XIV. GUILTY

Kahlan wiped the blood from her dagger with a handful of dry leaves. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Zedd setting banelings on fire, their rotting flesh now burning to a crisp. There had been five of them, by the looks of it some bizarre family of the living dead. An old grizzled man who'd hobbled forward with a knife, a man and a woman in middle age, a younger woman no older than herself, and a young man – a boy really – tall and gawky. He couldn't have been much more than sixteen.

Even with the flesh hanging from their bodies, it had been impossible to miss their shared coloring, their matching features. She wondered which one of them had planned to go without a kill, and how they'd died the first time.

Cara had killed the boy. In the past, she would have told herself it was because the Mord-Sith was without feelings – that she could kill a child without remorse. But banelings had to die. They were barely half an hour's walk from a village full of unsuspecting people. Especially after what had been done to Marla, the boy could not be allowed to run free. From the moment she saw him rushing madly towards them with his knife, Kahlan knew they would have to kill him or tie him up and leave him for dead. She almost wanted to thank Cara for sparing the rest of them the hardest task.

Kahlan slipped her blade back into her boot, trying to forget the voice of the young woman she'd just killed. The other four had attacked them yelling and screaming, but the woman had been weeping. "Forgive us," she'd wailed. "The Creator has forsaken her children. There is no rest in the Underworld, not for anyone. We had to accept. Forgive us, forgive us. Forgive us." Tears had spilled down the woman's ruined cheeks, but she'd swung her hatchet with wild desperation, and Kahlan had still plunged a dagger into her heart even as she begged.

The words haunted her though, as did the idea of a whole family of banelings. By the silence that smothered their group, she thought she was perhaps not the only one troubled. She straightened up to find Zedd walking her way, the bodies now blackened beyond recognition.

"How are you, dear one?" he asked, laying a weathered hand on her shoulder. "We can stop at the village ahead if you need a rest. I think it's Kinsley we're approaching."

Kahlan shook her head and said, "I'm fine, Zedd. We can keep going." Although she was a little tired, she felt better than she had in months. Her nausea had stopped abruptly not two weeks before, and she no longer spent her mornings lightheaded and weak. She was getting more and more sluggish with her blades though; her growing belly made it impossible for her to move as swiftly as she had before. It hadn't mattered up against such few, poor fighters, but it made her uneasy all the same. Especially because she knew Richard would have noticed, and he already carried around worry enough.

Zedd nudged her with a bony elbow, his voice turning conspiratorial, "But what if I want something more for my supper than stewed roots we've dug up along the way? Like a nice roast from the finest inn Kinsley has to offer?" He waggled his brow at her. "Boiled potatoes and carrots on the side?"

She laughed and shook her head. "I know better than to come between you and your stomach. We can stop if you wish, but not on my account."

"Very well." He winked at her, "When we stop, I'll make sure to tell Richard it's because of my belly, not yours."

They started off again without much more discussion. As usual, Richard did not wait, but stalked ahead, a lone figure silhouetted against the slate sky and rolling hills of browning grass. He was often in a dark mood these days, and never more so than after using the sword. Its magic seemed to take longer and longer to fade from his eyes, and he would turn distant and short tempered for hours at a time.

Zedd stayed beside her as they walked and leaned closer, lowering his voice to little more than a whisper. "I'm worried about Richard," he said as if he'd read her thoughts.

Kahlan looked up into the old wizard's familiar, wrinkled face. "Me too," she admitted. Richard strode so far ahead, his head bowed and his hand clenched around the Sword of Truth, and she did not know how to get him back.

They walked a little further – down one muddy, forlorn hill and up another – before Zedd spoke again. "Have you noticed how he's been pulling from the sword?"

She could only frown at that, "Pulling from the sword? What do you mean?"

"Calling on the rage in it," said Zedd, lifting the hem of his robe as he stepped over a mud puddle. "It used to be there when he fought, to an extent. Anger is in the nature of the Sword of Truth, after all, but not like this. Now he pulls the rage from the sword whether there are enemies around or not. He wears it as close as his clothes."

She knew exactly what he spoke of. She'd seen the magic burning there like a darker flame in his dark eyes. When she said as much, Zedd nodded, "He's channeling the full magic of the sword as easily as a wizard touches his han. I could never have taught him this. It's a tool the Seeker can only call on by instinct, if the need is great enough."

Kahlan allowed herself a twinge of hope at that. "Maybe it's not such a bad thing then? He's the Seeker. It's good for him to learn more about the sword."

Zedd heaved a sad, weary sigh. She could feel him studying her out of the corner of his eye, and it was several steps before he spoke again, "The first time I ever saw him use the sword this way was right after Annabelle's hold on him had been broken."

"Oh…" Kahlan stared at the ground before her feet and walked a little faster. She had no desire to return to that day, not even in memory, but Zedd went on.

"I'd never before had my own grandson look at me with so much anger in his eyes. So much of it for me."

Her mouth dropped open at that, and a chill ran down her spine. She remembered well the night Richard had told her about killing Zedd. All her life, she'd listened to men confess their darkest deeds and desires to her, but none of it had ever hurt to hear so much as that. She'd locked the words away in her heart and tried not to think of them.

Zedd was watching her, a knowing look on his face. "I see you've noticed the change as well." He smoothed a hand down the ornate sleeve of his wizard's robe, fidgeting with the cuff. When he spoke he sounded weary and suddenly very, very old, his voice like the sad and lonely dust in some ancient grave. "Richard blames me for what happened to you, dear one. And perhaps he should. I'd welcome the blame if it meant he'd stop blaming himself, but he doesn't."

"I've tried!" cried Kahlan in desperation. "I've tried everything I can think of to get him to stop. He was confessed! I've told him a thousand times, Zedd. He would have killed me if she'd asked it. But he doesn't understand."

"He understands," said Zedd with a heavy sigh. "Logically, he does. But emotionally, I fear he cannot. He has never held anyone as dear as he holds you. Richard would sooner face eternal torment at the Keeper's hands than hurt you, and yet, that is what he's done."

The wind whipped her hair around into her eyes, and she shoved it away with a frustrated hand. It took an effort to speak around the twisted knot of tears growing in her throat, and all she managed was a cracked whisper when she said, "He hasn't hurt me. That day was my doing. I have never blamed him."

Not once. Not for a moment. Not even while it was happening. She couldn't. She was a Confessor, and she knew too well exactly what had been done to his mind. It still sickened her to remember how completely she'd lost him to Annabelle. How he'd looked at her without any of the love for her she was so used to seeing in his eyes. She hadn't realized how desperately she needed it to survive before she'd looked up at him and found it gone.

Zedd nodded, the furrows in his brow deepening into troubled grooves. "And therein lies our problem," he said quietly. "I think a part of Richard would like it if you blamed him. If you yelled at him, punished him. Made him pay for what he sees as his crime. But you haven't. Not one of us has."

He looked ahead to where Richard still walked alone, and Kahlan could hear the pain in the old wizard's voice, the pain of a grandfather for his grandson. "The only one left to be as angry at Richard as he feels he deserves is Richard, and I fear he has begun to use the Sword of Truth to help him in that task. He has learned how to summon the deadly fury of the sword at will, but instead of using it to destroy a foe, he turns it all against himself."

Kahlan could feel each pounding beat her heart took. "He'll stop. He'll get control of the sword. Richard can do anything."

"I hope you're right, dear one. How I hope you're right." Zedd's pale eyes darkened to storm clouds. "That is powerful magic he's punishing himself with, and if he continues this way indefinitely, he will break his mind. He'll lose himself to the madness of his grief. And then he will take that blade and either use it to kill me or himself. Perhaps both."

She gripped Zedd's arm, panic closing like a vice around her. Richard's confession to her and the feel of his hot tears on her neck that night filled her mind. "If it gets to that, if he comes at you with the sword, you must use your magic and stop him."

"No, child," said Zedd, laying his hand over her smaller one. "If it gets to that point, I will have had a hand in destroying my own grandson. I will meet my fate."

Kahlan felt angry worlds bubbling on the tip of her tongue, and she wrenched her hand free. "This isn't fair to him! I'm the one who agreed to Annabelle's plan. It was me. Not him. He should blame me." She would rather Richard despise her the rest of his life than watch him destroy himself with the Sword of Truth.

But Zedd just gave her a small, sad smile. "He will never blame you. Every action Richard takes is defined by you." A tired chuckle escaped his lips, "It's surprisingly like confession – the way he loves you."

Kahlan wrapped her arms tight around herself and said nothing. The two were nothing alike. If Zedd had ever once known the empty, meaningless love of someone confessed, he would not be able to compare the two and find them remotely equal.

She looked out at the dead grass that covered the hillside, watching the landscape blur beyond her unshed tears. Zedd reached a long, skinny arm around her and pulled her into a hug, she slumping willingly against his side. "I've burdened you enough with the worries of an old man," he said in a low, soothing voice. "Richard is strong. We must have faith in him and help him where we can. I'm sure it will all work out." She knew he was coddling her with his words, just as he had ever since she'd lain with Richard, but she couldn't bring herself to mind this time.

"Run ahead," he added with a tilt of his head. "And see if you can't get him to let go of that sword of his before we reach Kinsley."

Kahlan needed no more encouragement than that. She hurried down the hill at the fastest run she could manage, her heart still a wild thing inside her breast. Now that she understood why he was doing it, she wanted to reach out and yank Richard's hand away from the Sword of Truth. Instead, she called his name, and when he heard it, he turned and waited for her to catch up. His fingers tightened around the hilt, and she saw a look of pain flash deep in his eyes.

She tried to sound cheerful anyway and said, "Zedd wants to stop at the village inn for supper. Claims he's tired of living on roots and twigs and needs a proper roast for a change."

"That's not a bad idea," said Richard as he started walking again. "I was actually thinking we should stay the night there."

"You were? Why?" Kahlan didn't bother to hide her surprise. He never suggested they stop at an inn; it wasted too much time they didn't have.

Richard nodded towards a cluster of low, gray clouds on the horizon that had completely escaped her notice. "Those are rainclouds headed this way, and there was frost last night. When the rain comes, it'll be bitter cold at best." It always amazed her how he could know so many things from nothing more than a glance at the sky.

But as warm and welcome as a bed sounded, she liked sleeping close to him on the ground. Close enough to hear his even breathing and see his face looking at peace for a few brief, blessed hours. "We might find some caves to spend the night in," she suggested. "Or we could build a quick shelter."

He frowned at that, "Kahlan, if we're already stopping at the inn, we might as well spend another coin or two and stay dry. If they even make the Mother Confessor pay." It still surprised him a little, she knew, when people insisted she take things for free as Mother Confessor.

"I'm not in my dress."

He looked over at her, an eyebrow raised. "No. Now that I think of it, you haven't worn your Confessor's dress in awhile."

"It doesn't fit anymore," she mumbled. She could only loosen the laces so much before it began to seem ridiculous. Her green traveling dress was a bit more forgiving to her belly, which now poked out enough that she was certain strangers could tell she was with child, instead of just full from a good meal.

Richard's ears reddened. "The green one looks nice too," he said quietly. Kahlan smiled a little, fighting the urge to ask him if he really meant it. She looked ahead to where the village of Kinsley sat nestled between the rolling hills.

"Are you sure you want to stop for the night?" she asked. "It might not rain…"

He didn't even bother to glance at the sky. "It will. Soon. I don't see a reason for all of us to spend a miserable night wet, and wake up with a chill, when we can avoid it so easily." He fixed her with a dark eyed stare and asked, "Is there a reason why you want to sleep in a cave tonight?"

Kahlan twisted her hands together. "It's just that I can't remember the last time I slept alone in a bed. It'll be so quiet. I don't think I'll get any sleep."

Richard frowned and nodded his head, looking like he was considering her words. "Well then you can room with Cara," he said at last. "Actually, that's a good idea. I'll stay with Zedd, and then we won't lose out so much when he has fourth helpings of supper."

"Richard!" His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she softened her tone, asking, "Are you sure that makes sense?"

"Well, I can't very well put Zedd with Cara. We'd never hear the end of it."

"I know. But…" Spirits, how she wanted to share a bed with him. To fall asleep in his arms, her head against his chest and their feet tangled together. A shared blanket, a shared space. She didn't know why it felt like she'd lost when it was something she'd never even had. That sort of life was never meant to be theirs.

Richard stopped walking and faced her. He'd let go of the sword, but she could still see the pain from it lingering in his eyes. On impulse, Kahlan reached out and touched his arm. "What is it, Kahlan?" he asked, his voice gentle with concern.

And there were so many things she could've said. That perhaps it was unwise for him to room alone with a man he'd imagined cleaving in two. Or that he was asking her to share a room with the woman who'd killed her sister. Richard would have flushed and apologized and offered to rearrange the rooms any way she pleased. He would have searched the Midlands all over until he found her a proper cave. She wasn't quite sure why she stayed silent because Cara had killed her sister, and sharing a room alone with the Mord-Sith felt like a daunting prospect, but the words wouldn't come.

Richard was still waiting, so she ended up nodding her head instead. "I guess it makes sense," she heard herself say. "Just for tonight."