Severed Souls (Sword of Truth 14)

Despite how warm a night it had been at first, once the clouds had broken up it had started turning colder. Kahlan wrapped the small blanket over herself as best she could. She curled up on her side, holding the blanket over her shoulder trying to keep warm so she could sleep. She was exhausted.

She thought about Richard, thought about so many things about him. Despite her worry for him, she knew that Zedd had promised to bring him awake, so she felt somewhat confident. She felt herself drifting off with fits of images flashing through her mind’s eye. She was asleep in moments.

At some point in the night, Kahlan woke up.

CHAPTER

33

Kahlan squinted as she glanced up and saw that the moon had moved quite a distance across the sky. Dawn was still several hours off.

Even partially submerged in sleep, Kahlan was awake enough to realize that she felt warm and comfortable. That didn’t make a lot of sense.

Concerned for the reason, and at how odd it seemed, she forced herself awake in order to figure it out. It was then that she realized she felt something soft and warm against her middle.

Kahlan was astonished to find the furry creature curled up in a ball, sleeping spooned against her stomach.

Its back was to her, its head tucked under the big paw that was now thorn-free.

Kahlan smiled at the unexpected comfort of her little friend nested up with her as she slept. With it pressed tight against her, she realized that it wasn’t all that little. It was actually a pretty good size, with a landscape of firm muscles under the silken fur.

Kahlan gently put her hand over it. The fur was short and as soft as sable. The fur was so soft to the touch that she yearned to work her fingers deep into it, but resisted for fear of scaring the animal off, so instead she gently stroked a shoulder and back before letting her hand come to rest on the warm fur, feeling the rise and fall of its even breathing.

The paw moved a little as the eye opened to peer up at who was stroking its back. When it saw Kahlan, the eye slowly closed. It readjusted itself slightly and put the paw back over its face.

Since it purred a little louder and made no effort to get away from her hand, Kahlan was pretty sure that it was content with her touch. That purr was unusual-sounding. It was a more husky sound than a cat made, almost growly.

But then, she knew that this was no typical cat.

It was then that she noticed something else in the moonlight. Atop the rock, three dead rabbits had been laid out neatly side by side in a row. Although freshly killed, none had been eaten.

The creature had brought her a gift.

Kahlan looked down at the animal curled up against her middle.

“Now I know your name. Hunter,” she said softly but with emphasis. “Hunter fits you.” She stroked behind a tufted ear. “Hunter sound good to you?”

Hunter’s only response was to purr a little louder. She could feel the vibration of that contented purr against her stomach.

Kahlan laid her head back down, her hand resting on little Hunter’s back, feeling his even breathing and the soft, steady throbbing of his purr.

She smiled as she recalled Richard once admonishing her not to name wild creatures. He had brought her a jar of little fish one time to entertain her while she was recovering from terrible injuries. He had told her not to name them. It wasn’t long before she and Cara had named them all.

“Sleep well, Hunter.”

Kahlan couldn’t help smiling as she fell back to sleep.

CHAPTER

34

Ludwig Dreier’s gaze drifted around the cramped, narrow streets of Saavedra as he and Erika rode their horses up through the city toward the citadel. Two-story buildings packed with people in cramped apartments crowded in close to the muddy road. Small shops or work areas filled some of the lower floors while carts and vendor stands stood wedged between buildings or in alleyways. Some were covered with tarps to protect the goods of hopeful merchants from the light drizzle.

Ludwig had been to Saavedra to visit the citadel a number of times over the years, and he rather liked the feel of the city. And, he liked the way it smelled.

It smelled of fear.

The people of Saavedra feared the citadel on the hill looking down on them, watching them. Actually, it had been Hannis Arc watching them, and Hannis Arc they feared. The citadel was merely a symbol that embodied those fears. Hannis Arc believed that fear equaled respect, so most everything he did was aimed at earning their full and complete respect.

The bishop had believed that if people feared him, they respected him, they obeyed him, they bowed down to him. He made sure that people were never without cause to fear him.

Ludwig Dreier leaned over in his saddle and spat to the side. Hannis Arc was nothing but a petty despot, the ruler of the pathetic little land of Fajin Province, proud of himself for the way he could instill fear, and because of that he thought himself respected and worthy of more.

He thought himself worthy of an empire.

Because the Dark Lands were such a dangerous place, people were drawn to Saavedra for protection from those dangers. Those people needed food, clothing, and a myriad of other things, which drew in yet more people to service those needs and every other sort of need, from butchers to bakers to healers to merchants to woodcutters to prostitutes. All those people found shelter and relative safety in Saavedra, but it made the whole city feel like it was hunched inward, cowering in fear of everything out in the dark forests beyond and the citadel watching over them. Such fears, both the external and the internal, were wholly justified.

Hannis Arc, if nothing else, was a man of considerable occult talent, and in return for their “respect,” he protected the people of his province in general and Saavedra in particular from things even less forgiving than he was. While they lived in fear of the man, at least they lived.

Out in the wilds of the Dark Lands people died easily, swiftly, and often. There were claws and fangs always ready to take the careless, or even the properly cautious, but there were also things out there that were far worse than claws and fangs always ready to take them when they least expected it.

The Dark Lands was mostly a deserted, trackless waste for good reason. So, people wanted to live in Saavedra or places like it as salvation from those very real dangers beyond the expanse of dark forests.

Weighed in that light, Hannis Arc was a leader they were more than willing to tolerate—not that they had any real choice in the matter. As Ludwig knew so well, if given a choice people always chose the less painful of their options. It was the task of an intelligent leader to limit and properly frame those options so that people could see those choices

in stark terms.

The people walking in every direction on the narrow street scattered out of the way when Ludwig and Erika made no effort to take any care in guiding their horses among them. If people didn’t get out of the way that was their problem. He was in no mood to indulge inconsiderate people not paying attention to where they were walking. It was their choice to get stepped on by a huge horse, or pay attention and get out of the way.

His mind was on dark thoughts about the tasks that lay ahead.

People stared at him because they recognized his black coat buttoned to his neck, the straight collar closed at his throat, and his rimless, four-sided hat. Even if they hadn’t seen him before, they would have heard of him. They knew by his distinctive clothes that he could be none other than Bishop Arc’s abbot. They knew that Ludwig ran the abbey, and the abbey was one of those places out in the vast forests beyond the city that they rightfully feared.

Ludwig Dreier smiled as he suddenly realized that he, too, was “respected.”

The men and women on the street also stared because Mistress Erika rode beside him. The stunningly beautiful creature, her posture perfect as she swayed easily in her saddle, was worthy of more than a long look, but most people averted their eyes the first instant they recognized her for what she was and then quickly made themselves scarce. Those who did not look away quickly enough risked finding themselves looking into her cold, blue-eyed gaze.

A Mord-Sith in black leather was more than enough on her own to make people scatter without the horses urging them to move. Much like the abbot himself, people didn’t want a Mord-Sith taking note of them, especially not a Mord-Sith as intimidating as Erika. They believed such a woman’s gaze was capable of weighing their very soul.

Ludwig Dreier smiled to himself because that fear was closer to the truth than people realized.

Erika was a Mord-Sith who was more than merely talented at her craft. Others he had used were bumbling oafs in comparison to Erika. Their clumsy ability could hardly be compared to her talents. Erika was an artist.