CHAPTER TWO

"Arresting Development"

A few leagues from Gyrfalcon, Abbazar the horse trader was watering his stock at stream that ran by the side of the Eastern Road. The morning sun was busy burning away the dew and steam rose from the pastures alongside the trail.

This was Abbazar's favorite time of day, and he had woken his nephews up before the rest of the city to ensure that they were outside Gyrfalcon at dawn. He took a moment to breathe in the smell of morning in the Midlands.

Removing his turban and setting it aside the stream, he cupped a handful of water and poured it over his head. He splashed some more water in his face, and then stood. As he replaced his turban he barked out orders to his nephews. "Make sure all of the horses get water, don't let those stallions crowd out the foals."

Abbazar's nephews nodded and went about their tasks, and Abbazar took the opportunity to stretch his back. He was getting too old to spend every day in the saddle, moving from town to town, he thought, and looked forward to the day he could turn the business over to his nephews.

For a brief moment he felt a twinge of sadness that he had never settled down and had a family of his own like his brother, but the memory of his sister in law banished any such regrets. Abbazar's nephews had begged to join him on the road this year, so powerful was their desire to be away from their mother.

Abbazar was chuckling to himself, think of his poor brother, when a voice from the road hailed him. A well-built man with shaven head and weather-burned features, wearing unadorned chain mail and carrying a broadsword, was approached.

"Are you a horse trader?" asked the warrior, his eyes scanning Abbazar's herd.

"Indeed!" replied Abbazar, waving a hand towards his stock. "Are you looking for a horse? Best in the Midlands."

"Yes," replied the warrior. "My horse drew up lame a few miles back. I have gold."

"Then I definitely have a horse for you!" beamed Abbazar as he sized the man up and guessed how much gold his purse might carry, before turning to fetch one of his older mares. "All of my horses are quite fine. In fact, I just sold three to the Seeker and his companions. So clearly these are horses fit for a hero."

"The Seeker?" asked the warrior, suddenly excited. "You've seen the Seeker?"

"I ran into him back in Gyrfalcon, he bought horses for himself, and his companions. The wizard and the Mother Confessor," bragged the horse trader.

Abbazar allowed himself a little smile. He hadn't told the Seeker that having it known the hero rode an Abbazar horse would make his steeds the envy of every warrior and would-be hero. With the Resistance growing every day, there were many would-be heroes running about. The Seeker had been quick to buy his spiel about standing up the the D'harans, but the simple truth was the Abbazar knew how to sell horses.

Having selected a mare that looked to be in the warrior's price range, he tugged on her reins and drew her out, turning towards the warrior and smiling. This was his favorite part of horse trading, he thought, the art of the deal.

His smile disappeared in an instant as he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. He looked down in shock to see the soldier's sword piercing his belly, and a dark flower of blood growing across his shirt. He looked up at the warrior in confusion before collapsing.

Abbazar's nephews screamed, but neither was a warrior, and Damark made short, brutal work of them both.

* * *

Kahlan walked slowly between the stalls in the Gyrfalcon market, running her fingers along bolts of cloth imported from far to the south, taking time to smell all the flowers at the florist's booth. She carried a small wicker basket with her, and had gathered fresh fruit, cheeses, and breads. She was now searching for the perfect bottle of wine. She intended to apologize to Richard, and thought a picnic in Gyrfalcon's statuary park would do the trick.

The park would be romantic, she thought, and blessedly public. That would keep things from developing past her ability to control them.

She was wearing her green dress. Gyrfalcon was a free city, but Darken Rahl would have plenty of spies in any city this size, and it would do her little good to be seen walking about in the garb of the Mother Confessor.

An old woman hawking brass trinkets and copper baubles laden with paste gems caught her attention. The necklace she held up was offensive in its gaudiness, but the woman selling it was of such good spirits that Kahlan had to stop and talk to her, and so she spent a moment trading pleasantries and local gossip with the woman.

The woman told a joke and Kahlan laughed politely, smiling, but turned to look down the row of stalls, ready to resume her quest for a fine wine. Just at that moment she was surprised to see Damark step into the alley. He was only a few feet from her, but he stepped far enough into the alley that she was just out of his peripheral vision. He was scowling, and looking down the alley away from her.

"Damark?" she asked, taking a step towards the soldier. "Is that you?"

Damark turned at the sound of his name and found himself looking straight at the Mother Confessor. Instantly his hand went to the sword at his hip, and he drew his blade out in a sweeping arc.

Kahlan fell backwards, but kept her feet on the ground. Tossing the basket aside, spilling it's contents across the alley, she caught herself with one hand. Damark sword cut the air, narrowly missing her. Any faster and it would have been her guts that spilled out across the alley.

Spinning, she narrowly dodged a second slashing blow from the soldier, who was screaming obscenities as he attacked. Kahlan tucked and rolled, seeking desperately to create distance between herself and the soldier so she could regain her feet, but his attack was relentless, and it took everything she had to simply avoid his blows.

Kahlan didn't understand what was happening. How could Damark attack her? She had confessed him! His loyalty was absolute. And where did this speed and power come from? She had fought this soldier before, and he had been neither notably quick or fierce.

All about her people were screaming in panic, but above those screams she could hear the roar of city guard clearing their way through the throng, shoving people left and right.

Kahlan tumbled backwards, damning the awkward cut of her dress. More distressingly, she had miscalculated -- this alley market was far too narrow for fighting. Her back slammed into heavy barrel and her roll came up short. She twisted about, getting her feet on the ground. Before she could stand Damark loomed over her, bringing his broadsword down in a powerful chop.

Kahlan's fingers found the hilts of her daggers, tucked into her boots, and she drew them. Bracing the blades across her forearms she brought the daggers up in a smooth motion, forming a cross, shielding herself from the blow. Damark's sword crashed down on her blades with such tremendous force it sent a wave of pain through her arms, which went instantly numb. She wouldn't last long against power like that.

Gritting her teeth, Kahlan pulled her knees into her chest and rolled back as much as she could, before kicking out hard with both feet. Her boots connected with Damark's midsection and he was flung backwards. He staggered as he tried to regain the wind Kahlan had knocked out of him, while she leapt to her feet and raised her daggers, finally finding her fighting stance.

The city guards had reached them by this point, and they grabbed up Damark from behind. He screamed and cursed them, kicking and thrashing, but they were four and he was one, and with some great effort they wrestled him to the ground, forced his sword from his hand, and put the chains on him. His continued struggling earned him a loud thwack at the base of the neck from a guardsman's sap, and he sunk into unconsciousness.

"Hey you, drop those knives!" barked a guard in Kahlan's direction. She looked at him sceptically, and wrinkled her nose. Deciding that she was needed elsewhere, Kahlan chose instead to run.

The guard took a half dozen steps in pursuit before deciding that chasing some dagger-wielding doxie down alleyways would yield little after much effort, and waved good riddance to her.

* * *

Kahlan paced back and forth in the inn's common room, while Zedd stroked his chin and contemplated her story. Richard sat on the edge of his seat, hands clasped before him, brow furrowed. She was furious and confused. She didn't understand how this was possible, how Damark could have attacked her. She didn't even understand how he could be in Gyrfalcon. Angry too, because she hadn't had a chance to fight back. She felt a powerful need to hit something and break it.

"And you're sure it was Damark?" Richard asked. This was the third time he'd asked. She was counting. Kahlan stopped and turned on the ball of her foot, leveling Richard with a glare that sent him scurrying from his seat.

"Yes Richard, as I've already told you, I am positive it was Damark," she hissed. "Though since you keep asking I'm starting to wonder if you would be happier knowing completely random strangers have taken to assaulting me."

Richard ran a hand through his hair and stared intently at the floor, his brow still furrowed. Kahlan rolled her eyes as she resumed her pacing, certain that Richard was only pretending to think. She could imagine his thoughts. 'Maybe she's wrong and it wasn't Damark.' She glowered at him.

Richard slunk back, wondering why she insisted on taking her anger out on him.

Zedd was looking at her, frowning, one eyebrow raised. Kahlan melted, and took a step towards Richard."I'm sorry Richard. I know you're trying."

Richard smiled at her. Suddenly his eyes lit up. "I know! The Sharkiya! Darken Rahl must have recovered them from the ruins of the Tower of Ebon. Somehow he's figured out a way to use them to..." Richard paused, struggling to complete his thought.

"Impossible," retorted Zedd. "There's no way Rahl could have recovered them so quickly, they were buried under tons of stone. It's likely they were destroyed."

"And Zedd is the last Wizards of the first order," interjected Kahlan. "With Giller dead, Rahl would have no one to operate them. We saw Giller die ourselves."

Crestfallen, Richard sank back into his chair, resuming his thinking pose. "Well, it was an idea."

* * *

At the center of Gyrfalcon sat an impressive edifice of granite and marble. An immense and imposing square of stone known as the City's Hall. It was from here that the Council of Gyrfalcon ruled, and the City Guard operated.

In an office overlooking the courtyard that separated the Hall from the lane beyond, Magistrate Kledd was contemplating a prisoner. The man had been brought in for fighting in the market, witnesses said he'd attacked a woman without provocation. Under normal circumstances the man would spend a week in the dungeon, and that would be the whole of it. This man however protested the charge, and Kledd was obligated to hear him out before passing sentence.

"I'm telling you," growled Damark as he struggled against the grip of the guardsmen flanking him. "You've got the wrong man."

Kledd sat on the opposite side of a huge oak desk, a massive ledger lying before him on an ink-stained blotter. Neatly arranged piles of scrolls and papers covered the rest of the broad table. He leaned back in his leather-backed chair, sending a cloud of white powder from his wig. He contemplated Damark over arched fingers, carefully considering his words. "Tell me about the horse trader again."

"It's like I said," answered Damark. "I've been following this band of robbers from Brennidon. An old man, a young tough, and the lying temptress that leads them. Pretends she's a Confessor. This morning I was sure I would overtake them, seeing as they were on foot. But they must have been wise to me, because this morning I came across a horse trader, Abbazar, and he'd been murdered. Along with his workers."

"Yes, Abbazar is well known in Gyrfalcon, a friend of the city," nodded the Magistrate. "I'm surprised to hear he's dead. And so then, this woman my guards caught you attacking, you're claiming she is one of these thieves?"

"She's a lying witch!" raged Damark.

"My guards interviewed the crowd. Witnesses claim this girl was causing no harm." The Magistrate picked up a sheet from his desk and considered it. "One woman describes her as 'heavenly'. Hardly sounds like the description of a robber."

"I'm telling you, she's a fraud." growled Damark. "That's what she does, she seduces people with smiles and pretty words. But your guards saw her knives. Ask yourself, what kind of angel carries daggers like that in her boot?"

"If she is a Confessor," suggested the Magistrate, finishing the thought with a lazy wave of his hand. Paired daggers were the weapon of choice for Confessors.

"Then why not wear the garb of a Confessor? What sort of Confessor hides herself in a free city?"

Magistrate Kledd pondered this. He could think of reasons. This warrior before him was clearly an uncouth cur, but he made good points, and long experience had taught Kledd that most thief-takers, bounty hunters, and even city guardsmen were indistinguishable from the criminals they pursued, so he tried not to hold the brute's manners against him. Still, probably best to toss him in the dungeons and let him cool off for a week or so, and hope this woman moves on. Let some other city deal with the problem.

Kledd was about to issue his decision when a young guard entered the room. He bowed, and asked permission to report. The Magistrate gestured at him to carry on.

"Magistrate, the guard reports a trio matching the description of these thieves is staying at the Greedy Goblet. And," the guard paused, obviously bothered by the news he bore. "A road patrol found Abbazar and his assistants. They've been murdered."

"See!" shouted Damark. "I told you! Go arrest them, I'll bet my neck you'll find they have three of Abbazar's horses with them."

"Yes, yes indeed." The Magistrate regarded him coolly. "If you're wrong, and they have no such horses, then my prime suspect becomes you. And I assure you, in Gyrfalcon murder is a hanging offense."

* * *

Kahlan and Richard has settled into the pair of large comfy chairs by the inn's fire, while Zedd sat on the edge of the fire pit itself, absentmindedly poking it with a stick. It hissed and popped in response. They were all tired of trying to solve this puzzle. Richard was out of ideas, and afraid to say anything. Kahlan snapped at him every time he opened his mouth. They needed more clues.

Kahlan's anger, frustration and confusion had given way to sadness. Richard had grown silent,and she knew she was driving him away despite herself. She understood having a goal and striving forward, throwing herself into it entirely. It was the only way she knew to be. She wanted to throw herself into Richard entirely, embrace him completely, but she knew it couldn't happen. She had to push him away to control herself, but she couldn't push too hard, couldn't drive him away entirely. It was balancing act, and she didn't do balancing acts. She couldn't charge in two directions without being torn apart.

The doors of the inn burst open as a dozen guardsmen rushed into the building. Kahlan was snapped out of her reverie, and sat up straight in her chair, while Richard leapt from his. As soon as he was on his feet a guardsman rushed him wielding a man-catcher, and the tines of the device wrapped around Richard, forcing him back in the chair. Kahlan started to rise but found a pair of halbreds leveled at her chest, and sat down in her seat.

Meanwhile a pair of guards circled around the seats and hesitantly approached Zedd, their hands out before them. "Hands where we can see them wizard."

Zedd held his hands up before him and the guards seized his wrists, and hissed to Richard and Kahlan "Don't fight them, I'm sure we can sort this out, there's no need for bloodshed."

As the pair of guardsmen wrestled heavy mitts onto Zedd's hands, the thick leather bound his fingers and would make spellcasting next to impossible, while a third entered the inn through the stable entrance. He shouted to his commander, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the door he'd come through.

"Three horses sir. They all bear Abbazar's brand, just like the thief-taker said. Stable boy confirms they belong to these three."

The commander walked up to Richard and scowled down at him as he removed his thick leather gauntlet, then slapped Richard hard across the face. "You're under arrest horse-thief, and you'll find here in Gyrfalcon we take great pride in hanging murderous scum."

Turning to his men, he barked "Lock them in irons and take them to the Magistrate."

Kahlan and Zedd exchanged worried glances as they were lead from the inn, while Richard struggled against the guards who wrestled his arms behind his back and slapped manacles around his wrists.

"You can't do this, we haven't done anything!" he protested as the guards dragged him through the door. "This isn't happening."