harsh experience. I've dealt with witch women before, so I knew that there was
only one thing I could do."
"You mean Shota?"
"In part," he said. "When I took the Sword of Truth back from her I had a great deal of trouble.
That woman is cunning, clever, and trouble behind sparkling eyes and a crafty smile. I found out
that doing things the usual way simply didn't work. She found my struggles amusing. The more
force I used, the worse I made things for myself, and the wider she smiled."
He smiled himself as he leaned in a little. "That was her mistake- smiling." He lifted a finger to
make his point. "Her smile tipped me off that what I was doing was my own undoing. I realized
in that instant that my use of force was what was giving her the power she needed."
"So you didn't use force."
He spread his hands as if she had finally grasped the lesson. "Sometimes doing what you would
most like to do can be the very worst thing to do. Sometimes to accomplish what you want in the
end, you have to hold back in the beginning."
As the concept he'd expressed sank in, yet more of her disordered memories-perplexing pieces of
some grand puzzle that had never before fit anywhere-having been freed from where they
languished in the dark corners of her mind, tumbled into place. It was as if she was seeing
everything in a new light.
The sudden realizations were jolting.
Nicci's jaw fell open. Her eyes went wide.
"I understand, now. I know what it meant. Dear spirits, I understand. I know the purpose of the
sterile field."



 

 CHAPTER 13

 Sterile field?" Zedd's bushy white brow drew down. "What are you talking about?"
Nicci pressed her fingertips to her forehead as she reasoned it all out. She could hardly believe
she hadn't realized it sooner. She looked up at the wizard.


"There is a complex order of events required for the power of Orden to work. Like you said, connections based on primary foundations must be established-just as in any magic. It was, after all, created by wizards and they would have had to have based anything they did on what they knew about the nature of the things they were manipulating. "For the most part, at its core, Orden is a complex constructed spell. Like any constructed spell, in the right conditions it is triggered by a specific set of events. It then runs according to its predetermined protocols. Yet, no matter how complex it is, once begun it still functions according to basic principles." "And the sun rises in the east," Zedd growled. "What are you getting at?" "It all correlates," she said to herself as she stared off at nothing for a moment. She abruptly turned her attention back to the wizard. "The Book of Life explains how to put the power of Orden in play. It lays out the protocols. It's basically an operating manual; it doesn't explain the theory behind Orden-that's not its purpose. To understand the whole thing you have to look elsewhere. "While that power, like all forms of power, can be misappropriated and looted for the objective of dominion, it was created and intended for a specific purpose: to counter the Chainfire spell. Central elements of Orden are a constructed spell so, once ignited, it runs through established routines. Those routines in turn require specific conditions-such as properly using the key, The Book of Counted Shadows." Her mind was still racing through all the new connections as she fit together pieces from different sources that she had never before connected. "Yes, yes," Zedd said as he rolled his hand impatiently. "The boxes of Orden were created specifically to counter the Chainfire spell. We already know that. What's more, it is self-evident that certain conditions must be met and that then the power will function in a given manner. That's all stone-cold obvious." Nicci threw off the covers and stood in a rush, no longer feeling that she belonged in bed. She looked down and saw that she was in a pink nightdress. She hated pink. Why did they always end up putting her in a pink nightdress? She imagined that it must have been all they had at hand. She ignited a razor-thin flow of Subtractive Magic almost without a thought and directed it downward through the fabric of the nightdress. With that power she scavenged through the fabric itself, allowing the Sub-tractive flow to seek only the elements of the dye, and eliminate it. The

 color in the nightdress, starting at the neckline, faded away in a wave that went through the entire
garment. Eliminating the pink color left behind a simple, off-white color to the cloth.
Incredulous, Zedd stared at the nightdress. "Did you just use Subtractive Magic, the power of the
underworld, the power of death itself, to take the color out of that thing?"
"Yes. Much better, don't you think?" She wasn't really paying much attention to the question as
her mind was already on other things.
Zedd lifted a hand in protest. "Well, I don't think it's a good idea to-"
"What is the purpose of it all?" Nicci asked, cutting off the objection she hadn't really heard and
cared even less about.
Zedd's hand paused. He was starting to look exasperated. "That is the purpose. To counter
Chainfire."
"No, no. I mean what is the specific function of the counter to the spell?"
His impatience with things that seemed only too obvious was curdling into annoyance. "To make
us all remember the object of the spell." His eyes flashed with that agitation. "In this case, that
would be Kahlan."
"Yes, in a sense, but that is an oversimplification of the process, an expression of the terminal
objective." Nicci lifted a finger, now the teacher instead of the student. "In order to do as you just
said it has to restore what was destroyed in us. It has to re-create our memories.
"It's not a matter of the power of Orden making us remember things we've forgotten but, rather,
of needing to reconstruct what is no longer there.
"Those lost memories are gone. It isn't that we've forgotten things and we can't recall the people
and events. There is nothing there in our minds for us to recall because those memories are
nonexistent, not merely forgotten. They have been eroded and destroyed by the Chainfire event.
It's not that we just aren't able to remember things. The reality is that those parts of our minds-of
our memories-have been destroyed.
"In actual fact, tliere is nothing there for us to remember.
"Re-creating from scratch what is gone is altogether different from helping us to remember
things. It's the difference between someone who is asleep, and someone who is dead. On the
surface both may look much the same, but having their eyes closed is about the only thing they
have in common.


"The end objective may be the same in both instances, but both the problem and the means to solve it have nothing in common. In order for Orden to counter Chainfire and restore us to the way we were before, it needs to incarnate in our minds knowledge, awareness, of what has happened in the past. It needs to create new memories to replace those that were destroyed. It needs to bring our memories back to life." As he considered her words, tension had settled in Zedd's brow, replacing the impatience that had been there. His gaze tracked her as she paced. "Well, yes, there somehow has to be a reestablishment to real events from the past." He scratched his temple as he viewed her askance. "Are you saying that you think that you now understand how such a thing could work?" Nicci's bare feet padded across the carpets as she paced. "From what I've pieced together from what I've read, those who created the boxes of Orden, even though they intended them to be a counter to Chainfire, weren't themselves convinced that such a thing could actually be done." Nicci halted to look at him. "Can you even imagine how monumentally complex such a thing would have to be? How complicated it would be to rebuild and restore memories in everyone? How convoluted? "I mean, those wizards back then must have driven themselves crazy trying to sort out how such a thing could rebuild what no longer has a template. How is Orden to know what you are supposed to remember? Or Cara? Or me? What's worse, people believe all the time that they correctly recall things but their recollections are in error. How will Orden rebuild memories that once were but no longer are, when those memories themselves, when we had them, weren't always true, or accurate? "From what I read in the books on Ordenic theory, even the wizards who created Orden weren't certain that it would work." She started pacing again as she went on. "Don't forget, they couldn't test it against an actual Chainfire event. Chainfire itself was never tested, either-no one dared to-so, while they had confidence in their syllogism, they still couldn't be completely certain of how Orden would work in the real world. Because they couldn't observe an actual Chainfire event play out, they couldn't be positive that their counter would work as they intended it to, even if all the complicated elements functioned perfectly and according to plan-and there was even cause for doubt in that part of it as well.

 "All that said, there is an even more important aspect to the protocols they established and that is the need to counter the Chainfire spell in the subject-in this case, Kahlan. The subject is the vortex of the whole thing, the center of the entire Chainfire event. She is the center of an enormously complex equation. "Therefore, the counter to the entire event must anchor itself there, in her. The element of constructed magic in the elaborate system of Orden must ignite in her." "She is the foundational link. . ." Zedd said, half to himself, as he stared off, following along with Nicci's reasoning. "That's right." Nicci said. "And for Orden to do such a thing, for it to repair the damage done starting from the center of that storm, it requires that such a foundational link be a sterile field." "A sterile field?" Zedd asked, still frowning as he listened intently. "You mentioned that before." Nicci nodded. "It's a shadowy element that the wizards wrestled with throughout the work on the creation of the Ordenic counter to Chainfire. I didn't understand the importance of it before, didn't grasp the significance of the issue they were grappling with, didn't see why they were so concerned about it, but what you've explained about a witch woman's ability finally allowed me to comprehend the concept at the center of Ordenic theory." Zedd planted his fists on his bony hips. "You didn't understand part of Ordenic theory? And yet you put it in play-in Richard's name? Even when you didn't understand it?" Nicci ignored the heated tone of the question. "Just the part about the sterile field. I realize now that it's much the same as what you explained about how I needed a link when I cast a spell at Six, but she denied me that place to anchor the spell. Orden must initiate magic in a similar manner. Like all magic, it, too, needs a connection. That connection is Kahlan. But it needs that target of the connection to be a blank slate." "A blank slate?" Zedd tilted his head in toward her. "Nicci, need I remind you that the* person is a blank slate? The Chainfire spell erases everything from their past. It renders them blank, in a manner of speaking. Orden thus has what it needs." Nicci shook her head insistently. "No. You have to consider it all together in the context of the Chainfire book, The Book of Life, and those obscure books you found for me on Ordenic theory. You have to look at it all, at the larger picture, to see it." "See what?" Zedd roared in exasperation. "The subject must be emotionally blank, or the whole thing is tainted."

 "Emotionally blank?" Cara asked when Zedd fell to muttering to himself as he wiped a hand down his face. "What does that mean?" "It means that knowledge of her previous emotional condition would contaminate the effort to restore what was within her. She has to remain emotionally blank for Orden to be able to do its job. The subject has to be kept blank. Care must be taken not to introduce emotional links." "Nicci, you are a bright woman," Zedd said, trying to remain calm, "but this time you've driven the wagon off the bridge and into the river." He started in pacing himself. "What you're saying doesn't make any sense. How can the subject be prevented from finding out anything at all about their past? The wizards who created the boxes of Orden must have realized that the chances were the subject would find out any number of things about their past before Orden could be brought to bear. They couldn't expect the person to be locked in a dark room until Orden could be employed." "That's not what I mean. You're missing my point. Details don't matter-in fact details learned by anyone with lost memories only help because they are like guide pins on which to fit the template of the restoration process of Orden. But great emotional experiences within the subject of Chainfire do matter. Emotions are the sums created by details, whether those details are true or not." Cara looked focused on trying to understand what Nicci was saying. "How can emotions be created by false details?" "Take me, for example," Nicci said. "The things that I was taught by the Fellowship of Order caused me to hate anyone who resisted the teachings of the Order, hate anyone who accomplished anything. I believed as I was taught, that such people were selfish heathens who didn't care about their fellow man. "I was taught to have an emotional response of hatred to all those who didn't believe as I did. I was taught to hate you and everything you did without actually knowing anything about you. I had a visceral, emotional hatred for the value of life itself. I would have killed Richard based on those emotional drives. My emotions were based on lies and indoctrination, not anything true." Cara sighed. "I see what you mean. You and I were both taught similar things and made to feel similar emotions, and those emotions were completely mistaken." "But emotions, when based on valid things, can be a faithful and consistent sum of truths." "Valid things?" Cara asked.

 "Of course," Nicci said. "Such as worthwhile values. Love-proper love, true love-is a response to
those things we value in others. It's an emotional response to life-affirming values held by
another person. We value the good nature of that other person. In those cases that emotion is a
central, powerful part of our humanity."
Zedd, still pacing, came to an impatient halt. "What does this have to do with anything?"
Nicci spread her hands. "Keep in mind that Ordenic theory is just that, theory, so I can't say that I
know for certain because even those who created it didn't know it for certain, either, but it all fits.
While they were convinced they were correct, they had no actual experience of foreknowledge
tainting magic in which to ground their theory, but I think they were right."
Zedd leaned in, peering at her with one eye. "Right about what, exactly?"
"Emotions interjected into the subject without the underlying cause will corrupt the countering of
the Chainfire spell."
Cara frowned. "You lost me."
"They were convinced that foreknowledge of a certain emotional nature would taint the magic
they were using, taint Orden." Nicci looked from Zedd's troubled hazel eyes to Cara. "What it
means is that if Kahlan were to learn the truth of her emotions-her dominant emotions-before the
correct box of Orden is opened, then Orden will not be able to restore those emotions. The field
where Orden must ignite would be contaminated by that foreknowledge. Kahlan would be lost in
the tangle of the spell."
Cara put her hanSs on her hips. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, let's say, for example, that Richard found Kahlan and he told her about the two of them,
about their emotional connection, their love for one another. In that case Orden would be
prevented from working."
The wizard's face had gone unreadable. "Why?" he asked in a tone that sent a shiver up her spine.
"It's kind of like the way my spells didn't work against Six because the strength of my power first
needed to establish anchors, foundations, in order to do its work."
"You mean that if Richard ever gets the chance to actually open one of the boxes of Orden,"
Zedd asked, "he must do so with the subject completely unaware of her ties to him?"
Nicci nodded. "Her deepest emotional ties, anyway. We have to be sure Richard understands that
if we find Kahlan before he gets the chance to open the correct box of Orden, he can't interject
any causeless emotion or it will corrupt the field."


"Causeless emotion?" Cara's nose wrinkled. "Are you trying to say that Lord Rahl can't tell Kahlan that she loves him?" "Exactly," Nicci said. "But why?" "Because right now, she doesn't," Nicci said. "Those things that caused her to fall in love with him are no longer in her. The foundation of her love-the memory of the things that happened, the things she did with him, the reasons that she fell in love with him-are no longer there in her. Chainfire destroyed those memories. Right now, it's as if she never met him before. She does not love him. She has no reason to love him. She is a blank slate." Zedd poked a long thin finger through his thatch of wavy hair and scratched his scalp. "Nicci, I think the fever may have done more damage than I thought. What you're saying makes no sense. Kahlan's problem is that Chainfire made her forget her past. Orden was created to counter Chainfire. There is nothing as powerful as Orden. It's the power of life itself. Revealing to Kahlan something as simple as her love for Richard is not going to cause the restoration to become scrambled." "Oh, but it would." Nicci paced a few steps and returned to stand before him. "Zedd, with all your power as First Wizard, why couldn't you stop a mere witch?" "Because she turns your power back around on you." "That's the key," Nicci said. "That's the part I needed to add in, why I was finally able to put together everything I've been reading in those books. I was finally able to understand what the wizards who created Orden meant about the sterile field. The force of emotions will turn back the power applied to the person. "It's something like the way that trying to convince those who believe in the teachings of the Order that they are wrong in their feelings only strengthens those feelings, makes them even more resistant to casting off those false beliefs. If you tell them that the Order is evil they will hate you all the more, not the Order. Their belief in the Imperial Order is steeled, rather than broken." "So what?" Cara said. "It wouldn't be contradictory for Kahlan, like in your example. If Lord Rahl were to tell Kahlan that she loves him, that would be what the magic of Orden would do anyway, so it's not really a problem."

 "Oh, but it is a problem," Nicci said, waggling a finger. "A very big problem. The whole thing would be backwards. The effect would be there without the cause. Emotions are the end result, the sum, of things learned. Putting emotions in first would be like trying to construct a two-story building by starting at the roof and working your way down to the foundation. Or, like me trying to push a powerful spell at a witch woman." "The emotions that Orden would otherwise put back where they belong would be turned away by the emotions that were placed there by foreknowledge. Foreknowledge would interfere with the protocols." "That's what I mean," Cara insisted. "Kahlan would already have been told that she loves Lord Rahl, so it couldn't possibly matter." "But it does. You see, that foreknowledge would be empty. The emotions revealed ahead of time have no meaning, no substance. They aren't real. If she were to be told of her love for Richard, then Orden wouldn't be able to restore her true emotions of love." Cara looked like she was ready to pull her hair out in exasperation. "But Lord Rahl would already have told her, so it's the same difference. She would know. She would already know that she loves him." "No. One would be true, the other not. Don't forget, right now she doesn't love him. The real emotions Orden would be trying to build would already have been replaced by something that isn't real-emotions without cause. Those emotions would be empty and untrue. The reasons she loves him would be missing, so while the foreknowledge of her love might be there it would be empty knowledge. It would be empty love, love based on nothing. Love without everything supporting it would be meaningless." Cara lifted her arms and then let them flop back to her sides. "I just don't get it." Nicci halted her pacing and turned back to Cara. "Imagine that I bring a man you've never seen before into the room and I tell you that you love him. Would you love him because I told you that you did? No, because you can't inject such emotions without something to support them." "That's what Orden does; it builds support for the real emotions from the knowledge of past events that it restores. It establishes the causes. Putting the emotions there first-the end result of past events-taints that process. According to the wizards who created Orden, her foreknowledge of loving him would contaminate the field, taint her mind, so that the incarnation of the real events-the reasons behind why she loves him- couldn't be engendered in her. They would be blocked, the way the witch woman blocked my spells. She would be left with nothing but the hollow information. She couldn't retrieve her past. It would remain lost to her." Zedd scratched his jaw. He looked up. "But, as you say, this is only theory." "The wizards who dreamed up Ordenic theory in order to counter Chainfire, and from that theory created the boxes of Orden, came to believe they were right. I also believe that their conclusions are correct." "What would happen if, if, I don't know," Cara said, "if Lord Rahl told Kahlan first-about her loving him and that she was his wife-and then later he was finally able to get the boxes of Orden, and get his power back, and learn what was necessary, and he finally opened the correct box, invoking the counter to the Chainfire event? Would the counter to Chainfire still work?" "Yes, the counter would still work." Cara looked truly confused. "So, what's the problem?" "It's a constructed spell, so the protocols would run just the same. If the theory is sound, and I think it is, all the other components of Orden would still function. The Chainfire spell would be countered and everyone's memories would be restored-with one exception. Orden would be unable to rebuild Kahlan's past. That element of the spell would be blocked. The one at the center of the storm would be lost to it. "We would all be restored, our memories would be what they once were, we would all remember Kahlan, but Kahlan would forever be without her past. You might say she would be like a soldier injured in battle who, because of a head injury, no longer is who he once was. She would only be able to go on from her life after the Chainfire spell had taken her identity from her. She would only be aware of things from that point on. She would be a different person, a person who would have to build a new life for herself. "All the while she would have the knowledge that she was supposed to love this person, Richard, whom she doesn't know and for whom she has no real feeling." "So, then she would be the only casualty," Cara said. "The rest of us would be restored." Nicci sighed. "Well, that's my belief from my understanding of the theory." Zedd was looking suspicious again. "But there is an alternate possibility?" Nicci nodded. "Not one I'd like to contemplate. One of the lines of reasoning in the books of Ordenic theory postulates that absent the anchor it needs in a sterile field, the counter would be unable to run its protocols and collapse in on itself. That line of reasoning suggests that in such a circumstance the counter would fail and the Chainfire event would burn on out of control. Life as we know it would be lost. Our ability to reason would crumble as the inferno of Chainfire continued to burn, until our minds would be unable to support our own existence. Savagery would sustain some people for a short time, but the inevitable outcome would be the extinction of mankind. "I think you can see why the wizards who created Orden were so concerned about preserving the sterile field." Zedd frowned in thought. "But the predominant theory is that if something were to go wrong, and she were to gain such foreknowledge before Orden could be brought to play, she would forever remain a casualty of Chainfire but that wouldn't really interfere with Chainfire in everyone else being countered." "That's right. In a way, as much as Kahlan means to Richard, I'm afraid that in this she has become secondary to the Chainfire event. It may have started with her, but* now everyone is infected. If that event is not stopped, everything is lost. Countering Chainfire has become more important than Richard and Kahlan's love for each other. It would be wonderful if her love for him could be restored, but it isn't necessary in order to counter the Chainfire event. "Regardless of what it means for this one person, for Kahlan, or what it means for Richard, personally, the power of Orden must be invoked to counter Chainfire in order to purge the infection from everyone else. "There's one other alternate theory, besides the one about the whole thing not working if the field is tainted. A few wizards believed that Or-denic theory might indicate that pouring so much power into the subject of the Chainfire event in anything but a sterile field-one contaminated with foreknowledge-would kill the person." "What about everyone else in such a mishap?" Zedd asked. "By the time she hits the floor dead, the trigger for the constructed portion of Orden would already have been initiated and the rest of the spell would run through its protocols. Orden would ripple outward from the core and do its job. "If that happens, if Kahlan is lost in the effort, it will be a terrible personal loss for Richard, but it will mean nothing more than that for the rest of us. The introduction of Orden would destroy the Chainfire contamination and restore everyone else."

 Zedd gave her a hard look. "We may not remember Kahlan, but there is no doubt in any of us what she means to Richard. He has already shown us that he would be willing to go to the underworld if he thought doing so could save her life. If he knew that opening one of the boxes and releasing the power of Orden would kill her . . ." Nicci didn't shy from his look, or the implication. "Richard must open the correct box of Orden and initiate the constructed spell that will counter Chainfire . . . even if it means that it will kill Kahlan. It's as simple as that." The room was silent for a moment. Zedd rubbed a finger back and forth on his chin as he gazed off into the shadows. "It would seem wise, in view of such dangers-whether real or not-to see to it that if Kahlan is found she be kept in the dark about her former feelings for Richard. Best to let Orden restore her emotions." "That makes the most sense to me, too," Nicci said. "When we get Richard back we have to convince him that should he find her, he must not reveal the truth to her." Zedd clasped his hands behind his back as he shook his head. "Considering everything at stake, I agree that such a thing is wise, and that it should be our plan, but I don't know that I really believe such a thing as simple foreknowledge could cause such a personal tragedy. I don't know if I can believe that such a simple thing as foreknowledge can cause such great harm." "If it's any consolation to you, there were wizards involved in the creation of the boxes of Orden who held the same view. But then it seemed impossible to me that using power against a witch woman would bring me to harm." Zedd stared off, absently, as he considered. "You have a point. Great harm can sometimes result from the best of intentions. "When we find the boy we can tell him all this. But we're an awfully long way from any of this ever happening. We no longer have even one of the boxes of Orden." Nicci sighed. "True enough. What worries me the most, though, is convincing Richard of this." Nicci cleared her throat. "When we find him, I think it best if such a thing came from you, Zedd. He might take it better coming from you. He might be more open to listening." Zedd glanced her way before resuming his pacing. "I understand." He halted and turned to Nicci. "But I'm still not sure I buy the whole theory about emotional foreknowledge being able to taint..." In midsentence, Zedd's mouth snapped closed with a startled expression.

 "What?" Nicci asked. "Did you think of something?"
Zedd sank down to sit on the edge of the bed. "Yes, I most certainly did."
The power, the fire, had gone out of him.
"Dear spirits," he whispered, sounding as if the weight of his years had just settled on his
slumped shoulders.
Nicci leaned down and touched his arm. "Zedd, what's wrong?"
He looked up at her with haunted eyes. "Foreknowledge can affect how magic works. It's not a
theory. It's true."
"Are you sure? How do you know?"
"I don't remember Kahlan, or anything about her. When Richard was here, though, he told me
about her. He filled me in on my missing memories of how he came to love her, and she him.
"Kahlan is a Confessor. A Confessor's gift destroys the mind of the person she touches with her
power. Confessors release their restraint on their power to unleash it. The rest of the time they
must keep it under their tight control."
"I know, I've heard about their ability," Nicci said. "But what does that have to do with their
love?"
"A Confessor always chooses her mate from among those they don't really care about because if
she were to be intimate with a man she loved she would unintentionally lose control of that
power. So released, her power would take the man. He would stand no chance. He would no
longer be who he was. He would be lost, his mind destroyed. He would be a hollow shell, left
with a blind, mindless devotion to the Confessor. She would have him, have his love and
devotion, but it would be meaningless, empty love.
"For this reason Confessors always choose a man they don't care about, and then take him with
their power. They choose a mate for what kind of father he would be, for the daughter he could
produce, but they never choose a man they love. Men fear an unmarried Confessor in search of a
mate, fear being chosen, fear losing who they are to her power."
"But there obviously must be a way for it to work," Nicci said. "How did Richard accomplish
it?"
Zedd looked up. "There is only one way. I can't tell you what it was. I couldn't tell Richard,
either. I couldn't even tell him that a way existed."
"Why not?" she asked.