Terry Goodkind - Faith of the Fallen

Cara made a sour face. “It was dark. I’m not about to take any foolish chances with the life of our Lord Rahl just so—”

“I would hope not,” Captain Meiffert put in before Richard could reprimand her. He smiled at Cara. “I was once kicked by a stalwart warhorse. You did a better job of putting me down, Mistress Cara. I’m gratified to find Lord Rahl’s life is in capable hands. If sore ribs are the price, I willingly accept it.”

Cara’s face brightened. The captain’s simple concession disarmed a potentially nettlesome situation.

“Well, if the ribs bother you, let me know,” Cara said dryly, “and I’ll kiss them and make them better.” In the silence, as Richard glowered at her, she scratched her ear and finally added, “Anyway, sorry. But I didn’t want to take any chances.”

“As I said, a price I willingly pay. Thank you for your vigilance.”

“What are you doing here, Captain?” Richard asked. “General Reibisch send you to see if the Lord Rahl is crazy?”

Although it was impossible to tell in the firelight, Kahlan was sure that the man’s face turned scarlet. “No, of course not, Lord Rahl. It’s just that the general wanted you to have a full report.”

“I see.” Richard glanced down at their dinner pot. “When’s the last time you ate, Captain? You look a little drawn, besides having sore ribs.”

“Well, ah, I’ve been riding hard, Lord Rahl. I guess yesterday I must have eaten something. I’m fine, though. I can have something after—”

“Sit down, then.” Richard gestured. “Let me get you something hot to eat. It will do you good.”

As the man reluctantly settled down on the mossy ground beside Kahlan and Cara, Richard scooped some rice and beans into a bowl. He cut a big piece of bannock from what he’d left to cool on the griddle off to the side of the fire. He held the bowl out to the man. Captain Meiffert saw no way to prevent it, and was now mortified to find himself being served by none other than the Lord Rahl himself.

Richard had to lift the food toward him a second time before he took it. “It’s only some rice and beans, Captain. It’s not like I’m giving you Cara’s hand in marriage.”

Cara guffawed. “Mord-Sith don’t marry. They simply take a man for a mate if they wish him—he gets no say in it.”

Richard glanced up at her. Kahlan knew by Richard’s tone that he hadn’t meant anything by the comment but he didn’t laugh with Cara. He knew all too well the truth of her words. Such an act was not an act of love, but altogether the opposite. In the uncomfortable silence, Cara realized what she’d said, and decided to break some branches down and feed them to the fire.

Kahlan knew that Denna, the Mord-Sith who had captured Richard, had taken him for her mate. Cara knew it, too. When Richard would sometimes wake with a start and cling to her, Kahlan wondered if his nightmares were of things imaginary or real. When she kissed his sweat-slicked brow and asked what he had dreamed, he never remembered. She was thankful for that much of it.

Richard retrieved a long stick that had been propped against one of the rocks ringing the fire. With his finger, he slid several sizzling pieces of bacon off the stick and into the captain’s bowl, and then set the big piece of bannock on top. They had with them a variety of food. Kahlan shared the carnage with all the supplies Richard had picked up along their journey north to Hartland. They had enough staples to last for a good long time.

“Thank you,” Captain Meiffert stammered. He brushed back his fall of blond hair. “It looks delicious.”

“It is,” Richard said. “You’re lucky: I made dinner tonight, instead of Cara.”

Cara, proud of being a poor cook, smiled as if it were an accomplishment of note.

Kahlan was sure it was a story that would be repeated to wide eyes and stunned disbelief: the Lord Rahl himself serving food to one of his men. By the way the captain ate, she guessed it had been longer than a day since he had eaten. As big as he was, she figured he had to need a lot of food.

He swallowed and looked up. “My horse.” He began to stand. “When Mistress Cara . . . I forgot my horse. I need—”

“Eat your food.” Richard stood and clapped Captain Meiffert’s shoulder to keep him seated. “I was going to check on our horses anyway. I’ll see to yours as well. I’m sure it would like some water and oats, too.”

“But, Lord Rahl, I can’t allow you to—”

“Eat. This will save time; when I get back, you’ll be done and then you can give me your report.” Richard’s shape became indistinct as he dissolved into the shadows, leaving only a disembodied voice behind. “But I’m afraid I still won’t have any orders for General Reibisch.”

In the stillness, crickets once again took up their rhythmic chirping.

Some distance away, Kahlan heard a night bird calling. Beyond the nearby trees, the horses whinnied contentedly, probably when Richard greeted them. Every once in a while a feather of mist strayed in under the overhang to dampen her cheek. She wished she could turn on her side and close her eyes. Richard had given her some herb tea and it was beginning to make her drowsy. At least it dulled the pain, too.

“How are you, Mother Confessor?” Captain Meiffert asked. “Everyone is terribly worried about you.”

A Confessor wasn’t often confronted with such honest and warm concern.

The young man’s simple question was so sincere it almost brought Kahlan to tears.

“I’m getting better, Captain. Tell everyone I’ll be fine after I’ve had some time to heal. We’re going someplace quiet where I can enjoy the fresh air of the arriving summer and get some rest. I’ll be better before autumn, I’m sure. By then, I hope Richard will be of the war.”

The captain smiled. “Everyone will be relieved to know you’re healing. I can’t tell you how many people told me that when I return they want to hear how you’re doing.”

“Tell them I said I’ll be fine and I asked for them not to worry anymore about me, but to take care of themselves.”

He ate another spoonful. Kahlan saw in his eyes that there was more to the man’s anxiety. It took him a moment before he addressed it.

“We are concerned, too, that you and Lord Rahl need protection.”

Cara, already sitting straight, nevertheless managed to straighten more, at the same time making the subtle shift in her posture appear threatening. “Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor are not without protection, Captain; they have me. Anything more than a Mord-Sith is just pretty brass buttons.”

This time, he didn’t back down. His voice rang with the clear tone of authority. “This is not a matter of disrespect, Mistress Cara, nor is presumption intended. Like you, I am sworn to their safety, and that is my proper concern. These brass buttons have met the enemy before in the defense of Lord Rahl, and I don’t really believe a Mord-Sith would want to deter me from that duty for no more reason than petty pride.”

“We’re going to a remote and secluded place,” Kahlan said, before Cara could answer. “I think our solitude, and Cara, will be ample protection. If Richard wishes it otherwise, he will say so.”

With a reluctant nod, he accepted her answer. The last of it, anyway, settled the matter.

When Richard had taken Kahlan north, he had left their guard forces behind. She knew it was deliberate, probably part of his conviction about what he felt he had to do. Richard wasn’t opposed to the concept of protection; in the past, he had accepted troops being with them. Cara, too, had been insistent on having the security of those troops along. It was different, though, for Cara to admit it directly to Captain Meiffert.