Chapter 9
A Fitting Day for Galea to Fall
"Berdi, wake up," came a voice which Berdine would recognize at the end of time. A warmth filled her chest as she opened her eyes to drink in the sight of the only woman she truly trusted in this world. But Raina's eyes were dimmed with seriousness, her lips were tightly pressed together, and her hands gripped Berdine's shoulders with a fervent ferocity. "There's movement in the valley."
Berdine nodded, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then sat up with a sigh. The sky was still dark, and she could have sworn that her watch had ended only an hour or two ago. Zedd was still sound asleep and snoring, just as Cara had warned them. It was something about the outdoor air that made the wizard sleep so loudly. Although they had gotten used to Zedd up in the mountains, the two Mord-Sith were still solely reliant on each other as they had been for years. It was difficult to count on anyone else when Berdine had Raina on her side, and vice versa.
"How many?" Berdine asked as they crept to the cliffside near camp. Their leathers creaked and groaned as they moved, and Berdine could not help but take a selfish glance at Raina's backside. Raina seemed to notice and punched Berdine in the arm, hard. They both shared a smile, then looked down to the valley below.
On their right, a few miles away, was the ancient city of Galea. Full of winding spires and old churches, it was one of the most spectacular cities in all of the Midlands, second only to Aydindril. Galea was a fairly cheerful state considering all of the war that was constantly brewing in the Midlands, and for the fact that across the valley lay Kelton, the village-kingdom that was ever their rival. Where Galea was history and wealth, Kelton was horse breakers and farmers. However, when D'Hara rolled through, Kelton had been one of the first kingdoms to bend the knee. Prince Fyren, having sought blood on his blade for years, saw this as an opportunity to seize the hilt that Rahl offered and point the sharpened tip at Galea.
"At least twenty-thousand," Raina murmured, her eyes locked on the field and the dark masses that began to pitch tents, organize rations, and tie up weary steeds. "I am sure more are forthcoming."
"Lord Rahl now has thirty-thousand soldiers from Tamarang, fifteen-thousand from Rothenberg, and the gargantuan D'Haran horde," Berdine muttered, adding up the totals in her head as she thought out loud. "Where are the goddamn Gal'Garan when you need them to cut bowstrings and burn crops?"
Raina smirked and pursed her lips a bit. "Fucking each other and drinking mead, as always. They're all talk."
"You know that isn't entirely true. I would have a gallon of mead every night if I went through what they did," Berdine challenged, a shiver raced down her spine. She remembered those callous times all too well, when they had no choice but to submit to Rahl's greedy and cruel will. "They caused us trouble, but we knew how formidable they were even in those days. Kahlan and Cara trust the Gal'Garan, and they assured us they would be here. We don't have any other cards to play and Galea is running out of time. All we can do is hope that they are truly trustworthy."
"Galea has their war machines," Raina reminded her. "We counted at least eight yesterday."
"Let's hope those beasts can save them, then," Berdine said in a hushed tone. "We can't lose Galea. If Galea falls, Lord Rahl wins. Galea is the holy city, the shining beacon of faith. Who knows what brainwashing he'll be capable of with the holymen on his side."
"We know. We were reared up in it," Raina answered quietly. Tiny fires from across the valley lit up one by one, dimly glowing in the distance. Nothing but the chirps of spring crickets flooded their ears.
"What's the plan?"
"I'm going to keep watch for a while longer, you go back to sleep," Raina told her as she pressed a long kiss to Berdine's cheek. Berdine shook her head in gentle protest and took a seat on the forest floor.
"I'll stay with you. I want to know what's going on. I'm too nervous to sleep anyway."
The moon crept up the sky, filling the valley below with pale light.
"Do you remember what we used to do on an early morning watch?" Raina said slyly. Berdine smirked back and rested her head on Raina's shoulder.
"When no one was around to catch us," Berdine said gently. "I think Constance put us together on purpose."
"I wonder where they all went, the girls," Raina replied. "I think about them all too often. I wish we would have found them. I really thought that was what Dahlia's intentions were. Not…" Raina felt her throat tighten and a tear well up in her eye. Berdine tutted her tongue and reached up to squeeze Raina's arm.
"Hush-hush. You did all you could, my heart. Cara does not fault you for it," Berdine whispered. Raina sucked in a hitched breath. "We got her back and pieced her together again."
"When we find Dahlia," Raina began with all the world's conviction in her voice, "I hope Cara rips her to shreds."
—
Kahlan rolled over to her other side and listened to the night which was all quiet around her. She wished for Cara to be sleeping soundly beside her with a hand outstretched so that Kahlan could grasp it and let it pull her down into dreams. However this was not the case, for Jagang had insisted Kahlan sleep in her own tent. She had tried only once to object, she could feel Cara practically vibrate with irritation beside her as she was treated like a common bodyguard, but it was clear that Jagang wished to keep the illusion that Kahlan was uncoupled. If it meant more people for their army, Kahlan would readily play into the ruse. Being Mother Confessor was not solely about upholding the truth, it was also about politics and bargaining.
There was the sound of feet sliding in the dirt, the untying of a knot, and then the flaps to the small, green tent were pulled back. The moon was full and the bright, pale light spilled into the tent and silhouetted an unfamiliar figure. At the thought of an invader, Kahlan pulled out a dagger from her boot in a flash.
"Mother Confessor," a low voice purred as the moonlight glinted off Kahlan's blade. "The Emperor sent me."
"Who are you?" Kahlan asked incredulously, lifting a hand overtop her eyes so she could see the intruder more clearly. It was a man, completely naked, with a golden ring in his lower lip. Her eyes trailed over his dark, thick eyebrows and down to the fullest lips she had ever seen on a man. He seemed to notice the glances and smiled gently.
"You can call me anything you like, Mother Confessor," he murmured, moving closer to her on his hands and knees. "I am yours for the evening."
Kahlan felt her heart pounding out of her chest but her face stayed calm, the only thing that betrayed her true thoughts was a quick flicker of fear in her blue eyes. It occurred to her that perhaps the man was an assassin, that he had come here to murder the Mother Confessor so that Jagang would be rid of their promise. The man's hands were on either side of her prone form before she held up her own hands to stop him.
"No. I understand your Emperor commanded you, but I…"
The man nodded and lifted himself up into a seated position. "I am not what you desire. I understand, Mother Confessor. That is why the Emperor asked us both here."
The tent flap opened again to reveal a woman with cascading blonde hair that just barely hid her left breast, it was clear from the way she crawled quickly towards Kahlan that the coverage was accidental. Kahlan felt her face grow unbearably hot as the woman straddled her hips and smiled down at her. She fumbled for the words to say to get this woman off her, but before she could say anything there was the sound of sprinting and skidding in the dirt.
"If you don't take your legs off her, I will gladly break them for you," Cara said, her voice low and full of rage. The courtesan froze, then quickly scrambled off of Kahlan's hips and to the edge of the tent. Cara's sword point followed her as she and the man practically dove for the tent's opening. It was only a moment after they had gone that Cara's eyes met Kahlan's.
"More games of chicken?" Cara asked as she sheathed her sword into the scabbard at her hip. "He was testing the waters, seeing which forms appeal to you most. It's too bad they'll have to scamper back with disappointing news."
Kahlan could scarcely breathe, simply nodding in agreement as she looked Cara up and down with something different filling up her eyes. It had been shocking to say the least to have two, naked people in her tent, but it was even more jarring that Cara had come in with such speed and force to protect her. It was more proof that Cara truly was herself again, and that brought a smile to Kahlan's lips.
"Come here before I lose my nerve," Kahlan said, greediness overtaking her. She had barely begun untying the top of her dress as Cara closed the tent flap and hummed in delight.
—
When the bells rang out in the city of Galea at daybreak, the Keltish army began a mad scramble for their swords and shields. They dove for their horses and mounted them with expert ease, then quickly began rounding themselves up into a battle formation. Their captains pretended to look hurried as they shrugged on their ornate armor. Prince Fyren pushed his helmet onto his head and strode out of his tent with a servant hurrying behind him to affix a longsword to his hip. The head of a Shadrin bold and terrible glimmered on the pommel of the sword, the fearsome creature being a sigil that had been passed down in his family for decades. The Shadrin had been growling for flesh and blood, and Fyren could feel that this was the hour of such a feeding.
"It is a fitting day for Galea to fall, my Prince," one of his commanders boasted as they walked calmly toward their horses as foot soldiers raced by, one almost knocking shoulders with the brown-cloaked scholar who was trying to ask the soldiers what was going on. Prince Fyren narrowed his dark eyes and waved over the scholar, Pyyrus.
"Pyyrus, are you writing this down?" Fyren ordered to the disappointment of his commander, who knew better than to question the glory-hungry prince. "I want everything I say to be recorded. This is to be a momentous hour for Kelton."
"Of course, my Prince. It is indeed… a fitting day… for Galea to fall," the scholar nodded, taking out a small leather notebook and scratching down the potentially historic saying on its pages.
"Tihn," Fyren announced to the commander as he mounted his steed; a large and powerful white stallion, "I do not care how many men we lose, we will throw ourselves at Galea until there is nothing left of us. We win and tell of our victory, or we die before we have to listen to the songs of their victory. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Prince Fyren," Commander Tihn nodded, trying his best to subtly swallow the panic climbing up his throat. Before he could say anything more, Prince Fyren spurred his mount on and weaved through the battle lines to the front. The soldiers, most nothing more than common farmers with spears in their uncertain hands, stood at attention as their eyes followed the prince on his steed.
"We have spent centuries in the shadow of Galea. We have spent decades biding our time, waiting for the arrival of the moment which Galea would be weakest. Lord Richard Rahl has handed this and more to us. He promises us glory, gain, and gore!" Fyren shouted to his soldiers, his horse galloping back and forth across the front of the formation. He could feel his heart rising in his chest, he could see the blood and the gold flashing before his men's eyes. His black armor glinted in the morning sun, dew still steaming from the grass below his horse's hooves.
"We fight, or we die!" called Prince Fyren, son of Byron, to his army.
"WE FIGHT, OR WE DIE!" called his army back.
"We live through blood!"
"WE LIVE THROUGH BLOOD!"
Across the field, twelve men pulled on two chains to laboriously open the grand, mighty gates of Galea. From the parted gates strode a grand and well-armored infantry, equipped with gleaming swords and shining spears. Unlike Kelton, however, they had no horses but instead they pulled with them grand war machines. The war machines, made of oak, towered over the tall churches, and likening them to the size of anything a Midlander had ever seen would be failing to describe these monstrosities. They had long, segmented legs that allowed for speed as well as balance, and atop the legs was a long body upon which the Galeans had mounted catapults. As gargantuan as these creatures were, they moved as hastily as the mortals below them.
"How do they move on their own?" Berdine asked, looking to Zedd for some sort of answer. They peered over into the valley from where they had been camped, knowing that it would be too risky to join the battle just yet. Raina and Berdine looked like simple travelers, and while they had planned today to see the King Hodin of Galea, it was clear that the hour for their news had already passed. Galea had larger fish to fry than aligning with the Mother Confessor's meager excuse for an army.
"A holy magic called animus," Zedd said in a voice barely above a whisper, as if the machines would somehow catch wind of it. "It allows a magic wielder to attach their Han to a non-living item and create life. However, it is more puppetry than giving true life; I can only assume that these war machines have no sentience of their own."
"Lord Rahl knew about this magic many years ago," Berdine said, her eyes lost in thought. "He was never able to harness it himself, as hard as he tried."
"Darken Rahl had most likely sold his soul and allegiance to the Keeper by then, which means he would not be able to wield a magic descended from the Creator," Zedd muttered. "Nor would those surrounding him be capable of it, wicked as they were."
Raina looked on, then turned back to Zedd with a worried expression. "Which side is your magic, then?"
Zedd smirked and watched Raina with careful eyes. "Not everything must deal with religion, young one. Sometimes, magic comes from other places."
"We should help them," Raina said, pulling out her agiel and standing up. Berdine shook her head and yanked her eager partner back down by her braid.
"How, exactly? We are two Mord-Sith. Which counts for a lot, but not enough to turn the tide of a battle this size."
"We must do something, we can't just… sit here!" Raina challenged with a battle-hunger in her belly.
The war horns sounded like dying animals, the fighting had begun. Men clashed with men, swords rang out, spears made wet sounds in bellies and throats. They could not tell Kelt from Galean, man from horse, sword from spear. Angry cries rang out as Prince Fryren circled the field.
"WE LIVE THROUGH BLOOD!" he shouted while no blood slicked his own sword. He looked down and kicked the head of a nearby Galean soldier, exclaiming as the metal from their helm broke his toe. Fyren promptly struck the back of the offending helm with the pommel of his sword and kicked the soldier to the ground, where a young Keltish man took an ax to his unprotected neck. Prince Fyren nodded in satisfaction of the task done, then kicked his horse to a gallop toward the city.
"Take down those war machines!" Commander Tihn screamed over the battle din. Keltish horses threw the knotted ends of thick ropes to each other and held them taut, weaving around the legs of the colossal creatures. The sorceress stationed in the crow's nest atop the machine set the legs aflame, burning away the ropes but not the machine itself. Horses bayed and reared up below, losing their grip in the heat of battle. Their riders could not steady their steeds, some falling into the giant holes pierced into the ground by the sharpened feet of the Galean monsters.
The Keltish soldiers were out for blood, and blood is what fueled them to push further and further to the holy city. Their horses were splattered with crimson wet as the fighters leaned over the side of their steeds to slice their swords down into Galean skin. Heads were forcefully parted from bodies as Galean catapults were set off, their entrances made grand with the telling snap of cut rope and the hard thunk as heavy rocks crashed into the valley. They made great craters in the earth, tall and important if they were monoliths to some long forgotten god. Despite their grand war machines the Galeans were losing ground and their numbers dwindling. The Kelts were quick on their horses and had blood pounding in their ears.
"Look," Berdine pointed towards one of the largest war machines. Keltish archers drew their bows from the middle of the battle field, held, then loosed their arrows. The Han-wielder fell from the war machine in a flutter of bright blue cloak, and the instant they hit the ground and crumbled so did the machine. Wood fell from the sky as horses scrambled out of the way, some luckier than others. Once the first was taken down, it was not long before more fell. The Kelts pushed deeper into the field, now free from the fear of catapults and giant creatures they began to bury arrows and blades into Galean throats with reckless abandon.
The Galeans became more shaken with each wooden monstrosity laid low. It seemed as if their faith and sense of safety were tied to the creatures, and now they were completely exposed and without their advantage against the tide of Keltish rage. Raina watched as several Kelts pinned down a single hailberder and struck her over and over until her body was a bloody pulp. Galean heads were prematurely stuck on pikes and paraded across the field, the Kelts already celebrating their victory with violent decadence.
Despite all these violences, however, the Galeans stood at the ready to defend their city. Their commanders ran across the field and shouted orders, the soldiers stiffened and stood at attention, reconstituting themselves into one, final phalanx. Their shields, all painted with the sigils of their homelands, bravely faced outwards toward the Keltish front. They stood proudly about three-thousand soldiers to Kelton's ravenous ten-thousand.
Something was hurrying over the northern hill, a roaring band of painted fighters. Their brightly colored capes soared and whipped behind them as they rode their horses painted with the same blues they wore on their own skin. They quickly loosed arrows into the nearby Kelts, catching the soldiers by surprise. They howled and hooted and spoke in a language Zedd did not quite understand.
Berdine smiled and squeezed Raina's hand. The Gal'Garan had arrived.
"Now we'll see some Keltish blood," Raina said, a slight smirk putting a lilt in her voice.
The Gal'Garan made quick work of the right flank of the Keltish army, slicing through soldier after soldier with renewed energy. Their short swords were quickly slicked with blood, but their ferocity meant that it took little time for the Keltish soldiers to notice the new enemy. They turned on the Gal'Garan from all sides, Prince Fyren circling outside the fighting and screaming out war tones. Promises of gold, guts, and glory made the Kelts grip their spears and hurl them straight at the Gal'Garan.
The resistance fighters knew war tactics the likes of which Kelton had never seen. They pulled the straps on their horses' saddles and slid to the side, holding themselves parallel to the ground and driving their blades into Keltish bellies. They climbed back up their horses and let hooves trample confused Kelts into the ground.
And yet they were soon overwhelmed, too little too late so it seemed. The Galeans remained unmoved as Gal'Garan after Gal'Garan was pulled from their horse and cut down. Their heads soon came onto pikes, and by hour's end the Galeans had lost their advantage. Only one Gal'Garan remained, a blonde woman with fire in her eyes. She screamed a D'Haran war song as the Kelts surrounded her, streaking across the field in hopes she would get to the Galean front in time. That maybe, just maybe, seeing the whites of her eyes and her beating heart would prove her human enough to save.
Ulsi was a wom' of the mountain
Of the mount was she
Standing tall before many men
Ulsi fought for thee!
Ilsa kicked her horse again and again, bidding it to go faster than it ever had as she heard the Kelts on her heels. The Galeans stood still in their phalanx as she cried out for aid. Fear struck her heart just before the arrow did, and as she looked down at the sharpened head that had driven straight through her chest, she smiled and held out her arms to the waning sun.
"For the Old D'Hara," Ilsa of the Gal'Garan wheezed, then slid off her horse. The Galeans hardened their hearts, knowing that their city had been doomed hours before. All they could do was die at the gates so that their husbands and wives would bury them honorably.
Berdine could not tear her eyes away. The Galeans were outnumbered, their own city at their backs, and the Kelts were closing in.
"They're finished," Zedd murmured, a hand rising to meet his open mouth. "There is nothing more to be done."
"We will stay until it is done. Perhaps—"
"There is no perhaps, Raina," Berdine said coldly. "Galea has fallen. The Midlands have finally fallen completely to D'Hara. Rahl has won."
—
Darken Rahl sat comfortably on a gilded, crimson throne in Richard Cypher's body. He was thoroughly delighted with the work he had done; all of the Midland's were his, and soon Westland would join the D'Haran Empire. It was only a matter of time before all Three Territories were his. Whether or not he would turn his sword point toward the Old World was a decision for another day. Tonight's news from the Keltish front was cause for celebration, not scheming. He lifted the silver goblet in his hand and nodded to Prince Fyren who sat beside him at the dining table.
"To King Fyren of Kelton and Galea," he smiled, the expression appearing kinder and less half-hearted on Richard's lips than he had likely intended. "A great battle has been won, the war will be easy from here on out. Nicobarese has already taken Heartland City, it will not be long before the rest of Westland succumbs."
"Thank you, Lord Rahl," Fyren smiled, lifting his goblet in kind. "It is an honor to be ruling Galea and Kelton."
"Under my supervision, of course," Rahl countered, to which Fyren quickly nodded. "We will see a shining new D'Hara together. I have instructed Mistress Dahlia to begin taking girls from Galea and Kelton. We must make sure all cities are equipped with Mord-Sith."
King Fyren nearly spit his wine back into his goblet as he looked over the rim at Rahl. "I beg your pardon, Lord Rahl?"
"Surely you did not think Kelton would escape such an honor, did you?" Rahl said smoothly, leading Fyren to shake his head vehemently.
"Of course not, Lord Rahl. It… will be an honor to give you Keltish Mord-Sith."
Dahlia was seated opposite King Fyren with the food on her plate left untouched. She could not bring herself to do anything but sit at Lord Rahl's table. She disobeyed her instincts to stiffen as Rahl's hand slid up her thigh and squeezed. It was softened, not at all what she expected the Seeker's hand to feel like. It should be rough and calloused from the grip of the Sword of Truth. Instead, he had a noble's hands now, he had Darken Rahl's caress, and Darken Rahl's firm grip.
"I must retire to my chambers, I suggest you do as well, King Fyren. We have much to discuss tomorrow morning," Rahl said, standing up and adjusting his open robe before stepping away from the table. "Revel as much as you like. I have sent women to your chambers."
"Thank you, Lord Rahl. Once again to your health," Fyren smiled anxiously, taking another sip of wine in the tyrant's honor.
"Dahlia, come," Rahl said gently, meeting Dahlia's ice blue eyes with his warm, brown ones. For a moment Dahlia thought she saw a hint of the Seeker behind them. But she knew what awaited her if she were to follow him to the bowels of the Confessor's Palace, and it was surely not what Richard Cypher would have ever imagined was possible. It would be what had waited for her night after night like a pack of wolves stalking a deer. It would feel like the dark bruises she hid under her leathers. It would feel like the long, sleepless hours during which she craved someone else beside her in bed. A rough yet curvaceous form, and an acerbic tongue like none other she had heard. The woman who knew every part of her, and would know every part of her until the end of time. Cara.
But she rose from the table and followed him with a heart as heavy as a stone. It was an honor, she knew, to be chosen by the Lord Rahl. It was what she had told Cara long ago, when it was easy to be a Mord-Sith, and when it wasn't happening to Dahlia.