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The path through the grasses came to two poles, one set to each side of the trail. They were wrapped in skins dyed with red stripes. Richard stopped by the poles, looking up at the skulls fixed atop them.
“This meant to warn us away?” he asked as he stroked one of the skins.
“No, they are the skulls of honored ancestors, meant to watch over their lands. Only the most respected are accorded such recognition.”
“That doesn’t sound threatening. Maybe they won’t be so unhappy to see us after all.”
Kahlan turned to him and lifted an eyebrow. “One of the ways you get to be revered by the Mud People is by killing outsiders.” She looked back at the skulls. “But this is not meant as a threat to others. It is simply a tradition of honor among themselves.”
Richard took a deep breath as he withdrew his hand from the pole. “Let’s see if we can get them to help us, so they can go on revering their ancestors, and keeping outsiders away.”
“Remember what I told you,” she warned. “They may not want to help. You have to respect that if it is their decision. These are some of the people I am trying to save. I don’t want you to hurt them.”
“Kahlan, it’s not my desire or intention to hurt them. Don’t worry, they will help us. It’s in their own interest.”
“They may not see it that way,” she pressed. The rain had stopped, replaced by a light, cold mist she felt on her face. She pushed the hood of her cloak back. “Richard, promise me you won’t hurt them.”
He pushed his hood back also, put his hands on his hips, and surprised her with a little smile out of one side of his mouth. “Now I know how it feels.”
“What?” she asked, a tone of suspicion in her voice.
As he looked down at her, his smile grew. “Remember when I had the fever from the snake vine, and I asked you not to hurt Zedd? Now I know how you felt when you couldn’t make that promise.”
Kahlan looked into his gray eyes, thinking of how much she wanted to stop Rahl, and thought of all those she knew whom he had killed.
“And now I know how you must have felt when I could not make that promise.” She smiled in spite of herself. “Did you feel this foolish for asking?”
He nodded. “When I realized what was at stake. And when I realized what kind of person you were, that you wouldn’t do anything to harm anyone unless there was no choice. Then I felt foolish. For not trusting you.”
She did feel foolish for not trusting him. But she knew he trusted her too much.
“I’m sorry,” she said, the smile still on her lips. “I should know you better than that.”
“Do you know how we can get them to help us?”
She had been to the village of the Mud People several times, none of them by invitation; they would never request a Confessor. It was a common chore among Confessors, paying a professional call on the different peoples of the Midlands. They had been polite enough, out of fear, but they had made it clear that they handled their own affairs, and did not want outside involvement. They were not a people who would respond to threats.
“The Mud People hold a gathering, called a council of seers. I have never been allowed to attend, maybe because I am an outsider, maybe because I am a woman. This group divines the answers to questions that affect the village. They will not hold a gathering at swordpoint; if they are to help us, they must do so willingly. You must win them over.”
He gazed hard into her eyes. “With your help, we can do it. We must.”
She nodded, and turned to the path once more. Clouds hung low and thick above the grassland, seeming to boil slowly as they rolled along in an endless procession. Out on the plains, there seemed to be much more sky than there was anywhere else. It was an overpowering presence, dwarfing the unchanging, flat land.
Rains had swollen the streams until the churning, muddy water pounded and frothed with a roar at the bottoms of the crossing logs that were used as bridges. Kahlan could feel the power of the water making the logs shudder under her boots. She stepped carefully, as the logs were slippery, and there was no hand rope to aid her crossing. Richard offered her his hand, to steady her, and she was glad for the excuse to take it. She found herself looking forward to the stream crossings, to being able to take his hand. But as deeply as it hurt, she couldn’t allow herself to encourage his feelings for her. She wished so much she could just be a woman, like any other. But she wasn’t. She was a Confessor. Still, sometimes for brief moments, she could forget, and pretend.
She wished Richard would walk next to her, but he instead stayed behind, scanning the countryside, watching out for her. He was in a strange land, taking nothing for granted, seeing threat in everything. In Westland, she had felt the same way, so she understood the feeling. He was putting his life at great peril against Rahl, against things he had never encountered before, and was right to be wary. The wary died quick enough in the Midlands, the unwary faster still.
After crossing another stream and plunging back into the wet grass, eight men sprang up suddenly in front of them. Kahlan and Richard came to an abrupt halt. The men were wearing animal skins over most of their bodies. Sticky mud that didn’t wash away in the rain was smeared over the rest of their skin and faces, and their hair smoothed down with it. Clumps of grass were tied to their arms and to the skins, and stuffed under headbands, making them invisible when they had been squatted down. They stood silently in front of the two of them. All wore grim expressions. Kahlan recognized several of the men; it was a hunting party of Mud People.
The eldest, a fit, wiry man she knew as Savidlin, approached her. The others waited, spears and bows relaxed but ready. Kahlan could feel Richard’s presence close behind her. Without turning, she whispered for him to stay calm and do as she did. Savidlin stopped in front of her.
“Strength to Confessor Kahlan,” he said.
“Strength to Savidlin and the Mud People,” she answered in their language.
Savidlin slapped her across the face, hard. She slapped him back just as hard. Instantly Kahlan heard the ringing sound of Richard’s sword being pulled free. She spun on her heels.
“No, Richard!” He had the sword up, ready to strike. “No!” She grabbed his wrists. “I told you to stay calm and do as I do.”
His eyes flicked from Savidlin’s to hers. They were filled with unleashed anger, the magic that was ready to kill. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth. “And if they slit your throat, would you have me let them slit mine as well?”
“That is the way they greet people. It is meant to show respect for another’s strength.”
He frowned, hesitating.
“I’m sorry I did not warn you. Richard, put the sword away.”
His eyes went from hers to Savidlin, and then back to hers again, before he yielded and angrily thrust the sword back into its scabbard. Relieved, she turned back to the Mud People as Richard stepped up protectively next to her. Savidlin and the others had been watching calmly. They didn’t understand the words, but they seemed to grasp the meaning of what had happened. Savidlin looked away from Richard, to Kahlan. He spoke in his dialect.
“Who is this man with the temper?”
“His name is Richard. He is the Seeker of Truth.”
Whispers broke out among the other members of the hunting party. Savidlin’s eyes sought Richard’s.
“Strength to Richard, the Seeker.”
Kahlan told him what Savidlin had said. There was still a hot look on his face.
Savidlin stepped up and hit Richard, not with an open hand as he had hit her, but with his fist. Immediately Richard unleashed a powerful blow of his own that knocked Savidlin from his feet and sent him sprawling on his back. He lay dazed on the ground with his limbs strewn awkwardly out. Fists tightened on weapons. Richard straightened, giving the men a dangerous look that kept them rooted firmly in place.
Savidlin propped himself up on one hand, rubbing his jaw with the other. A grin spread across his face. “None has ever shown su
ch respect for my strength! This is a wise man.”
The other men broke out in laughter. Kahlan held her hand over her mouth, trying to hide her own. The tension evaporated.
“What did he say?” Richard demanded.
“He said you have great respect for him, that you are wise. I think you have made a friend.”
Savidlin held his hand out for Richard to help him up. Warily, Richard complied. Once on his feet, Savidlin slapped Richard on the back, putting an arm around his big shoulders.
“I am truly glad you recognize my strength, but I hope you do not come to respect me any more.” The men laughed. “Among the Mud People, you shall be known as ‘Richard With The Temper.’”
Kahlan tried to hold back her laughter while she translated. The men were still snickering. Savidlin turned to them.
