Faith of the Fallen   ::   Goodkind Terry

"You ought to be on your knees praying for the Creator to heal your wife," another man put in. "All of mankind is a wretched and undeserving lot. You ought to pray and ask the Creator's forgiveness for your evil deeds and sinfulness-that's what brought your troubles on you and your woman.

Instead, you want to bring your troubles among honest working folks. You've no right to try to force your sinful troubles on us. That's not what the Creator wants. You should be thinking of us. The Creator wants you to be humble and to help others-that's why He struck her down: to teach you both a lesson."

"Did he tell you this, Albert?" Richard asked. "Does this Creator of yours come to talk with you about his intentions and confide in you his wishes?"

"He talks to anyone who has the proper modest attitude to listen to Him," Albert fumed.

"Besides," another man spoke up, "this Imperial Order you warn about has some good things to be said for it. If you weren't so bullheaded, Richard, you'd see that. There's nothing wrong with wanting to see everyone treated decent. It's only being fair minded. It's only right. Those are the Creator's wishes, you've got to admit, and that's what the Imperial Order teaches, too. If you can't see that much good in the Order-well then, you'd best be gone, and soon."

Kahlan held her breath.

In an ominous tone of voice, Richard said, "So be it."

These were men Richard knew; he had addressed them by name and reminded them of years and deeds shared. He had been patient with them. Patience finally exhausted, he had reached intolerance.

Horses snorted and stomped, their leather tack creaking, as the men mounted up. "In the morning we'll be back to burn this place down. We'd better not catch you or yours anywhere near here, or you'll burn with it."

After a few last curses, the men raced away. The sound of departing hooves hammering the ground rumbled through Kahlan's back. Even that hurt.

She smiled a small smile for Richard, even if he couldn't see it. She wished only that he had not begged on her behalf; he would never, she knew, have begged for anything for himself.

Light splashed across the wall as the blanket over the doorway was thrown back. By the direction and quality of the light, Kahlan guessed it had to be somewhere in the middle of a thinly overcast day. Richard appeared beside her, his tall form towering over her, throwing a slash of shadow across her middle.

He wore a black, sleeveless undershirt, without his shirt or magnificent gold and black tunic, leaving his muscular arms bare.