A/N: If you are still reading, thank you for your patience. I got in the way of myself and became so hyper-critical that I almost didn't have the guts to finish this story. I still feel skeptical posting without the ending finished, but I wanted to give everyone something to chew on in the interim. I have spent the last month writing only two chapters, however I think that waiting a while to post them has made them better. I have a wonderful ending planned but in the meantime I hope you all enjoy the ride!

Chapter 7

Not A Word Till Dawn

Judging by the sheer size of the bonfire they had built, the Gal'Garan were not afraid of being found in the woods that night. Their voices had risen to such a volume that it seemed to Cara that they could be tracked from here to the People's Palace with unsettling ease. Kahlan seemed not to mind, instead drinking in the warm feeling of being lost in a crowd. She could melt into the people and for once be absolved of responsibility, even if only for a night. Ask plopped down beside her on the ground, and with a little coaxing Cara came to sit on the other side of her as well.

The Gal'Garan were passing a tanned goat bladder filled with a golden mead around the fire. It was honey-sweet and warm, perfect for an evening of making new allies. Cara held it to her lips for a spell before she held the bladder out to Kahlan, who promptly declined. Kahlan had to be the Mother Confessor, even amidst all this revelry, and so she must at all times keep her wits about her.

A man with a blue half cloak pulled from his pack a steel drum, of D'Haran make, and began to play. The energy shifted around the campfire, bodies began to morph into different shapes, colliding with each other as songs began to billow their bodies like sails. Unencumbered by the impending war, nor the collapse of the Boundaries, the Gal'Garan were free.

"May I steal this one?" a tall, broad shouldered man asked. At first, Kahlan had been ready with words of apology in order to decline the offer. But then she noticed that the outstretched hand was for Ask, not her. Ask grinned with all the mead in his belly, took the Gal'Garan's hand, and let him lead the desperately intricate folk dance. The Gal'Garan moved swiftly between each other, not changing partners as was more customary in the Midlands. They stayed with their chosen dancers until the music ended, beads of sweat dripping down their throats as if it were the dead summer.

Although she had not had a drop to drink, Kahlan felt braver than she ever had. Brave enough to do a most terrifying thing— she outstretched her hand with an upturned palm to Cara, a silent request for a dance.

"Absolutely not," Cara murmured, rolling her eyes. Kahlan remained unmoved, only a raised eyebrow betrayed her intentions.

"Kahlan."

"Cara."

"You're not leaving this alone, are you?"

"Not until you dance with me."

Cara pursed her full lips, took Kahlan's hand, and pulled her up to dance. Surprisingly, it was easy to dance with Cara. It was just like when they had fought in the ring in Heartland, they knew precisely when the other was to move and acted accordingly. Their bodies fit perfectly together even if Kahlan was quite a bit taller than Cara. It was as if they were always meant to dance.

"Do you have something to say?" Kahlan asked, bemused by the way Cara kept stealing small glances at her as they danced around the bonfire.

"Love is like a river, Kahlan," Cara said in her low, gravelly tone. "It's not a well."

"All… all right. Is this something I'm meant to agree with?" Kahlan asked, confused but charmed by Cara's sudden poetics.

"I just… I don't want you to be upset with me, byrd."

"Out of all the things to be upset about, confessing that you write poetry is not one of them."

"No… I mean…" Cara found herself floundering for words. Kahlan remained silent for a moment before deciding to nudge her in the right direction.

"Tell me, Cara. Tell me everything, tell me anything, tell me nothing."

"I love you. And I love Ask. I love you both."

Kahlan smiled and squeezed Cara's hand. She would be remiss if she did not admit to the tight feeling in her gut at Cara's words, or the flooding of her senses with feelings of jealousy and distrust. Kahlan never inquired about what went on between Cara and Ask, but now she found herself wishing she had been hungrier for answers, to know of deeds that were done behind closed doors and while she was away.

Do you wish to be with us both? At the same time?" Kahlan asked gently, testing the waters. She was wholly unsure of how to proceed.

"I don't know. I think if we hadn't fucked then I wouldn't feel this way. But we did. And there is something inside either of us that is reaching out for the other. When I'm with them… I feel…"

"Seen?"

"Yes. Do you think you can be in love with two people, Kahlan? Is it just a residue of my Mord-Sith selfishness? Or is it real?"

Kahlan looked at Cara, daring to rest a hand on the side of her neck. She wanted so desperately to pull her close and squeeze her tight, but they had to look at each other to keep this conversation alive. They had to actually talk instead of touch, because if they did not then nothing would be resolved. All she could think of in that moment was a glimmer of a past conversation, from their time in Westland. When they had been in the woods, surrounded by people just like them.

"Imagine what our world could be if everyone shared and no one stole."

"I don't know, Cara. I don't know how I feel about this. I want you all to myself," Kahlan told her earnestly, rolling her lips together as the immediate surge of guilt rushed over her. All she wanted was to make Cara happy, but there was something that snagged when she thought of all of them together. Or Ask and Cara together, without her. Perhaps that was her fear, and perhaps it was unwarranted, for she knew that above all else Cara's candor was ineffable. It did not stay her fast-beating heart, nor did it ease her mind which began to race.

Instead of giving an answer, Kahlan pulled Cara even closer and kissed her deeply. Cara's lips felt warm and plush and divine, as they always did. She dove in again, and again, letting her tongue unabashedly tease Cara's. The Mord-Sith moaned against her, both forgetting where they were, both slowly becoming uncaring of their public image. Kahlan felt herself getting hotter between her legs, wanting so desperately to take Cara then and there.

"I want you," Kahlan breathed in Cara's ear, sending a rush down her spine. "I want you right now, right here."

"Get up," Cara murmured, pulling Kahlan by the arm and leading her into the woods with purpose. Kahlan rolled her lips together to stifle a childish giggle as they stumbled a bit into trees, both women completely unaware of their surroundings. There was only this lustful feeling and the moon and the slowly shrinking sounds of the raucous campfire.

When they could barely hear the whooping Gal'Garan and their many-stringed mandolins, Kahlan took a greedy fistful of Cara's shirt and pushed her backward into a thick evergreen, just beneath its needled branches. It smelled deeply of pine and Cara could feel the sap sticking to her clothes, but she could not bring herself to move from the spot. Kahlan's eyes were hungry for something she had never had before.

"It's so different, not being afraid to hurt you," Kahlan murmured, her hands finding pleasure in sliding up Cara's shirt and playing with her breasts. "We can truly be close to each other now. There's nothing holding us back." They were both quiet for a moment, Kahlan planting soft kisses down Cara's neck as if they were nervous, new lovers. In a sense, they were.

"That feels good," Cara whispered, noticing that Kahlan needed encouragement.

"I like it when you feel good," Kahlan said into her ear, taking the lobe gently in between her teeth and pulling just a bit. She released it and let her hands slide down Cara's belly and around her waist. "You've finally gained your weight back."

"It's all that good cooking of yours," Cara told her, moaning a bit when Kahlan's hands squeezed her ass. "I've never had pasta before, and it will certainly become a problem at some point."

"It's nice to hold onto you without feeling like I'll break you in half," Kahlan admitted, sinking down to her knees and making quick work of the lattice of strings holding the front of Cara's trousers closed. Cara felt something bad rising in her chest and grabbed a fistful of Kahlan's hair before realizing it was firmer than intended. Kahlan hummed in satisfaction, however, and pulled Cara's trousers down around her knees. She let two fingers slide over Cara's freed clit, noticing that it was barely wet.

"I…"

"It's okay. Let me touch you, Cara. In the real way," Kahlan told her, blue eyes meeting green with all the clarity of their love for each other. It seemed simple in a way it had not before— Cara knew that she could always trust Kahlan, because Kahlan had her best interests in mind. "It doesn't mean giving up your power. It means you trust me, like I trust you."

The last person to touch her like this was Dahlia, and images of what they had done flashed before her in a dizzying sequence. Dahlia's ghost still hung just above them, her cruel words stinking up the air.

"I just want to touch you. Please," Cara asked, and Kahlan could not decline her offer. Kahlan held tight to Cara's shoulders as she let Cara undress her, drunkenly fumbling with the ties on the front of her dress.

"We don't have time," Kahlan breathed, feeling more desperate now, on the brink of something real, than she ever had. She took no time at all to shimmy off her pants and let them collect at her ankles, pressing her clit against Cara's lifted knee and moaning immediately. The raw energy from Kahlan had Cara's head spinning, the only thing she could do to anchor herself to this world was to reach down and slip her fingers into Kahlan. To feel of the wetness there, of the hungry heat, and let it consume her entirely.

"I love you," Cara breathed. "You're everything I've ever wanted."

"Right there, right there— please don't stop," Kahlan moaned, digging her fingernails into the skin on Cara's shoulders. Cara craved small crescent cuts to be left on her skin so she obeyed. Her fingers dove into Kahlan and she used the heel of her palm to press against Kahlan's swelling, slick clit. Kahlan's short breaths were hot against her neck, sweat was beading down the valley between her breasts against the waning winter air.

"Please Cara, please," Kahlan breathed, begging for something she had never had with Cara. That touch that would lead her straight over the edge, the press of the finger that would unwind her.

"Harder," Cara replied. "Dig into me. Show me how much you want it."

And she did. Kahlan grabbed Cara harder, knowing in a way that the blood welling around her fingernails was not hurting Cara but instead it was lighting her flame. Cara moaned in kind, her lips finding Kahlan's shoulder as she rubbed her clit faster, faster, faster until she felt Kahlan quaking against her. Kahlan erupted with a self-indulgent cry, littered with Cara's name and 'I love you' as she came. Her Confessor's magic pounded into Cara and she closed her eyes against the delicious pain of the thunder without sound. Kahlan's magic felt almost holy now that it was not able to destroy Cara. Something so much more powerful than she, Cara was at the mercy of Kahlan's magic.

"That…" Kahlan breathed after a moment of rest, pulling herself up to look at Cara. The Mord-Sith's hand slipped away from the sticky mess between her thighs, grasping at the back of Kahlan's dress as she pulled her in for a kiss. Nothing tasted as good as Cara did. Nothing tasted as good as Kahlan did. "That was…"

"I would hope it was everything you wanted it to be, after so many years of not having it," Cara teased, looking up at Kahlan with uncharacteristic stars in her eyes. All Kahlan could do was let her eyes well up with tears, the blueness of her irises like a tidal wave as Cara let them both sink to the forest floor and hold each other in a way that only earnest lovers do.

"I feel so stupid… but Cara, I never want to be without you. You make me feel alive. You make me feel so much that I've never felt before."

"I know. I feel it too," Cara said, idly twirling a raven lock in between her first finger and thumb.

"How were we designed to be enemies and, at the same time, to be lovers?"

"Nothing is sacred anymore, not even ancient, magical rivalries."

"I suppose."

"I love you."

"I love you."

And for a moment, they forgot altogether about that important conversation they were meant to be having. It did not matter, at least not then. The world could wait while they pretended to be ordinary people.

—

The sun rose over the hills and Kahlan emerged from her tent first. They would not need the tents once they reached the border of Kelton, however the last whispers of the D'Haran winter had forced them to bring along the extra baggage. It was one thing to sleep under the stars in the summer and spring, perhaps even in the autumn, but the winter nibbled at your toes and ate away at your spirit if you were uncovered.

Ilsa was already sitting beside the remaining embers of the fire, and from their dull, orange glow Kahlan could only imagine how late the revelry had gone without them. Kahlan and Cara had spent a long time in the forest, and even upon their return there were still several Gal'Garan awake and laughing. It lightened Kahlan's heart to know that hope was alive even at such a precarious time.

"Good morning, Mother Confessor," Ilsa smiled, a pause from applying a whetstone to the short sword across her thighs so that she might greet Kahlan. "I have an offer to make you."

"You have already given me your shield, and a wonderful welcome last night," Kahlan smiled gently, crouching beside Ilsa as she attempted to rekindle the dying fire. "What other offers could you have for me?"

"We all spoke last night after you and Cara went to fuck in the woods," Ilsa said idly. Kahlan had to bite back a stutter of embarrassment. Sure, they had not been entirely careful enough to cover up their tracks last night. Yet Ilsa's blatant ruthlessness was surprising, and a bit off-putting. "I would have never guessed in all my years to have seen a Mord-Sith and the Mother Confessor together. The Keeper cut open the ground and began a new world, I suppose."

"We've been through much together," Kahlan told her gently. "I owe her my life, and she owes me hers."

"I can see it in your eyes, Mother Confessor. I had a love like that," Ilsa sighed with a laborious scraping of the whetstone across her broad blade.

"What was their name?"

"Pax," Ilsa smiled as if she were drifting back into memories. "He was as strong as an ox, and as big as one too. We were together for many years."

"What happened to him?" Kahlan asked, and it took a long while for Ilsa to answer.

"I found out he was sleeping with another woman for many months. So I got her into my bed and as I fucked her, I put an arrow in his neck," Ilsa said with all the clarity in the world. A cold chill dripped down Kahlan's throat and into her chest. Suddenly, being so close to Ilsa felt intimidating. "I am a woman of my word, Kahlan Amnell. I suspect that you don't want an arrow in that pretty throat of yours. If you make a pact with me, it is a pact for life."

Kahlan stood up to her full height that easily towered over Ilsa's small stature. Her eyes were ice cold and her face turned to stone. Quickly as lighting she had become the Mother Confessor, that darker shade of her magic seemed to crackle all around her, but surely it was a mere trick of the eye. She took a step toward Ilsa, and she did not flinch. However, her eyes flitted around nervously when Kahlan's hand clapped down onto her shoulder. To be within touch of a Confessor was dangerous territory that few dared to traverse. Even in the amiable revelry of the previous night the Gal'Garan had kept their distance from Kahlan, for they had all heard the whispers of her ability to bring any soul under her indomitable control.

"I do not wish to play politics when both of us know exactly how strong the other is," Kahlan said, her voice calm as the surface of a pond. "I have no patience for games or shows of power. Either you believe in our cause and side with us, or you will be left to the D'Haran wolves. I am sure they would do far worse things to you than I would, considering all of your transgressions against the House of Rahl."

There was a long moment of silence with words that lived in their eyes. They had both drawn lines in the sand, and now it was a test of their mettle to see who would bow first.

Ilsa smiled and it looked like the moon appeared in the night sky. "I would love a woman like you on our side, Mother Confessor." Her hand reached up to clasp Kahlan's shoulder— an offering of peace. "For too long has the Midlands had weak leadership. You have a fire within you that can never be snuffed out. It is in your magic, in your eyes, in your body. You will win this fight, Kahlan Amnell. You will earn back Aydindril and vanquish D'Hara once and for all."

"And what would you want in return?"

"To create a nation of peace, of people who are their own. That is all the Gal'Garan have ever wanted."

Kahlan slowly took away her hand and replaced it with a nod and a smile. Her face softened, and it occurred to her that this was the first time she had truly reached out and held her power with both hands. She did not back down from Ilsa's challenge, but rather she stepped up. It was different from what had happened back in Aydindril, Idris was a monster, but Ilsa was simply a woman much like herself. Perhaps Kahlan could be Mother Confessor after all.

"Is everything all right?" came a wavering voice from behind Ilsa. Ask stood there, half naked, their soft, gray eyes still blurry with sleep.

"Go back to sleep, Ask. We're just talking business, Ilsa and I," Kahlan smirked, giving a teasing look to the other woman. Ask nodded heavily, watching Kahlan for a moment more before ducking back into the tent to curl up beside last night's dance partner.

—

It was midmorning when Cara finally roused, alone in the tent. Cara stretched her sleep-hardened muscles, moaning gently to herself as they pulled and softened. Her body was finally hers again, after months of torture and rehabilitation. She had dreamed that night of Kahlan standing over her, stabbing her legs over and over and over until at last that beautiful dagger came to rest in her heart. The blood gushed black until there was nothing left. Cara had attended her own funeral that night, and no one wept. Everyone cheered and wore the brightest colors.

Cara was no longer afraid of her dreams, for she knew they were simply whispers of doubt trying to hold her down. The knowing, however, did not make them any less real, especially when she woke up and Kahlan was not softly sleeping by her side. Cara wished she had the words to tell Kahlan about these dreams, perhaps that would make them go away. A burden shared is of lesser weight to all. But this was Cara's fear alone, and if there was anything Dahlia had taught her it was that the only way is through.

"You slept in," Kahlan said, peeking her head into the small tent they had shared last night. "I should be the tired one."

"You should. I didn't do my job correctly," Cara smirked, propping herself up on her elbow. "Let me try again."

"We don't have time, we have to go. The Gal'Garan are going to buy us some time while we get to the Old World," Kahlan told her, sitting down beside the blonde and pressing a warm kiss to her cheek. Cara hummed in satisfaction, her hand moving to lightly stroke Kahlan's back. "About last night, before we went into the woods we were talking about something. I have to think about what you said more, Cara. I don't want to make any decisions right now."

"I understand. We need to focus on the road ahead," Cara said with a stone in her belly. She knew that Ask would be displeased, and for the first time in her life she felt a slight tinge of guilt for her selfishness. Feelings, how revolting they were. "I'll get ready. What's for breakfast?"

"I made you a plate, don't worry," Kahlan smirked, producing a small plate with some D'Haran comfort food atop it. Candied carrots, diced tomatoes, and wheat bread. "Eat up, Ripper. We have a journey ahead of us."

"Call me that again and I'll bite you for real this time," Cara murmured, taking the bread and tearing off a piece with her teeth. It was too big and unwieldy in her mouth, and she had to work to chew it down to size.

"I wouldn't want you to enjoy it too much," Kahlan challenged, letting out a breath as she took in Cara's visage. Her powerful arms, her sturdy thighs, all out on display. Kahlan wished they had enough time for her to convince Cara to lay down on her back and let Kahlan explore all those places that needed feverish attention. Cara's intelligent, green eyes caught Kahlan's needy glances and smirked.

"I enjoy everything too much. That's how I got you."

Cara finished her breakfast quickly and left the tent with Kahlan, both in a hurry to collect their things, weasel Ask away from his new friend, and leave the camp. As Cara lifted her pack over her shoulder and started toward her horse she was stopped by a short whistle behind her. She turned around to see Ilsa standing behind her, holding in her hands a short sword with a scabbard, painted Gal'Garan colors.

"I noticed you no longer carry an agiel, Mord-Sith," Ilsa told her in D'Haran, like it was a secret between them. "I wanted to give you something. A white flag."

"Produce it then," Cara said, her tone still combative. Ilsa smirked and withdrew the blade from its sheath, it was the sword she had been caring for that morning by the dying fire.

"Use it well. Protect that lover of yours. We need her," Ilsa said as she gently cut her thumb on the sharp blade. She slid the blade back into the scabbard and held it out to Cara, who unsheathed the sword and did the same. It was a gesture of the old D'Hara, the one that had come long before even Alric Rahl. They knew not why it was done, just that it must be done.

Cara stood there for a long moment, the overwhelming sensation of being trustworthy rushing over her like a heavy rainshower. They had long been on opposite sides of the blade, but now their blood was one. For the same cause, rallying behind the same woman. Without any more rumination over past ills, Cara took herself down on one knee and bowed her head.

"I am sorry for what I have done against D'Hara," Cara told her, her voice even yet pulsing with agony. "I am sorry for delaying justice and ridding the people of their power. These things I will never do again. You have my word, Ilsa of the Gal'Garan."

Ilsa's eyes welled up with old tears. "I knew you, once."

"Me?" Cara asked, confused. Ilsa was not much older than herself, but Cara had not been responsible for many of the raids on the Gal'Garan. In fact, in recent years the horrors that had been done to the resistance had become nothing more than hushed stories told around campfires in an effort to rile fellow D'Haran soldiers. More of Darken Rahl's endless propaganda so it seemed; empires looked far more noble if resistance against them was merely a legend.

"You were young, perhaps a newly minted Mord-Sith. But I would never forget those eyes, not in a thousand lifetimes," Ilsa smiled gently. "But that is all in the past, for me. What you did will not be spoken about again, lest we relive it. We are here now, and together we will erect a new D'Hara."

"Tel vak skord," Cara told her reverently, standing up and weaving the belt around her waist. It fit snugly, as if it were always meant to grace her frame.

"By my sword," Ilsa repeated, punching Cara in the upper arm. Cara was quick to retaliate, but this time there was no malice, no hatred, no vying for dominance.

—

The desert was as vast, unnavigable, and unfriendly as it had been the last time they had been there. The Old World was an unforgiving place, not much unlike the Three Territories. But there was something ancient and calloused about the Old World and its people, something that forced those who lived there to have no choice but to endure and conquer the harsh expanse.

"It's a new Journey Book message," Cara said to Ask and Kahlan, who were busy cooking dinner and collecting tinder for the fire. She had been studying the previous messages, seeing as she had forgotten the books Berdine had given to her in the mountains, when a new one had appeared in that awful, crimson blood. A small campfire was more than enough to read by while not drawing attention to the small trio.

"Read it to us," Ask told her, and Cara for a moment looked embarrassed. It was not a big emotion, but Kahlan could tell from the slight slouch in her shoulders that she did not wish to be put in the lead role just then.

"Lord Rahl has captured Ro… Roth… in…"

"Rothenberg?" Ask corrected with a lilt of a query at the end of their statement. Cara kept her eyes glued to the page. Kahlan tried to shoot a glare at Ask but they were too busy looking at Cara.

"Lord Rahl has captured Rothenberg Castle," Cara repeated, pronouncing 'castle' in an unwieldy manner, but both Ask and Kahlan let her drudge on. "What's so special about Rothenberg?"

Ask bit their bottom lip worriedly, a tic that immediately caught Cara's eye.

"Go on, tell us what you know," Cara prodded, and Ask shook their head.

"So it is said, as stories often say, that centuries ago the Margrave of Rothenberg was kind to an elderly woman. He saw her sitting outside the walls of his great kingdom and saw that she had no shoes and was dirty, and so he offered her clean clothes, new shoes, and a bath. He even took it upon himself to give her a seat at his table and fed her a delicious meal filled with all the delicacies a peasant such as herself would never dream she could delight in."

"We didn't ask for a story," Cara interrupted, and Kahlan tutted her tongue at the blonde even though she was thinking the same thing.

"I'm getting there. Now I know why D'Harans tell such brief tales," Ask teased, throwing a small twig at Cara's head. "It turns out that the old beggar was a powerful sorceress who had been traveling from kingdom to kingdom to bestow upon the kindest noble a great boon. For his unabashed generosity, she gave to the Margrave of Rothenberg the power to dispel magic in his country. To this day, no magic can be cast in Rothenberg."

"Rahl could be using Rothenberg as a place to capture magic users and render them useless," Kahlan reasoned. "He needs to ensure that nothing stands in his way but ordinary folk."

"We must be diligent to avoid Rothenberg, then," Cara nodded. "Ask, read the rest for me. My eyes are tired."

"Lazy," Ask muttered under their breath as they took the Journey Book from Cara's indifferent hands.

"Well, Cara is right— Rahl has used Rothenberg to imprison every court wizard from Nicobarese, Aydindril, Kelton, and Tamarang."

"He's going to execute them all," Cara murmured, looking off into the distance as she sunk deep into thought.

Kahlan turned her face upward to Ask. "Did Berdine name anyone?"

"Wizard Jolt, Third Order, Wizard Cain, Third Order, Sorceress Ellius of Aydindril, and Sorceress Shota of Rang'Shada Mountain."

"Thank goodness we found Zedd in time," Kahlan sighed, running a nervous hand through her long, dark hair. "We have to save them."

"Kahlan," Cara scoffed, "that's hundreds of leagues from here. We're already busy trying to get to Altur'Rang and negotiate so we can win this war. A few wizards won't be missed," Cara folded her arms across her chest. "You're just as bad as Richard."

"Shota saved Zedd, she saved Richard, and she helped us at the Pillars of Creation. She even helped you, in the future. We owe her that," Kahlan challenged, standing up as Cara rolled her eyes in disbelief. Cara pursed her full lips as Kahlan waited for an answer, stalwart in her own words.

"It's not our job to save the wizards, it's our job to rally who we can and attack the D'Haran Empire."

"And you don't think that wizards and sorceresses wouldn't be of any help in that?" Kahlan asked, raising an eyebrow. "While we were at the People's Palace, unbeknownst to Rahl, I discovered that the D'Harans have no court wizards. Rahl's only remaining wizard was Giller, who was killed last year."

"He was a fool to have distrusted them," Cara muttered under her breath. "But he had Mord-Sith."

"Correct," Kahlan admitted with a gracious nod. "But how many Mord-Sith did he retain upon his return? Your mission with Dahlia was obviously a farce, she didn't have any intention of finding your sisters. At most he would be using what Mord-Sith he has to torture his enemies, of which there are a dwindling few. Mord-Sith are no longer his blade's edge, and I doubt that he has time to break all of those wizards and sorceresses."

"He wouldn't bother. A wizard's magic is dimmed when they're broken," Cara said simply. "Unless he was at his most desperate, which he rarely seems to be, Rahl will not try to ruin that magic source. By keeping them in Rothenberg and away from our war table, he has secured the upper hand."

"Think for a moment, byrd," Kahlan said, the tone of their debate shifting suddenly. "Shota was right about the prophecy. Richard brought on a decade of disaster when he broke the Stone of Tears and gave Darken Rahl a means to live again. If we're going to last a decade, we'll need her on our side. Yes, it's a diversion. Yes, it's a break from our original plan. But we must sacrifice time for the sake of our potential assets."

Cara was silent for what felt like a millennium. Ask was antsy, wondering when the often quiet Mord-Sith would pipe up. Kahlan, however, knew exactly what was going on. Cara was weighing the pros and cons, the cons quite a bit more heavily than most would. She was wondering whether they would be putting their friends and themselves in more or less danger.

"We'll get Shota on our way back to the Three Territories," Cara resigned at last. Within her swirled a feeling of levity, and she supposed that this was what it felt like to make kind choices on her own. Kahlan nodded in agreement and walked over to stand beside Cara. She did not hesitate to slide her arm around Cara's and squeeze her hand. The Mord-Sith, ever worried about appearing too soft, tightly clenched her strong jaw against Kahlan's loving ministrations.

"It's killing you, isn't it?" Kahlan teased in an attempt to lighten Cara's mood. "Richard rubbed off on you after all."

"I hate being good," Cara said under her breath. "It is much easier to worry about myself and forget the rest."

Kahlan leaned forward to plant a kiss on the side of Cara's neck, then another on the corner of her jaw for good measure. "This is the right choice, Cara. You know it is."

Ask peeling their gaze away from the lovers and leaned over to push the potatoes around the frying pan with a long, wooden spoon as a burnt crisp began to form on the bottom. Ask could weep at the horrible sight, but they bit their tongue. Kahlan's food had never killed them, but it often threatened to break their heart.

The group had not gotten a chance to eat anything so delicious in weeks, the small rations from the Gal'Garan had all been spent nearly a week ago. Ask was the one who had found them growing on the side of the road, he had practically jumped off his steed to crouch down and dig up the potatoes with his hands. Even Kahlan, who never complained, had mentioned this morning that she was missing the taste of those tough, salted meats they carried with them on the road. They had all become used to this nomadic lifestyle, although Ask had never left it entirely. Even when they were a stableboy at the People's Palace, Ask knew they would have eventually been forced to move on. Being with Kahlan and Cara was the most stability the young person was given in years.

There was a rustling in the trees that yanked the conversation to a stop. Cara was immediately on her feet, grabbing at her hip for agiels that had not been there in weeks. It was a reflex, she told herself, nothing more. Instead she found her short sword, far more deadly in far less time. Leaving it sheathed, Cara still held the handle with purpose— a threat of pain to come.

"I'm sorry, please, I mean no harm," came a deep but cautious voice from the dark wood. Kahlan took a step forward beyond Cara while Ask crouched down to pick up a large stick. "I saw your fire and thought that I would ask for some water. I've run out, and it's a few days to the next settlement. The weather has been so hot lately, it's like the Gods are giving us a tongue lashing."

Cara looked to Kahlan, then to the stranger, then back to Kahlan as she held a hand out to her. Immediately, she knew what Kahlan wanted.

"We don't know who this is," Cara challenged, ever-cautious and untrustworthy.

"I'm Puulan, I am a song weaver from Yanter'Rang. Now you know who I am," the man smiled, taking a step closer and coming into full view of the fire's light. He was tall with broad shoulders and true to his word looked like a song weaver, for there was a brightly painted lyre strapped to his back. He was dressed in a bright blue cloak and had sloping, black lines drawn around his dark brown eyes. "So, what about that water?"

Cara sighed and rolled her eyes as she bent down, picked up the waterskin, and handed it to Kahlan. Puulan did not escape her gaze as he moved closer to Kahlan and retrieved the waterskin.

"Thank you," Puulan smiled warmly, revealing that he was missing a few front teeth. Somehow, this was not an endearing feature. He did not hesitate to greedily lift the spout to his mouth and guzzle down the water, some of it dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. Ask sucked a breath through their teeth, rising to their feet but lowering the branch so as not to rile the stranger. "You don't wear our colors. You must be Midlanders."

"We are. We are traveling to Altur'Rang," Kahlan said, deciding that a crumb transparency was better than conspiracy in such a desolate place.

"What would ya'll be doing in Altur'Rang? You have no wares, not any that I can see anyhow," Puulan reasoned, lifting the waterskin to his lips once again.

"That is our business," Kahlan assured him. "That is all the water we have."

"We are all sinful creatures, forgive me darlin," the man smiled, shaking his head and offering the waterskin back to Kahlan. It was light in her hand. "But it's our duty to give everything to those that have nothing, and I am wandering the desert with little to give you."

"Do you have a camp of your own?" Ask inquired, still wary of the traveler.

"I do, but it's much a ways from here," Puulan told him, taking it upon himself to sit cross legged by the fire. "I can tell I'm makin ya'll nervous, I apologize. I will take my leave now, just as quick as a scorpion."

Puulan rose from the sand, his cloak dusted with the stuff near the bottom. He did not bother to brush any of it off, instead he traipsed away from the fire. He took no more than ten steps nearer to the woods before turning back, a gleeful glimmer in his eye.

"I look forward to seein' you in Altur'Rang, Mother Confessor," Puulan told her. Kahlan's heart nearly stopped, fear gripped her lungs so she could scarcely breathe. Cara saw an opening and loosed her blade, ready to baptize it in this wayfarer's blood. The Mord-Sith lunged toward the man who was twice her size, and as she did his eyes rolled back into his head and he plummeted toward the ground. Cara skidded to a stop, pressing the tip of her blade to his temple. Puulan did not rouse.

"Is he…" Kahlan managed in a cautious voice, almost as if anything above a whisper would bring a dreadful darkness down upon them.

"Yes," Cara said with a new wariness in her voice. She bent down and pressed two fingers to his neck to confirm what she already knew to be true. "He's dead."

No one knew what to say, for there was nothing to say. Cara took it upon herself to drag Puulan's body into the woods, prop him in a sitting position against a palm tree, and leave him there to rot. No one spoke until the sun finally rose, and no one got much sleep that night. It was unexplainable what had happened, and to even ruminate aloud over it felt cursed.