XXXI. TRUST
The camp was little more than starlight and silence, a black world of sleep. No fires had been lit for the night watch, and the shadows that stretched between the tents loomed long and deep. The darkness was meant to hide them from banelings, but it was Kahlan who slipped past unseen, her cloak wrapped close around her. Slowly, carefully, she edged her way towards the sentinels guarding the outskirts of camp. She searched their faces, squinting in the darkness for one who appeared still more boy than man. It took a long time. Most were grizzled, war-hardened men. But at last she spotted a wide-eyed lad in boots too big for him, clutching his sword as he stared out at the night.
The moment he saw her approaching, he straightened up and nearly dropped his sword. His gaze flitted from the ground to the sky to the hem of her cloak; anything to avoid meeting her eyes. Her mere presence was enough to set most of the men on edge. She knew a frightened rumor was already circulating through the camp of how their Lord Rahl had bedded a Confessor and escaped unscathed. She thanked the spirits that at least it had not yet reached Richard's ears.
"Mother Confessor," said the young solider, his shock of blonde hair very pale in the moonlight.
Kahlan smiled at him. "Richard sent me to you."
"To me?" he echoed in a shy, squeaky voice. "Lord Rahl?"
"Yes," she nodded and beckoned him closer. She had but to touch him, and she would have a devoted servant ready to whisk her away to Isham without a word to anyone. Alone with only the stars for witnesses, she found the possibility far more tempting than she'd imagined. Still, she pushed the desire away. She couldn't so simply destroy his life. She knew the look that would cross Richard's face if she did, and she doubted she'd have the strength to stand if she spent what little energy she had on confession. Kahlan tried to hide her weariness and went on, "What's your name?"
He hung back, face full of apprehension, but he answered and called himself John Rile. She lifted an eyebrow and asked his rank.
"I'm just a foot solider," he said. "The officers just call me Rile."
Kahlan nodded again, pressing a hand to the small of her back as a cramp sent raw pain spreading through her belly. "Well, Rile," she said, sucking in a deep breath. She winced, "You are to escort me to Isham on horseback. At once."
"But…" He hesitated, clearly unsure about both the command and the possibility of upsetting her. "Now? Alone? I thought all our force was escorting you there, Mother Confessor."
"Today's attack has changed Richard's mind," said Kahlan swiftly. "Two can easily slip by unnoticed in the night, where a hundred men marching will always attract attention."
Rile shuffled his feet. "I can see the sense in that," he mumbled.
"I knew you would, Rile. That's why Lord Rahl chose you. He heard you were a smart man." The young soldier beamed, and her heart twisted at the lie.
"Well all right, Mother Confessor. Just let me go tell Lieutenant Gurt. He's the officer on duty this watch."
"There's no need," said Kahlan. "He's already been informed." She shooed him away with her hand. "Get the horses and meet me here. Tell no one that they're for me. Richard is not yet sure that all of the D'Harans are to be trusted."
Rile nodded and disappeared into the night, his face still full of his newfound importance. Without him to distract her, the pain in her belly seemed sharper. By the time he returned, her knees were shaking. His eyes grew wide in the darkness, and he stopped at her side, asking if something was wrong.
"No." Kahlan forced herself to smile, and did her best to ignore the pain. She had to get away from this place. Richard wouldn't be safe until she did. She gestured towards the horse, steeling herself for what came next. "You have to help me up."
Rile hesitated again. "Mother Confessor, are you sure you're well?" he asked, scuffing his feet in the sand.
Kahlan struggled to find the voice she'd used back in Aydindril to issue commands. She prayed this man had not known Richard long enough to tell what his real whishes would be. "Richard wants me escorted to Isham. You will learn that your Lord Rahl has no tolerance for delay in carrying out his orders. Especially when they concern my life." She let her hand drop down to rest on her belly. "Or the life of his child."
Rile winced and nodded, and before she had the chance to even draw another breath, he was already hoisting her up onto her horse.
They rode away from the camp into darkness, over the shifting sands. Though she'd hoped to make good progress, she continually had to ask Rile to slow their pace. The pain of being on the horse was growing near to unbearable, and it was all she could do to remain upright in the saddle. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, her brow damp and sweaty. Waves of pain kept coming, stronger than before, and by the time the sky began to lighten with the first hints of dawn, tears were streaming down her face. She gasped in pain as the next wave hit her, and Rile twisted around, looking over his shoulder at her.
"Mother Confessor? Are you all right?"
She couldn't bring herself to smile and lie again. "I have to," she gasped. "I have to get off this horse now."
He reined in his mare and dismounted, and it seemed too long, far too long until his arms were around her, helping her down. She clung to him and wished he was Richard.
The pain lessened some when she got off the horse, but her back still ached, and another cramp soon tightened her belly.
"Mother Confessor, you don't look well," said Rile. The young man kept raking a hand back through his shock of pale hair, clearly agitated, and it did nothing for her nerves.
"I'm fine," she said, pushing away from him. "I just have to get to Isham. I have to get there." Once she did, Richard would be safe. She huffed another breath and started walking, feet floundering in the sand, hands holding her aching, straining belly.
"Mother Confessor?" cried Rile in alarm. He danced to her side, eyes wide. "What are you doing?"
"Walking to Isham."
"But the horses?" he spluttered.
Kahlan saw red. Outside of the Con Dar, she could never remember feeling such sudden fury before. "If I have to get back on that evil beast again, I'll scream. Do you understand me?"
The poor soldier looked ill. He nodded and agreed with her again and again. She began to hate the sound of the words 'yes, Mother Confessor.'
She took another step. And another. "Do you want any help?" he asked, hovering at her elbow like a gnat she longed to swat away.
"I want," she paused, hands clenching into fists as the pain came again. She winced and waited; it felt like she was losing her mind. "I want you to stop talking," she snapped. "That's what I want. Can you do that, Rile? Can you stop talking for just a moment?"
There was no answer.
She glanced to her side, but Rile wasn't there. "Rile?" She whirled around. "Rile?" He stood several paces behind her, staring off at the horizon, a hand clenched around his sword. "What is it?" she called, fear slipping in to cool her anger.
"Get behind me. There are two riders coming our way," he said in a thin, nervous voice. He squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the brilliant orange of the rising sun. "They wear the red of the witches."
Panic seized her, and she hurried to his side. "You'll have to handle one of them," she said. "I can't confess both."
"I'll kill them both," said Rile. "Even a day serving Lord Rahl is enough to know he'd have my head if I let you near them." Kahlan was about to argue when another wave of pain came crashing over her, and she reached out, desperate for something, anything to cling to. Her hand found the saddle of Rile's horse, and she gripped it hard.
"Okay." Her voice came out too feebly to be the Mother Confessor's. Her thighs trembled with the effort of standing. She leaned forward, clinging to the horse's saddle, her head coming to rest against its flank. "Don't let them," she whimpered. "Please don't let them get my baby."
"I'll stop them, Mother Confessor," said Rile, but his voice trembled too. She wished again that he was Richard. She didn't know why she'd ever left his side. Kahlan leaned against the horse, already bracing herself for the next wave of pain when her own name came drifting to her on the wind.
"Kahlan! Kahlan, is that you?"
She lifted her head, hardly daring to hope that she should have such luck a second time, but she knew that voice. "Sister Isobel?" she cried, squinting at the faces of the fast-riding women. "Wait," she called to Rile. "I think I know them!"
"But they're witches!"
"No," she said. "No. They're Sisters of the Light." She nearly wept when the horses drew near enough that she could see the face of Sister Isobel, welcome and warm. Beside her rode one of the two sisters who'd accompanied her before – a beautiful, dark-haired woman with midnight eyes. "I know them," she insisted. "She raised me." Another wave of pain came over her, swooping up inside her to stronger twisted heights, the ache in her lower back spreading like wildfire to meet it. Kahlan shook, the insides of her thighs were suddenly slick and wet, and it was all she could do to keep from sinking to her knees in the sand.
Sister Isobel dismounted swiftly. There was a blur of red, and then warm, wrinkled hands were there, pushing the hair back from her sweat-streaked brow. "Kahlan," she said in a soft, troubled voice. "What are you doing out here all alone?"
"Not alone," she gasped. "Rile." She paused, clinging to the sister's frail shoulders for support. "He's taking me to Isham. I have to get to Isham."
The words jogged her memory, and she pushed away from Sister Isobel, stumbling slow steps through the sands. One foot then the other, and then Sister Isobel was holding her again.
"Kahlan," she said, her tone as patient and soothing as if she spoke to a frightened child in Thandor. "You can't go to Isham."
"I have to. I can't let Richard die. I have to go." She stopped, gasping in a strangled breath. "I'm a danger to him." Tears filled her eyes and started trickling down her face. Oh, how she missed him. Surely he'd read her letter by now. She wondered if he was furious. If he hated her for leaving.
"Child, you're in labor. You can't go to Isham."
"Labor?" echoed Kahlan. "No. No, no. It was just the horse. I can handle pain. I just, I just need to keep walking." She nodded several times as she spoke, but Sister Isobel's expression remained stern.
"It's nearly a day's ride to Isham," she said. "You cannot go there, Kahlan. Not when your time has already come. My sisters and I are staying at a settlement nearby. I'll take you there instead," she said, her voice gentle but firm.
"Richard," said Kahlan weakly. "He won't know where I am."
Sister Isobel scoffed at that. "Child, now's not the time to worry about him. Your gown is already wet with the birth waters. You must save what strength you have left for what is to come. Look around you; this is no place for your babe to be born."
Kahlan blinked, taking in the endless, rolling sandhills. They went on forever. If it weren't for Rile and Sister Isobel's dark-eyed companion, they would be utterly alone before the horizon. She winced as her belly began to tighten, bracing herself for another wave of pain. It wrung her resolve from her with a cry, and she reached for Sister Isobel's hand, still gasping.
"Is it far?"
"Not at all," she assured her.
Rile was suddenly at her side, clutching his sword and whispering her title. "I think Lord Rahl would want you to go to Isham," he said, casting dubious glances at the women. "Or to return to camp. Not to this other place."
Sister Isobel rounded on him. "Have you no compassion? You would force a laboring woman to ride halfway across the dessert? Or to return to a camp full of men? Of filthy soldiers? Ha!" she snorted. "What do you and your friends know about birthing babes?"
Rile flushed bright red. "Nothing, I…" he stammered. "I'm sorry." Sister Isobel huffed like the sharp-tongued school mistress she'd been once in Thandor, and looked about to turn back around when Rile piped up again. "I still say we should let Lord Rahl know." He looked quite surprised at himself for having spoken, and Sister Isobel's eyes flashed like he was an unruly pupil. Kahlan well remembered how rude Richard had been to her when they'd met before, but even that memory only made her miss Richard more.
"Please get him," she whimpered as pain took her again, melting her words into a moan. "Please," she said, turning towards Rile. "Tell him I'm sorry. It's all my fault." Tears swam in her eyes, her trembling hand reaching down to rub her belly. She had no idea how to birth this babe, and shook with the fear of what was to come. She needed Richard at her side when it happened. "He promised to be here," she wailed, vaguely aware that she was weeping again. "He said he'd be here when she was born." She gripped Rile's arm hard, her nails digging in. "Tell him I need him to come. Fast."
Rile nodded, but still he hesitated, looking from her to Sister Isobel, and back again. "Maybe I should bring you with me, Mother Confessor. I don't like leaving you alone with strange women." A hard look came into his eyes. "Women who dress like witches."
"Sister Isobel raised me," she snapped. "The only way I could be safer would be for Richard himself to be here with me. Now either go freely, or I will confess you and make you go."
Rile paled until he nearly matched his hair. "Very well, Mother Confessor. I will go."
"Sister Hanna will go with you," said Sister Isobel with a smile, showing no sign of offense at Rile's distrust. "She knows the way to the settlement." Rile glanced at Sister Hanna and said nothing, but he kept a tight grip on his sword.
The younger woman looked to Sister Isobel, who nodded once. Without a word to anyone, she mounted her horse and sat there waiting for Rile to ready his. He couldn't seem to stop looking over his shoulder, his eyes bright with worry, but soon enough he too was in the saddle. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as Kahlan watched them ride away, feeling suddenly very alone.
As soon as they disappeared over the first hill, Sister Isobel tugged her hard towards her own horse. "Come on, child. Up you go."
Kahlan shook her head, memories of the agony she'd endured in the saddle still fresh in her mind. "I can't," she said, backing away from the animal. "It hurts too much."
Sister Isobel tugged her back again. "You have to," she said, kneeling down beside her and wrapping her arms around Kahlan's legs. "Or you will be found."
Kahlan bent her head down to look at the sister. "Who's looking for me?" she asked as Sister Isobel hoisted her up onto the horse.
"Everyone, Kahlan. Everyone."
xxx
"We're almost there," said Rile to the sister. "That's the Hunchback." He gestured to a large, tan rock, hewn by wind and sand and time into a shape that resembled an old man long bent by his burdens. Every last stone had a name in D'Hara. It was the only way to tell which way you went when all the sand looked the same.
The sister gave a slight nod, but said nothing. She'd been silent the whole way there. Rile tried his best not to shudder. It seemed unnatural though. It was hard not to hate her on sight, dressed as she was in witches' red, but the Mother Confessor had called her a Sister of the Light. It sounded like some sort of religious title, like an order of something or other.
He cast another sideways glance at her long, pale face. She still stared at the sands before her in absolute silence. Maybe it was a vow of silence. He'd heard monks took those sometimes. He talked all too much himself; the other men always complained about it. Said he talked their ears off, but he'd have to do it again. Personal escort to the Mother Confessor, and now riding alone with a witch who didn't say two words put together. That was a story he'd have to tell.
He looked up, taking in the sands before him. Overhead the sky was blue as a robin's egg. "Just past that next ridge there is where we made camp last night," he volunteered.
The sister said nothing, but reined in her horse, bringing the black gelding to a halt several paces behind him. Bristling with irritation, he turned his horse around and rode back to her. "What are you stopping for?" he asked.
The sister remained silent.
"You know you could at least answer me. Just a word or two. Being silent like that's unnatural. Makes it hard to trust a person."
The sister reached into the folds of her flowing, red gown. Her face split into a beautiful, glorious smile, and when she spoke her voice was velvety and low. "You're right not to trust me," she said and her arm jerked up. There was a flash of silver, and John Rile fell dead.
Sister Hanna leapt lightly to the ground and yanked her dacra from his chest. She wiped the blood on the sand, and rode on over the final ridge alone.