Faith of the Fallen (Sword of Truth 6)

“Thank you, Mother Confessor. It’s good to be back.”

He looked like he could use a meal. After Captain Ryan rushed in through the door, Cara pushed it shut against the blowing snow. Hayes stepped to the side, out of the way of the captain.

Kahlan was relieved to see the young Galean officer. “How did everything go, Captain? How is everyone?”

He pulled off his scarf and wool hat as he caught his breath; Verna looked to be holding hers.

“Good,” the captain said. “We did well. The Sisters were able to heal some of our wounded. Some needed to be transported for a ways before the Sisters could see to them. That slowed us. We had a few losses, but not as many as we feared. Warren was a great help.”

“Where is Warren?” Zedd asked.

As if bidden by his name, Warren came in through the door, escorted by a swirling gust of snow. Kahlan squinted at the slash of bright light until the door was pushed shut once more. She caught the look on Verna’s face, and recalled how lighthearted she always felt to see Richard back safely when they had been separated. Warren casually kissed Verna on the cheek with a quick peck. Kahlan noticed the look they shared, even if no one else did. She was happy for them, but still, the reminder was like a jab at the pain of her helpless heartache and worry over Richard.

“Did you tell them?” Warren asked, unbuttoning his cloak.

“No,” Captain Ryan said. “We haven’t had a chance yet.”

Zedd’s brow drew down. “Tell us what?”

Warren heaved a sigh. “Well, Verna’s special glass worked better than we thought it had. We captured several men and questioned them at length. The ones we saw dead in the valley were only the ones who died at first.”

Verna helped Warren shed his heavy, snow-crusted cloak. She put it on the floor by the fire, where Captain Ryan had laid his brown coat to dry.

“It seems,” Warren went on, “that there were a great many—maybe another sixty, seventy thousand—who didn’t go blind, but who lost the sight in one eye, or have impaired vision. The Order couldn’t very well abandon them, because they can still see well enough to stay with the rest, but more important, it’s hoped that maybe those men will heal, and regain full use of their sight—and their ability to fight.”

“Not likely,” Verna said.

“I don’t think so, either,” Warren said, “but that’s what they are thinking, anyway. Another goodly number, maybe twenty five or thirty thousand, are sick—their eyes and noses red and horribly infected.”

Verna nodded. “The glass will do that.”

“Then some more, maybe half that number, are having breathing difficulty.”

“So,” Kahlan said, “with those killed and those injured enough to keep them from being effective fighters, that makes somewhere near one hundred fifty thousand put out of the way by the glass dust. Quite an accomplishment, Verna.”

Verna looked as pleased as Kahlan. “It was worth that horse ride scaring the wits out of me. It wouldn’t have worked had you not thought of doing it that way.”

“What kind of success did you have, Captain?” Cara asked as she came to stand behind Kahlan.

“Captain Zimmer and I had the kind of success we hoped for. I’d guess we took out maybe ten thousand in the time we were down there.”

Zedd let out a slow whistle. “Pretty heavy fighting.”

“Not really. Not the way the Mother Confessor taught us to do it, and not the way Captain Zimmer works, either. Mostly we eliminate the enemy as efficiently as possible, and try to keep from having to fight at all. If you slit a man’s throat in his sleep, you can accomplish a lot more, and you’re less likely to get hurt yourself.”

Kahlan smiled. “I’m glad you were such a good student.”

Captain Ryan lifted a thumb. “Warren and the Sisters were a great help at getting us where we needed to be without being discovered. Any word about the white cloaks, yet? We could really use them. I can tell you for a fact that they would have enabled us to do more.”

“We just got in our first load the day before yesterday,” Kahlan told him. “More than enough for your men and Captain Zimmer’s. We’ll have more within a few days.”

Captain Ryan rubbed his hands, warming his fingers. “Captain Zimmer will be pleased.”

Zedd gestured to the south. “Did you find out why they withdrew so far back over ground they’d taken?”

Warren nodded. “From the men we questioned, we found out that they have fever going through their camp. Nothing we did, just your regular fever that happens in such crowded camp conditions in the field. But they’ve lost tens of thousands of men to the fever. They wanted to withdraw to put some distance between us, give themselves some breathing room. They aren’t concerned about being able to push us out of their way when they wish.”

That made sense. With their numbers, it was only natural for them to be confident, even cavalier, about dealing with any opposition. Kahlan couldn’t understand why Warren and Captain Ryan looked so downhearted. She sensed that, despite their good news, there was something amiss.

“Dear spirits,” Kahlan said, trying to give them some cheer. “Their numbers are dwindling away like snow beside the hearth. This is better than—”

Warren held up a hand. “I asked Hayes, here, to come and give you his report firsthand. I think you had better hear him out.”

Kahlan motioned the man to come forward. He stepped smartly up to her table and snapped to attention.

“Let’s hear what you have to report, Corporal Hayes.”

His face looked chalky, and despite the cold, he was sweating.

“Mother Confessor, my scout team was down to the southeast, watching the routes in from the wilds, and watching, too in c

ase the Order tried to swing wide around us. Well, I guess the short of it is, we spotted a column making its way west to resupply and reinforce the Order.”

“They’re a big army,” Kahlan said. “They would have supplies sent from their homeland to augment what they can get as spoils. A supply column would have men guarding them.”

“I followed them for a week, just to get an accurate count.”

“How many,” Kahlan asked.

“Well over a quarter million, Mother Confessor.”

Kahlan’s flesh tingled as if icy needles were dancing over it.

“How many?” Verna asked.

“At least two hundred and fifty thousand men at arms, plus drivers and civilians with the supplies.”

Everything they had worked for, all the sacrifices, all the struggle to whittle down the Imperial Order, had just been nullified. Worse than nullified, their work had been erased, and nearly that many more had been added to the force the enemy had started with.

“Dear spirits,” Kahlan whispered, “how many men does the Old World have to throw at us?”

When she met Warren’s gaze, she knew that this number, even, was hardly surprising to him.

Warren gestured to the scout. “Hayes saw only the first group. The men we captured told us about the reinforcements. We weren’t sure they were telling us the truth—we thought they might be trying to spook us—but then we met up with Corporal Hayes, on his way back. We did some further questioning and scouting—that’s why we were delayed in returning.”

“Another quarter million…” Kahlan’s words trailed off. It all seemed so hopeless.

Warren cleared his throat. “That is just the first column of fresh troops. More are coming.”

Kahlan went to the hearth and warmed her hands as she stared into the flames. She was standing beneath the statue Richard had carved for her, to make her feel better. Kahlan wished that at that moment she could recall the defiant feeling Spirit portrayed. It felt as if she could only contemplate death.