Pride & Destiny - Chapter 4
Author: chickinwhite
Pairing: Kahlan/Cara
Rating: PG 17
Word account: 5100
Summary: End of Season 1 - And the beginning of an unexpected future for two sworn enemies, who have to learn to have faith in each other while trying to survive in a hostile world...
Disclaimer: Nothing of LotS belongs to me (such a pity!) - no business, just fan-fun
AN: Sometimes it is just a tiny little detail that holds sway over your fate... Remember Reckoning? Cara struck Richard, who was sitting close to the edge... Well, I asked myself how things would have turned out if not Richard but Kahlan had sit first in her way when Cara arrived...
Previously: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3
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Chapter 4
In the middle of the night the Mord Sith woke up; cold sweat pooling on her skin and her hand tightening its grip around the handle of her weapon. Cara appreciated the fire her agiel forced through her muscles. The pain grounded her and allowed her to focus on where she was; to leave the dream behind. A dream in which she had watched a man who´s face had been obscured, but who was wrapped in the colors of the Lord Rahl. She gritted her teeth as she thought of the many ways this man had tortured her sisters, how she had felt it as if he had ripped her own skin off her flesh; and Triana´s eyes that had been filled with pain and disbelieve. He had beaten her and cut into her flesh and...
She lay perfectly still, slowly breathing in and out, until the hammering of her heart calmed and she felt control coming back to her. Locking the images into a compartment of her mind that would be closed and not be opened again. She was Mord Sith. She wouldn´t allow a dream to chase her.
When her eyes shot open, no one would have noticed the agitation she had felt just a moment before.
Looking up at the moon she considered it had only been a handful candle marks since they had settled for the night. Though, as much as it concerned Cara it had been sufficient to refresh her.. She exhaled deeply and rose, always aware of the confessed man who watched her from behind the low crackling fire.
The moment she approached the sleeping Confessor he stood up immediately, an alarmed expression on his face. The Mord Sith ignored him; intending to wake the brunette to break camp and leave. Though, the moment she raised her foot, ready to nudge the brunette in her rips, she suddenly paused.
For a fleeting moment it felt as though she could feel Triana´s hair brushing against her cheek as she whispered into her ear.
„Kill her! Before she will kill you!“
Staring down at the sleeping woman, her eyes sweeping over that pale face, regarding the thick wave of dark tresses that framed her head and put a softness to her features she hadn´t seen while she´d been awake, the blonde found herself reluctant to listen to Triana´s voice:
„She is a Confessor. You are just a tool for her own selfish reasons; once it´s over? She will kill you without giving it a second thought. You cannot work with a Confessor. You know that! She can´t be trusted!“
Cara chewed on her bottom lip. She was used to quick and smart killing. She would never risk her own life by sparing that of another. And this sleeping woman, Kahlan Amnell, the Mother Confessor herself; was just one of many Confessors she had met before. All the others were dead. She had killed them in the name of Darken Rahl.
Though... in whose name should she kill this one?
Triana´s?
The blonde huffed lowly.
- It´s not her fault you are dead, Triana
It was embarrassing to defend the Mother Confessor against the words of her dead lover. Though, she thought in defiance, it was true! It was not the Confessor´s fault her sisters had been murdered.
Tilting her head she studied her face, settling on that sad frown that furrowed the brunette´s forehead even in her sleep and she thought back to this afternoon, when Kahlan Amnell could have killed her but had granted her liberty; despite the fact that she herself had been Cara´s captive for two days. And she thought about giving her word; that she wouldn´t attack, just a few hours ago...
She didn´t know why, but it felt foreign, to even think about the possibility of murdering this woman.
Once more her narrowed eyes had swept over the Confessor, admitting to herself that it would be a waste to kill this woman. Flexing her hand around her agiel she huffed and finally made her decision.
Spinning around her eyes met Haron´s glare. The man had approached her silently and now stood at arm length before her, alarmed, his hand holding his ax in a tight grip.
Raising her hands, Cara glared back at him and growled:
„I´m not going to kill her! No Worries. Just get out of my way.“
Shortly Haron hesitated, staring at her with clear hostility; but then he stepped aside and let her pass, silently watching her walking away...
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Cara had taken the road to Blackthorn, quickening her pace as she recognized a few farmhouses that told her she came closer to the village.
She still felt that unfamiliar feeling of trepidation; bubbling in her chest whenever she thought about what Haron had told her. That feeling of emptiness, anger, and some sort of pain she couldn´t assign to the many sorts of pain she knew tightening her chest...
There were no Mord Sith alive...
It had taken her half the day to finally reach the fences that surrounded the cottages at Blackthorn´s outside margin. She knew this pile of houses well. It had been in the temple´s focus for years after Darken Rahl had discovered that this small village was the root of some very annoying resistance-activities. Cara had been part of more than one punitive visits here. After all she was aware that, if anyone lived to recognize her, she probably was about to face trouble. But if she was to travel all the way to the People´s Palace she needed supplies, lots of them. And these people would give her a horse, if not voluntarily, then she would know how to convince them.
When she entered the village she walked with her back straight and her head held high. Emanating all the pride and self-confidence she owned. Though unobtrusively her eyes followed every move of the villagers she saw walking around; her gaze suspiciously traveling from one side of the street to the other, as if reckoning a sudden attack.
Only few people were out. Their eyes cast to the ground, they walked without talking or even greeting one another when their paths crossed. They just stepped aside, murmuring a low apology and hurried on. Cara observed them meticulously, waiting for any sign of bewilderment, for a shout of warning or merely hushed whispers as she walked among them. But, apparently no one seemed to attend to her visit.
Thinking about her many visits to this place her back tensed. All too well she remembered how much she had disliked this village for the defiant faces that had greeted her and her sisters when she had come to make an example in the name of her Lord Rahl. For their laughter and that incessant noise their children had made until they had gotten aware of their leathers, when sudden fear had appeared in their eyes ... Though, looking at the villagers now, observing their unobtrusive attitudes, all trying to not attract attention while they hurried their way...
Cara slowed her pace and looked around. In the streets she had always known crowded and noisy before not a single child was to be seen. As if they kept hidden in the houses, or, which was barely imaginable, as if children no longer lived in this village.
An anxious silence crawled through the streets.
Something felt damned wrong here.
Finally reaching the middle of the village Cara came to a halt and frowned. Around the corner, right in the center of the village, she had expected to find the formerly well known store, that old and scruffy hut, that had belonged to the fat village mayor then.
Though, what erupted where she had thought to get her supplies had nothing in common with the village store she remembered.
Where formerly the shabby kiosk had been there was a new building, much bigger then the one she had known, with simple but detailed ornaments on its reddish stone-walls; ornaments she didn´t recognize at all. Though, looking closer, she thought them somewhat familiar. A few large windows under wooden arcs decorated the upper floor; while the lower level, which barely reached above the ground, had thick iron bars in two low, semicircular holes in the wall at both sides of the building she could oversee. Apparently they led into dark rooms that lay behind them; rooms, where, in her estimation, hardly ever full sun light would be seen. She saw a few arms reaching through the bars, winking at any person walking by, as if trying to grab them and ask for help. Though, none of the few villagers in this street seemed to pay attention. Instead they seemed to shrink even further and clearly avoided to look at the building.
Cara heard whispered shouts, suppressed noises which she knew all too well. Tortured men made such noises; when they were whining and begging for their tormenters to release them; to either stop their pain or free them by finally killing them.
A deep frown settled on her features as she regarded the building.
A prison? In this small village?
Well... This wasn´t what she had expected. And looking around she suddenly felt extremely aware of her own peculiarity in this place. Her leathers as much as nearly everything about her demeanor was literally calling out to the folks around her. Her eyes narrowed on the uniformed men standing watch at the stairs that led to the entrance of the building. It seemed they hadn´t noticed her yet. Carefully she shifted and deftly slipped into the shadows of the nearest hut to take a moment to consider her options.
When that warning tingling in her neck made her turn her eyebrow rose as she noticed a boy on the other side of the street, leaning against the wall of a cottage and regarding her with blank curiosity. He was just a lanky boy, maybe 13 years old, unruly dark curls falling over his face and deep dark eyes, staring at her as if trying to drill into her mind, were filled with presumptuousness. He had his lips pursed disparagingly and Cara´s frown deepened. His whole attitude expressed something that was close to disdain.
The Mord Sith straightened proudly, giving him her most intimidating glare, which finally seemed to make him turn around and run away - right towards the stairs that led into the main building. She saw him running upstairs, taking two steps at once.
Staring after him the Mord Sith took a deep breath and slowly let it out again. She didn´t like it, but it was very likely that in a few moments this boy would be blabbing her visit.
Deciding that this was neither the place nor the time to debate her case with any Tom, Dick or Harry, she retreated, warily watching her surroundings, and left the village.
Maybe she would find supplies and a horse in one of the farmhouses that lay stray on her way to D´Hara.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Her plan was to follow the main road for a while until she could use the Valley of Gloom to cut around the official four-week-route. The way through the valley was hard, and depending on the current weather situation it was dangerous, due to a few thin rivulets that could easily increase into a torrent if enough rain poured down; and beside that there were some wild beasts living down there. Very few people ever dared to cross it. But Cara had done it before; all she needed was an ounce of fortune to help her through.
Though, apparently, this ounce of fortune didn´t come to her that easily...
She had made only half a league when she could hear the sound of galloping hoofs approaching from behind. Pretending not to be concerned she stepped to the side to let them pass, without slowing down or paying attention at who they were. Quickly she found herself surrounded by a dozen men, and the thirteenth, remaining aloof, was the boy she had seen in the village. The sneer on his face added to the gleeful glance he gave her as he looked down at her from his saddle.
“You!There!”
The man calling was just on the edge of being a man, maybe in his seventeenth year, his hair short and shining fire-red, his pale face that of a pubescent boy with first shadows of a manly beard. His stinging blue glance was locked on her figure instead of her eyes as she looked up at him, while her hand settled on her agiel. She saw his tongue darting out and over his lips while he mustered her, leering at her breasts with such a hungry gaze that she knew he was already ripping her leathers off in his mind.
Raising her chin and suppressing the urge for an annoyed eye roll she waited for him to focus on her gaze, eying him from under her lashes, and covertly shooting side-glances at his companions as they moved in an almost circle around her.
Twelve.
And they naturally arranged in groups of four. One in front of her, one to the side of the street and one in her back.
Quads! Something she was familiar with. Yet did not appreciate. And nothing that was to be expected from the militia of an ordinary village. Quickly gauging their positions she found she could easily bring six or even seven of them down. But, if they were well trained they would overwhelm her at last.
“What do you want?”
“You´ve been to my town and didn´t announce your presence. Strangers are to be registered. That´s law!” His voice still wanted to hitch with mutation. Though he managed to sound annoyed and a little angry, as if she had wounded his personal pride by not presenting herself to him at Blackthorne.
The Mord Sith tilted her head, still surrepticiously observing the men around her, considering her answer; then tried to keep her voice calm as she slowly retorted:
“I had just lost my way. I... apologize... if I hurt someone by leaving without saying hello.”
The hint of scorn in her voice did not go unnoticed.
“Law says that you are to be registered. Profanity! ...will be punished.”
“No offense meant.”
He sneered. And thus looked like the boy he still was.
“Obviously you have no idea what an offense might be. Look at yourself! Only a slut would present herself in leathers that wrap so tightly around her curves. Are you?A slut?”
To her left a man snickered at his words. There lay an insolent deliberate provocation in his voice that caused heat rising in her chest. The heat of anger. But still she kept her calm demeanor, though her eyes narrowed into slits.
“Where I come from, one would know what these leathers mean. Though, I´ll bear with you; boys like you often lack an adequate sophistication...” she almost purred, shifting and arranging herself with her back to the trees, so that the Quads were now at both her sides and their leader with his men in front of her.
His cheeks turned red. He glared at her and winked the men to dismount their horses with an irate voice:
“Take her!” His eyes raked over her body as he added: “But don´t kill her. I will show her... what being a slut means...” and with a short nod he released his waiting men...
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
They assailed her from three sides. Cara was quick as lightning, spinning around and dealing forceful blows with her agiel. Striking with a certainty that attested a unique fighting-experience, born from years after years filled with battles for the Lord Rahl. Her attackers hadn´t anticipated her skills, so their first rush inevitably led to their first losses: The one who tried to hit her arm with his sword yelled once in pain before he coughed blood and fell, her agiel pressing into his lungs until they burst. Turning around she kicked a second one into his chest, sending him flying into his pal who just tried to get a grip on her weapon-arm. She easily changed the agiel from her right hand to the left and swung it into the throat of a third attacker, felling him and quickly snatching his sword from his numb fist. It sparkled with the sun light reflecting from its blade as she swung it in a wild circle and forced her attackers to step back. They assaulted her again; though, not used to a weapon like hers, they seemed to not feel fear and most of them ran blindly into its humming bite. And where the agiel was not reaching far enough Cara knew how to handle the sword just as perfectly. She fought with ferocious resolve, knowing, in the end she would lose...
Soon she had six of her attackers lying at her feet; their dead eyes staring into the nothing, while the ground around her was soaked with their blood. Though she too had to pay tribute to the fight, panting heavily and bleeding from a wound at her temple.
Those who had felt her weapon´s touch for the first time and survived howled in pain and shock. And the cruel sneer on her lips, increasing with every blow she dealt, fueled their sudden caution as they slowed down and retreated a few steps to estimate their situation.
Impatiently the redhead forced them back into the fight:
“Won´t you dare to retreat. Get her I said! ” His voice almost toppled into a screech. And his men followed his order, though, this time they charged her all at once. She had no chance. As she went down on her knee to stab one in his chest another managed to almost break her arm that swung the sword against his fellows. It clattered to the ground and Cara hissed in frustration. She knew she had lost...
She managed to kill two more before a massive blow to her head sent her dropping to the ground. Immediately two men were upon her, kicking into her rips and finally catching her arms and roughly wrenching them behind her back. She was pushed hard, lying flat on her belly and breathing in more dust than air.
- Eight out of twelve... Damn you, Cara. Why couldn´t you just take them all...
Panting she tried to turn her head and get a glimpse at the one who had fell her from behind. It was the young boy. A child. He held a club in hands that seemed to be larger than his own body and grinned proudly as the redhead patted his shoulder.
“Well done, soldier!”
The Mord Sith closed her eyes in annoyance.
A child! ...Bringing a Mord Sith down.
This world had changed, indeed!
She coughed and spit blood, uncertain if she had bitten the inside of her cheeks or if it were from somewhere deeper in her chest. It felt like the ladder, though perhaps that was just because they had kicked her a bit too often. Another thin rivulet of blood trickled down her temple. Cara huffed.
The thought crossed her mind that it would have been smart to stay with that Confessor and her pet...
“Let me through!”
Their young leader shove his remaining men aside and, turning her around so he might look into her eyes, he stood above her and leered down at her. A brief hiss escaped her lips when he too kicked her once, but her eyes burnt with disdain as she looked up at him.
“Well done, indeed! Lost eight men against one slut... I was right before. Now you´ve proved you´re just a little boy, playing a grown-up soldier.” Her laughter dripped with scorn. And some more blood.
His eyes shot angry sparks. And she watched as wrath turned his icy glare into sheer blood lust. He grabbed the club from the boy´s hands and as he hauled off Cara sighed, knowing for certain that this strike was meant to smash her head, that it would shatter her whole existence....
Time slowed down as Cara stared at the club in his hands, watching with fascination as it swung upwards, preparing for the final blow. She couldn´t have averted her eyes if she had tried, knowing this was the last she would see. There was no room for thinking. There was no room for feeling. Except for feeling strangely aloof to the fact that her life would end.
Now.
And here.
The club just reached its highest point, pausing for a heartbeat before it would swing down on her and, holding her breath, she briefly wondered how it would feel to die for good; with no chance to be brought back by the breath of life...
And then suddenly there was a flash of white rushing past her; followed by the sudden impact of a thunder with no sound. Falling back into reality Cara ground her teeth against that brief nausea that appeared and then swept away. Looking up there was the Mother Confessor, standing tall and with her hand wrapped around the redhead´s throat, holding him tight in her grip. His eyes had flooded with darkness and he shivered, before dropping to his knees, dedication in his wide, astonished eyes, overwhelmed with the sensation of utter love and devotion. She heard him murmuring: “Command me, Mistress!”
The moment the Confessor raised her voice the blonde started breathing again. And though she rasped the words breathlessly, Cara found it were the most worldshaking words she had ever heard.
“Fight them!”
And while the redhead immediately gripped his sword to fight his own men the woman turned and looked down at her with a deep frown, thoroughly estimating the Mord Sith´condition before reaching a hand out to help her up.
“Are you hurt?”
“My pride is. The rest of me is ready to fight.”
Breathing heavily Kahlan nodded and in that same heartbeat Cara sprang to her side, causing Kahlan to jerk back appalled, before realizing the Mord Sith blocked a sword that came down on her from behind. The man at the other side of it lost his life as Cara´s agiel shattered his heart with a firm twist to his chest; and while his body slumped to the ground Kahlan raised her gaze from him to look into the blonde´s eyes, who stood close and, wearing a smug, satisfied grin turned back to her.
“Thank you!” Kahlan breathed, and all of a sudden a wide smile appeared on her face. A smile so shockingly bright, and of a beauty as Cara had never seen one before, that the blonde felt it wiping her grin from her lips, leaving her agape. Shortly there was a twitch in Cara´s eyes while a deep frown blossomed on her face.
Seeing the Mord Sith somehow dismayed really intrigued the Confessor, wondering what had caused that change in her expression. But she never received an answer, since Haron appeared at her side, shoving the redhead into sight and wheezing:
“They are all dead. This one is the last?”
Her eyes on Cara, still wondering what she had said to upset the blonde, the Confessor waved her hand; almost reluctantly she turned around... - right in time to see Haron drop to the ground unconsciously, while the young redhead pulled a knife out of his body. Gasping, Kahlan stood frozen for a heartbeat, then rushed to him, bending down and shaking him slightly.
“Haron? Dear Creator! What happened? HARON??”
Her hands were stained with blood as she pulled them back and she closed her eyes and swallowed, shaking her head and bracing herself.
“No, Haron, you are not! allowed to die! Do you hear me? Stay alive! I demand it!”
Behind her the redhead had fallen to his knees, staring at her in confusion.
“Mistress? Please, Mistress, will you forgive me? All I wanted was to please you. You said fight them...I thought I was to kill all of them. I´m sorry, Mistress, I didn´t know he belonged to you...”
His whining grew as Kahlan ignored him; until Cara shove him aside and bent beside the Confessor. With schooled hands she ripped Haron´s shirt open and leaned closer to examine the wound.
“It´s deep. I don´t think something vital is damaged but he loses to much blood.”
She shook her head and looked at the Confessor. Who, without a second thought, ripped a strip from the seem of her dress, winding it into a small ball and reaching out to press it to the wound in Haron´s side. The blonde Mord Sith watched her with a frown and finally rose, again shaking her head.
“I don´t think that necessary, Confessor. Even if he survives, we can´t wait for him to heal. Better we leave him behind...”
She meant what she said. After all, today had shown it was smarter to not be alone in this world. And as much as she disliked Confessors in general, she had to admit that the Mother Confessor was a notable woman. She was willing to continue the journey together with her.
But she wouldn´t waste her time waiting for her pet to heal. She still felt the urge to get to the People´s Palace as quick as possible.
Though, apparently that notable woman didn´t share her opinion, because she spun around to face her with a scowl.
“You want to leave him behind? To die in your place?” Her voice was an irate growl.
“He just helped. To save your life! You owe him that much! It would suit you well to at least show a hint of sympathy!”
A reprimand from anyone other then the Lord Rahl was nothing Cara appreciated. And nothing she had experienced, not in the past 10 years. And that the Mother Confessor dared to rebuke her openly fanned the flames of her anger immediately.
“No one... saved me! Actually...” she glared from narrowed eyes.
“Actually it was me who saved your life just a few seconds ago!”
Staring at her in disbelief Kahlan found herself reduced to silence; she closed her eyes and swallowed. Not willing to engage into this argument.
Wordlessly she turned towards Haron again and pressed the fabric to the wound, grinding her teeth.
“Leave if you want. Go! I will stay and help him.”
She didn´t see the eye-roll the blonde sported while huffing loudly. Pointing at the unconscious man.
“What´s wrong with you, Confessor? He´s not even suffering! You confessed him, forgotten? He´s just a hollow shell! He died the moment you laid hands on him.”
Kahlan slowly breathed in and out. Nodding twice, before murmuring.
“Yes, it´s my fault. I know that! And that´s just one more reason why I will not leave him behind...”
The blonde frowned, dumbfound, watching the Confessor pressing her lips into a thin line. And then she realized: That was guilt she felt!
The Mother Confessor felt guilty for confessing a man and stealing his soul!
Her frown deepened as she beheld the brunette. This woman was stark mad.
Why would a Confessor regret her deeds? Or feel guilty? When it was reasonable to confess a man who tried to kill you; or if only to achieve answers from his confessed mind when answers were needed? Confessors had been given that gift for reasons, so why not use it to their advantage? Where was the point in feeling guilty for something that was of avail for them?
She had known other Confessors before; many of them had tried to confess her or her sisters. Lord Rahl had lost a couple Mord Sith to their gift, never wasting a second thought to their deaths. None of these women had ever shown a feeling of regret for killing a Mord Sith or taking the soul of a man of the Dragon Corps. As none of her sisters had ever regret killing a Confessor... It was how their life was, what kept them alive: killing before been killed. Confessing before losing a fight...
This. Was ridiculous. She wouldn´t join such folly.
Her jaw tightening Cara felt her anger taking over.
And she was already ready to turn her back to them and leave, when Kahlan shifted and gave her a look.
Her shadowed blue gaze briefly swept over the Mord Sith before locking with her angry green stare; and, while frowning and scowling, ... somehow Cara felt something burning deep in her chest; she wasn´t able to escape the resigned, crestfallen expression she saw in her gaze. Though she tried.
But, fascinated by the vulnerability and puzzled by her own reaction to these eyes, she finally gave in, reached for her agiel and approached the Confessor where she sat at Haron´s side.
Dropping back to her knees she shoved her aside.
“We need to stop the bleeding.” she grunted. “Maybe that will help him enough to survive...”
And with a quick and forceful twist she pressed her weapon into Haron´s wound. The stench of scorching flesh ascended as with a hissing sound the agiel burnt its mark into the man.
Kahlan had retreated a little to allow Cara to do what was needed. Swallowing against the fetidness she watched the Mord Sith, her brows knitted. Puzzled by the sudden change in her behavior...
Just a moment before she had been sure that the woman was about to leave. When she had looked up and had seen her face there had been incomprehension, impatience and rage written all over her features...
And now she knelt there, helping a man that, she had made clear, was not worth being helped.
Kahlan´s gaze went soft as the blonde rose and scowled at her. A shy smile played on her lips and she, too, rose to her feet.
“Thank you, Cara.” she whispered.
t.b.c.
Pairing: Kahlan/Cara
Rating: PG 17
Word account: 5100
Summary: End of Season 1 - And the beginning of an unexpected future for two sworn enemies, who have to learn to have faith in each other while trying to survive in a hostile world...
Disclaimer: Nothing of LotS belongs to me (such a pity!) - no business, just fan-fun
AN: Sometimes it is just a tiny little detail that holds sway over your fate... Remember Reckoning? Cara struck Richard, who was sitting close to the edge... Well, I asked myself how things would have turned out if not Richard but Kahlan had sit first in her way when Cara arrived...
Previously: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3
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Chapter 4
In the middle of the night the Mord Sith woke up; cold sweat pooling on her skin and her hand tightening its grip around the handle of her weapon. Cara appreciated the fire her agiel forced through her muscles. The pain grounded her and allowed her to focus on where she was; to leave the dream behind. A dream in which she had watched a man who´s face had been obscured, but who was wrapped in the colors of the Lord Rahl. She gritted her teeth as she thought of the many ways this man had tortured her sisters, how she had felt it as if he had ripped her own skin off her flesh; and Triana´s eyes that had been filled with pain and disbelieve. He had beaten her and cut into her flesh and...
She lay perfectly still, slowly breathing in and out, until the hammering of her heart calmed and she felt control coming back to her. Locking the images into a compartment of her mind that would be closed and not be opened again. She was Mord Sith. She wouldn´t allow a dream to chase her.
When her eyes shot open, no one would have noticed the agitation she had felt just a moment before.
Looking up at the moon she considered it had only been a handful candle marks since they had settled for the night. Though, as much as it concerned Cara it had been sufficient to refresh her.. She exhaled deeply and rose, always aware of the confessed man who watched her from behind the low crackling fire.
The moment she approached the sleeping Confessor he stood up immediately, an alarmed expression on his face. The Mord Sith ignored him; intending to wake the brunette to break camp and leave. Though, the moment she raised her foot, ready to nudge the brunette in her rips, she suddenly paused.
For a fleeting moment it felt as though she could feel Triana´s hair brushing against her cheek as she whispered into her ear.
„Kill her! Before she will kill you!“
Staring down at the sleeping woman, her eyes sweeping over that pale face, regarding the thick wave of dark tresses that framed her head and put a softness to her features she hadn´t seen while she´d been awake, the blonde found herself reluctant to listen to Triana´s voice:
„She is a Confessor. You are just a tool for her own selfish reasons; once it´s over? She will kill you without giving it a second thought. You cannot work with a Confessor. You know that! She can´t be trusted!“
Cara chewed on her bottom lip. She was used to quick and smart killing. She would never risk her own life by sparing that of another. And this sleeping woman, Kahlan Amnell, the Mother Confessor herself; was just one of many Confessors she had met before. All the others were dead. She had killed them in the name of Darken Rahl.
Though... in whose name should she kill this one?
Triana´s?
The blonde huffed lowly.
- It´s not her fault you are dead, Triana
It was embarrassing to defend the Mother Confessor against the words of her dead lover. Though, she thought in defiance, it was true! It was not the Confessor´s fault her sisters had been murdered.
Tilting her head she studied her face, settling on that sad frown that furrowed the brunette´s forehead even in her sleep and she thought back to this afternoon, when Kahlan Amnell could have killed her but had granted her liberty; despite the fact that she herself had been Cara´s captive for two days. And she thought about giving her word; that she wouldn´t attack, just a few hours ago...
She didn´t know why, but it felt foreign, to even think about the possibility of murdering this woman.
Once more her narrowed eyes had swept over the Confessor, admitting to herself that it would be a waste to kill this woman. Flexing her hand around her agiel she huffed and finally made her decision.
Spinning around her eyes met Haron´s glare. The man had approached her silently and now stood at arm length before her, alarmed, his hand holding his ax in a tight grip.
Raising her hands, Cara glared back at him and growled:
„I´m not going to kill her! No Worries. Just get out of my way.“
Shortly Haron hesitated, staring at her with clear hostility; but then he stepped aside and let her pass, silently watching her walking away...
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Cara had taken the road to Blackthorn, quickening her pace as she recognized a few farmhouses that told her she came closer to the village.
She still felt that unfamiliar feeling of trepidation; bubbling in her chest whenever she thought about what Haron had told her. That feeling of emptiness, anger, and some sort of pain she couldn´t assign to the many sorts of pain she knew tightening her chest...
There were no Mord Sith alive...
It had taken her half the day to finally reach the fences that surrounded the cottages at Blackthorn´s outside margin. She knew this pile of houses well. It had been in the temple´s focus for years after Darken Rahl had discovered that this small village was the root of some very annoying resistance-activities. Cara had been part of more than one punitive visits here. After all she was aware that, if anyone lived to recognize her, she probably was about to face trouble. But if she was to travel all the way to the People´s Palace she needed supplies, lots of them. And these people would give her a horse, if not voluntarily, then she would know how to convince them.
When she entered the village she walked with her back straight and her head held high. Emanating all the pride and self-confidence she owned. Though unobtrusively her eyes followed every move of the villagers she saw walking around; her gaze suspiciously traveling from one side of the street to the other, as if reckoning a sudden attack.
Only few people were out. Their eyes cast to the ground, they walked without talking or even greeting one another when their paths crossed. They just stepped aside, murmuring a low apology and hurried on. Cara observed them meticulously, waiting for any sign of bewilderment, for a shout of warning or merely hushed whispers as she walked among them. But, apparently no one seemed to attend to her visit.
Thinking about her many visits to this place her back tensed. All too well she remembered how much she had disliked this village for the defiant faces that had greeted her and her sisters when she had come to make an example in the name of her Lord Rahl. For their laughter and that incessant noise their children had made until they had gotten aware of their leathers, when sudden fear had appeared in their eyes ... Though, looking at the villagers now, observing their unobtrusive attitudes, all trying to not attract attention while they hurried their way...
Cara slowed her pace and looked around. In the streets she had always known crowded and noisy before not a single child was to be seen. As if they kept hidden in the houses, or, which was barely imaginable, as if children no longer lived in this village.
An anxious silence crawled through the streets.
Something felt damned wrong here.
Finally reaching the middle of the village Cara came to a halt and frowned. Around the corner, right in the center of the village, she had expected to find the formerly well known store, that old and scruffy hut, that had belonged to the fat village mayor then.
Though, what erupted where she had thought to get her supplies had nothing in common with the village store she remembered.
Where formerly the shabby kiosk had been there was a new building, much bigger then the one she had known, with simple but detailed ornaments on its reddish stone-walls; ornaments she didn´t recognize at all. Though, looking closer, she thought them somewhat familiar. A few large windows under wooden arcs decorated the upper floor; while the lower level, which barely reached above the ground, had thick iron bars in two low, semicircular holes in the wall at both sides of the building she could oversee. Apparently they led into dark rooms that lay behind them; rooms, where, in her estimation, hardly ever full sun light would be seen. She saw a few arms reaching through the bars, winking at any person walking by, as if trying to grab them and ask for help. Though, none of the few villagers in this street seemed to pay attention. Instead they seemed to shrink even further and clearly avoided to look at the building.
Cara heard whispered shouts, suppressed noises which she knew all too well. Tortured men made such noises; when they were whining and begging for their tormenters to release them; to either stop their pain or free them by finally killing them.
A deep frown settled on her features as she regarded the building.
A prison? In this small village?
Well... This wasn´t what she had expected. And looking around she suddenly felt extremely aware of her own peculiarity in this place. Her leathers as much as nearly everything about her demeanor was literally calling out to the folks around her. Her eyes narrowed on the uniformed men standing watch at the stairs that led to the entrance of the building. It seemed they hadn´t noticed her yet. Carefully she shifted and deftly slipped into the shadows of the nearest hut to take a moment to consider her options.
When that warning tingling in her neck made her turn her eyebrow rose as she noticed a boy on the other side of the street, leaning against the wall of a cottage and regarding her with blank curiosity. He was just a lanky boy, maybe 13 years old, unruly dark curls falling over his face and deep dark eyes, staring at her as if trying to drill into her mind, were filled with presumptuousness. He had his lips pursed disparagingly and Cara´s frown deepened. His whole attitude expressed something that was close to disdain.
The Mord Sith straightened proudly, giving him her most intimidating glare, which finally seemed to make him turn around and run away - right towards the stairs that led into the main building. She saw him running upstairs, taking two steps at once.
Staring after him the Mord Sith took a deep breath and slowly let it out again. She didn´t like it, but it was very likely that in a few moments this boy would be blabbing her visit.
Deciding that this was neither the place nor the time to debate her case with any Tom, Dick or Harry, she retreated, warily watching her surroundings, and left the village.
Maybe she would find supplies and a horse in one of the farmhouses that lay stray on her way to D´Hara.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Her plan was to follow the main road for a while until she could use the Valley of Gloom to cut around the official four-week-route. The way through the valley was hard, and depending on the current weather situation it was dangerous, due to a few thin rivulets that could easily increase into a torrent if enough rain poured down; and beside that there were some wild beasts living down there. Very few people ever dared to cross it. But Cara had done it before; all she needed was an ounce of fortune to help her through.
Though, apparently, this ounce of fortune didn´t come to her that easily...
She had made only half a league when she could hear the sound of galloping hoofs approaching from behind. Pretending not to be concerned she stepped to the side to let them pass, without slowing down or paying attention at who they were. Quickly she found herself surrounded by a dozen men, and the thirteenth, remaining aloof, was the boy she had seen in the village. The sneer on his face added to the gleeful glance he gave her as he looked down at her from his saddle.
“You!There!”
The man calling was just on the edge of being a man, maybe in his seventeenth year, his hair short and shining fire-red, his pale face that of a pubescent boy with first shadows of a manly beard. His stinging blue glance was locked on her figure instead of her eyes as she looked up at him, while her hand settled on her agiel. She saw his tongue darting out and over his lips while he mustered her, leering at her breasts with such a hungry gaze that she knew he was already ripping her leathers off in his mind.
Raising her chin and suppressing the urge for an annoyed eye roll she waited for him to focus on her gaze, eying him from under her lashes, and covertly shooting side-glances at his companions as they moved in an almost circle around her.
Twelve.
And they naturally arranged in groups of four. One in front of her, one to the side of the street and one in her back.
Quads! Something she was familiar with. Yet did not appreciate. And nothing that was to be expected from the militia of an ordinary village. Quickly gauging their positions she found she could easily bring six or even seven of them down. But, if they were well trained they would overwhelm her at last.
“What do you want?”
“You´ve been to my town and didn´t announce your presence. Strangers are to be registered. That´s law!” His voice still wanted to hitch with mutation. Though he managed to sound annoyed and a little angry, as if she had wounded his personal pride by not presenting herself to him at Blackthorne.
The Mord Sith tilted her head, still surrepticiously observing the men around her, considering her answer; then tried to keep her voice calm as she slowly retorted:
“I had just lost my way. I... apologize... if I hurt someone by leaving without saying hello.”
The hint of scorn in her voice did not go unnoticed.
“Law says that you are to be registered. Profanity! ...will be punished.”
“No offense meant.”
He sneered. And thus looked like the boy he still was.
“Obviously you have no idea what an offense might be. Look at yourself! Only a slut would present herself in leathers that wrap so tightly around her curves. Are you?A slut?”
To her left a man snickered at his words. There lay an insolent deliberate provocation in his voice that caused heat rising in her chest. The heat of anger. But still she kept her calm demeanor, though her eyes narrowed into slits.
“Where I come from, one would know what these leathers mean. Though, I´ll bear with you; boys like you often lack an adequate sophistication...” she almost purred, shifting and arranging herself with her back to the trees, so that the Quads were now at both her sides and their leader with his men in front of her.
His cheeks turned red. He glared at her and winked the men to dismount their horses with an irate voice:
“Take her!” His eyes raked over her body as he added: “But don´t kill her. I will show her... what being a slut means...” and with a short nod he released his waiting men...
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
They assailed her from three sides. Cara was quick as lightning, spinning around and dealing forceful blows with her agiel. Striking with a certainty that attested a unique fighting-experience, born from years after years filled with battles for the Lord Rahl. Her attackers hadn´t anticipated her skills, so their first rush inevitably led to their first losses: The one who tried to hit her arm with his sword yelled once in pain before he coughed blood and fell, her agiel pressing into his lungs until they burst. Turning around she kicked a second one into his chest, sending him flying into his pal who just tried to get a grip on her weapon-arm. She easily changed the agiel from her right hand to the left and swung it into the throat of a third attacker, felling him and quickly snatching his sword from his numb fist. It sparkled with the sun light reflecting from its blade as she swung it in a wild circle and forced her attackers to step back. They assaulted her again; though, not used to a weapon like hers, they seemed to not feel fear and most of them ran blindly into its humming bite. And where the agiel was not reaching far enough Cara knew how to handle the sword just as perfectly. She fought with ferocious resolve, knowing, in the end she would lose...
Soon she had six of her attackers lying at her feet; their dead eyes staring into the nothing, while the ground around her was soaked with their blood. Though she too had to pay tribute to the fight, panting heavily and bleeding from a wound at her temple.
Those who had felt her weapon´s touch for the first time and survived howled in pain and shock. And the cruel sneer on her lips, increasing with every blow she dealt, fueled their sudden caution as they slowed down and retreated a few steps to estimate their situation.
Impatiently the redhead forced them back into the fight:
“Won´t you dare to retreat. Get her I said! ” His voice almost toppled into a screech. And his men followed his order, though, this time they charged her all at once. She had no chance. As she went down on her knee to stab one in his chest another managed to almost break her arm that swung the sword against his fellows. It clattered to the ground and Cara hissed in frustration. She knew she had lost...
She managed to kill two more before a massive blow to her head sent her dropping to the ground. Immediately two men were upon her, kicking into her rips and finally catching her arms and roughly wrenching them behind her back. She was pushed hard, lying flat on her belly and breathing in more dust than air.
- Eight out of twelve... Damn you, Cara. Why couldn´t you just take them all...
Panting she tried to turn her head and get a glimpse at the one who had fell her from behind. It was the young boy. A child. He held a club in hands that seemed to be larger than his own body and grinned proudly as the redhead patted his shoulder.
“Well done, soldier!”
The Mord Sith closed her eyes in annoyance.
A child! ...Bringing a Mord Sith down.
This world had changed, indeed!
She coughed and spit blood, uncertain if she had bitten the inside of her cheeks or if it were from somewhere deeper in her chest. It felt like the ladder, though perhaps that was just because they had kicked her a bit too often. Another thin rivulet of blood trickled down her temple. Cara huffed.
The thought crossed her mind that it would have been smart to stay with that Confessor and her pet...
“Let me through!”
Their young leader shove his remaining men aside and, turning her around so he might look into her eyes, he stood above her and leered down at her. A brief hiss escaped her lips when he too kicked her once, but her eyes burnt with disdain as she looked up at him.
“Well done, indeed! Lost eight men against one slut... I was right before. Now you´ve proved you´re just a little boy, playing a grown-up soldier.” Her laughter dripped with scorn. And some more blood.
His eyes shot angry sparks. And she watched as wrath turned his icy glare into sheer blood lust. He grabbed the club from the boy´s hands and as he hauled off Cara sighed, knowing for certain that this strike was meant to smash her head, that it would shatter her whole existence....
Time slowed down as Cara stared at the club in his hands, watching with fascination as it swung upwards, preparing for the final blow. She couldn´t have averted her eyes if she had tried, knowing this was the last she would see. There was no room for thinking. There was no room for feeling. Except for feeling strangely aloof to the fact that her life would end.
Now.
And here.
The club just reached its highest point, pausing for a heartbeat before it would swing down on her and, holding her breath, she briefly wondered how it would feel to die for good; with no chance to be brought back by the breath of life...
And then suddenly there was a flash of white rushing past her; followed by the sudden impact of a thunder with no sound. Falling back into reality Cara ground her teeth against that brief nausea that appeared and then swept away. Looking up there was the Mother Confessor, standing tall and with her hand wrapped around the redhead´s throat, holding him tight in her grip. His eyes had flooded with darkness and he shivered, before dropping to his knees, dedication in his wide, astonished eyes, overwhelmed with the sensation of utter love and devotion. She heard him murmuring: “Command me, Mistress!”
The moment the Confessor raised her voice the blonde started breathing again. And though she rasped the words breathlessly, Cara found it were the most worldshaking words she had ever heard.
“Fight them!”
And while the redhead immediately gripped his sword to fight his own men the woman turned and looked down at her with a deep frown, thoroughly estimating the Mord Sith´condition before reaching a hand out to help her up.
“Are you hurt?”
“My pride is. The rest of me is ready to fight.”
Breathing heavily Kahlan nodded and in that same heartbeat Cara sprang to her side, causing Kahlan to jerk back appalled, before realizing the Mord Sith blocked a sword that came down on her from behind. The man at the other side of it lost his life as Cara´s agiel shattered his heart with a firm twist to his chest; and while his body slumped to the ground Kahlan raised her gaze from him to look into the blonde´s eyes, who stood close and, wearing a smug, satisfied grin turned back to her.
“Thank you!” Kahlan breathed, and all of a sudden a wide smile appeared on her face. A smile so shockingly bright, and of a beauty as Cara had never seen one before, that the blonde felt it wiping her grin from her lips, leaving her agape. Shortly there was a twitch in Cara´s eyes while a deep frown blossomed on her face.
Seeing the Mord Sith somehow dismayed really intrigued the Confessor, wondering what had caused that change in her expression. But she never received an answer, since Haron appeared at her side, shoving the redhead into sight and wheezing:
“They are all dead. This one is the last?”
Her eyes on Cara, still wondering what she had said to upset the blonde, the Confessor waved her hand; almost reluctantly she turned around... - right in time to see Haron drop to the ground unconsciously, while the young redhead pulled a knife out of his body. Gasping, Kahlan stood frozen for a heartbeat, then rushed to him, bending down and shaking him slightly.
“Haron? Dear Creator! What happened? HARON??”
Her hands were stained with blood as she pulled them back and she closed her eyes and swallowed, shaking her head and bracing herself.
“No, Haron, you are not! allowed to die! Do you hear me? Stay alive! I demand it!”
Behind her the redhead had fallen to his knees, staring at her in confusion.
“Mistress? Please, Mistress, will you forgive me? All I wanted was to please you. You said fight them...I thought I was to kill all of them. I´m sorry, Mistress, I didn´t know he belonged to you...”
His whining grew as Kahlan ignored him; until Cara shove him aside and bent beside the Confessor. With schooled hands she ripped Haron´s shirt open and leaned closer to examine the wound.
“It´s deep. I don´t think something vital is damaged but he loses to much blood.”
She shook her head and looked at the Confessor. Who, without a second thought, ripped a strip from the seem of her dress, winding it into a small ball and reaching out to press it to the wound in Haron´s side. The blonde Mord Sith watched her with a frown and finally rose, again shaking her head.
“I don´t think that necessary, Confessor. Even if he survives, we can´t wait for him to heal. Better we leave him behind...”
She meant what she said. After all, today had shown it was smarter to not be alone in this world. And as much as she disliked Confessors in general, she had to admit that the Mother Confessor was a notable woman. She was willing to continue the journey together with her.
But she wouldn´t waste her time waiting for her pet to heal. She still felt the urge to get to the People´s Palace as quick as possible.
Though, apparently that notable woman didn´t share her opinion, because she spun around to face her with a scowl.
“You want to leave him behind? To die in your place?” Her voice was an irate growl.
“He just helped. To save your life! You owe him that much! It would suit you well to at least show a hint of sympathy!”
A reprimand from anyone other then the Lord Rahl was nothing Cara appreciated. And nothing she had experienced, not in the past 10 years. And that the Mother Confessor dared to rebuke her openly fanned the flames of her anger immediately.
“No one... saved me! Actually...” she glared from narrowed eyes.
“Actually it was me who saved your life just a few seconds ago!”
Staring at her in disbelief Kahlan found herself reduced to silence; she closed her eyes and swallowed. Not willing to engage into this argument.
Wordlessly she turned towards Haron again and pressed the fabric to the wound, grinding her teeth.
“Leave if you want. Go! I will stay and help him.”
She didn´t see the eye-roll the blonde sported while huffing loudly. Pointing at the unconscious man.
“What´s wrong with you, Confessor? He´s not even suffering! You confessed him, forgotten? He´s just a hollow shell! He died the moment you laid hands on him.”
Kahlan slowly breathed in and out. Nodding twice, before murmuring.
“Yes, it´s my fault. I know that! And that´s just one more reason why I will not leave him behind...”
The blonde frowned, dumbfound, watching the Confessor pressing her lips into a thin line. And then she realized: That was guilt she felt!
The Mother Confessor felt guilty for confessing a man and stealing his soul!
Her frown deepened as she beheld the brunette. This woman was stark mad.
Why would a Confessor regret her deeds? Or feel guilty? When it was reasonable to confess a man who tried to kill you; or if only to achieve answers from his confessed mind when answers were needed? Confessors had been given that gift for reasons, so why not use it to their advantage? Where was the point in feeling guilty for something that was of avail for them?
She had known other Confessors before; many of them had tried to confess her or her sisters. Lord Rahl had lost a couple Mord Sith to their gift, never wasting a second thought to their deaths. None of these women had ever shown a feeling of regret for killing a Mord Sith or taking the soul of a man of the Dragon Corps. As none of her sisters had ever regret killing a Confessor... It was how their life was, what kept them alive: killing before been killed. Confessing before losing a fight...
This. Was ridiculous. She wouldn´t join such folly.
Her jaw tightening Cara felt her anger taking over.
And she was already ready to turn her back to them and leave, when Kahlan shifted and gave her a look.
Her shadowed blue gaze briefly swept over the Mord Sith before locking with her angry green stare; and, while frowning and scowling, ... somehow Cara felt something burning deep in her chest; she wasn´t able to escape the resigned, crestfallen expression she saw in her gaze. Though she tried.
But, fascinated by the vulnerability and puzzled by her own reaction to these eyes, she finally gave in, reached for her agiel and approached the Confessor where she sat at Haron´s side.
Dropping back to her knees she shoved her aside.
“We need to stop the bleeding.” she grunted. “Maybe that will help him enough to survive...”
And with a quick and forceful twist she pressed her weapon into Haron´s wound. The stench of scorching flesh ascended as with a hissing sound the agiel burnt its mark into the man.
Kahlan had retreated a little to allow Cara to do what was needed. Swallowing against the fetidness she watched the Mord Sith, her brows knitted. Puzzled by the sudden change in her behavior...
Just a moment before she had been sure that the woman was about to leave. When she had looked up and had seen her face there had been incomprehension, impatience and rage written all over her features...
And now she knelt there, helping a man that, she had made clear, was not worth being helped.
Kahlan´s gaze went soft as the blonde rose and scowled at her. A shy smile played on her lips and she, too, rose to her feet.
“Thank you, Cara.” she whispered.
t.b.c.