Terry Goodkind: Naked Empire

Jennsen planted her fists on her hips. “Then how in the world could you possibly be sure they’re tracking you?” She flicked a hand out toward the darkness beyond. “You often see the same kind of birds. You see ravens, sparrows, geese, finches, hummingbirds, doves—how do you know that any one of them aren’t following you and that the black-tipped races are?”

“I know,” Richard said as he turned and started back toward the wagon. “Now, let’s get our things out and set up camp.”

Kahlan caught Jennsen’s arm as she headed after him, about to renew her objections. “Let him be for tonight, Jennsen?” Kahlan lifted an eyebrow. “Please? About this, anyway.”

Kahlan was pretty sure that the black-tipped races really were following them, but it wasn’t so much an issue of her being sure of it herself. Rather, she had confidence in Richard’s word in matters such is this. Kahlan was versed in affairs of state, protocol, ceremony, and royalty; she was familiar with various cultures, the origins of ancient deputes between lands, and the history of treaties; and she was conversant in any number of languages, including the duplicitous dialect of diplomacy.

In such areas, Richard trusted her word when she expressed her conviction.

In matters about something so odd as strange birds following them, she knew better than to question Richard’s word.

Kahlan knew, too, that he didn’t yet have all the answers. She had seen him like this before, distant and withdrawn, as he struggled to understand the important connections and patterns in relevant details only he perceived. She knew that he needed to be left alone about it. Pestering him for answers before he had them only served to distract him from what he needed to do.

Watching Richard’s back as he walked away, Jennsen finally forced a smile of agreement. Then, as if struck with another thought, her eyes widened. She leaned close to Kahlan and whispered, “Is this about magic?”

“We don’t know what it’s about.”

Jennsen nodded. “I’ll help. Whatever I can do, I want to help.”

For the time being, Kahlan kept her worries to herself as she circled an arm around the young woman’s shoulders in an appreciative embrace and walked her back toward the wagon.

In the immense, silent void of night, Kahlan could clearly hear Friedrich, off to the side, speaking gently to the horses. He patted their shoulders or ran a hand along their flanks each time on his way by as he went about grooming and picketing them for the night. With darkness shrouding the empty expanse beyond, the familiar task of caring for the animals made the unfamiliar surroundings seem a little less forbidding.

Friedrich was an older, unassuming man of average height. Despite his age, he had undertaken a long and difficult journey to the Old World to find Richard. Friedrich had undertaken that journey, carrying with him important information, soon after his wife had died. The terrible sadness of that loss still haunted his gentle features. Kahlan supposed that it always would.

In the dim light, she saw Jennsen smile as Tom looked her way. A boyish grin momentarily overcame the big, blond-headed D’Haran when he spotted her, but he quickly bent back to work, pulling bedrolls from a corner beneath the seat. He stepped over supplies in his wagon and handed a load down to Richard.

“There’s no wood for a fire, Lord Rahl.” Tom rested a foot on the chafing rail, laying a forearm over his bent knee. “But, if you like, I have a little charcoal to use for cooking.”

“What I’d really like is for you to stop calling me ‘Lord Rahl.’ If we’re anywhere near the wrong people and you slip up and call me that, we’ll all be in a great deal of trouble.”

Tom grinned and patted the ornate letter “R” on the silver handle of the knife at his belt. “Not to worry, Lord Rahl. Steel against steel.”

Richard sighed at the oft-repeated maxim involving the bond of the D’Haran people to their Lord Rahl, and he to them. Tom and Friedrich had promised they wouldn’t use Richard’s and Kahlan’s titles around other people. A lifetime’s habits were difficult to change, though, and Kahlan knew that they felt uncomfortable not using titles when they were so obviously alone.

“So,” Tom said as he handed down the last bedroll, “would you like a small fire for cooking?”

“Hot as it is, it seems to me we could do without any more heat.”

Richard set the bedrolls atop a sack of oats already unloaded. “Besides, I’d prefer not to take the time. I’d like to be on our way at first light and we need to get a good rest.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” Tom said, straightening his big frame. “I don’t like us being so out in the open where we could easily be spotted.”

Richard swept his hand in a suggestive arc across the dark vault above.

Tom cast a wary eye skyward. He nodded reluctantly before turning back to the task of digging out tools to mend the breeching and wooden buckets to water the horses. Richard put a boot on a spoke of the cargo wagon’s stout rear wheel and climbed up to help.

Tom, a shy but cheerful man who had appeared only the day before, right after they’d encountered Jennsen, looked to be a merchant who hauled trade goods. Hauling goods in his wagon, Kahlan and Richard had learned, gave him an excuse to travel where and when he needed as a member of a covert group whose true profession was to protect the Lord Rahl from unseen plots and threats.

Speaking in a low voice, Jennsen leaned closer to Kahlan. “Vultures can tell you, from a great distance, where a kill lies—by the way they circle and gather, I mean. I guess I can see how the races could be like that—birds that someone could spot from afar in order to know there was something below.”

Kahlan didn’t say anything. Her head ached, she was hungry, and she just wanted to go to sleep, not to discuss things she couldn’t answer. She wondered how many times Richard had viewed her own insistent questions in the same way she now viewed Jennsen’s. Kahlan silently vowed to try to be at least half as patient as Richard always was.

“The thing is,” Jennsen went on, matter-of-factly, “how would someone get birds to . . . well, you know, circle around you like vultures over a carcass in order to know where you were?” Jennsen leaned in again and whispered so as to be sure that Richard wouldn’t hear. “Maybe they’re sent with magic to follow specific people.”

Cara fixed Jennsen with a murderous glare. Kahlan idly wondered if the Mord-Sith would clobber Richard’s sister, or extend her leniency because she was family. Discussions about magic, especially in the context of its danger to Richard or Kahlan, made Cara testy. Mord-Sith were fearless in the face of death, but they did not like magic and weren’t shy about making their distaste clear.

In a way, such hostility toward magic characterized the nature and purpose of Mord-Sith; they were singularly able to appropriate the gifted’s power and use it to destroy them. Mord-Sith had been mercilessly trained to be ruthless at their task. It was from the madness of this duty that Richard had freed them.

It seemed obvious enough to Kahlan, though, that if the races really were tracking them it would have to involve conjuring of some sort. It was the questions raised by that assumption that so worried her.

When Kahlan didn’t debate the theory, Jennsen asked, “Why do you think someone would be using the races to track you?”

Kahlan lifted an eyebrow at the young woman. “Jennsen, we’re in the middle of the Old World. Being hunted in enemy territory is hardly surprising.”

“I guess you’re right,” Jennsen admitted. “It just seems that there would have to be more to it.” Despite the heat, she rubbed her arms as if a chill had just run through her. “You have no idea how much Emperor Jagang wants to catch you.”