"And everyone just… lay down together?"

Anson diverted his eyes. "Couples often slept apart from others by being with one another under a single blanket, but they were still together with our people. In the dark, though, no one could see them.. together under a blanket."

Richard had trouble imagining such a way of life. "The whole town fit in that sleeping building? There was enough room?"

"No, there were too many of us to all sleep in one sleeping house.

There are two." Anson pointed. "There is another on the far side of the one you saw."

"Let's go have a look, then."

They moved quickly back toward the town gates, such as they were, and toward the sleeping houses. The dark street was empty. Richard didn't see anyone on the paths between buildings. What people were left in the town had apparently gone to sleep or were afraid to come out in the darkness.

A door in one of the small homes opened a crack, as if someone inside were peering out. The door opened wider and a thin figure dashed out toward them.

"Anson!" came the whispered voice.

It was a boy, in his early teens. He fell to his knees and clutched Anson's arm, kissing his hand in joy to see him.

"Anson, I am so happy that you are home! We've missed you so much. We feared for you-feared that you were murdered."

Anson grabbed the boy by his shirt and hauled him to his feet. "Bernie, I'm well and I'm happy to see you well, but you must go back in now. The men will see you. If they catch you outside…"

"Oh, please, Anson, come sleep at our house. We're so alone and afraid."

"Who?"

"Just me and my grandfather, now. Please come in and be with us."

"I can't right now. Maybe another time."

The boy peered up at Richard, then, and when he saw that he didn't recognize him shrank back.

"This is a friend of mine, Bernie-from another town." Anson squatted down beside the boy. "Please, Bernie, I will return, but you must go back inside and stay there tonight. Don't come out. We fear there might be trouble. Stay inside. Tell your grandfather my words, will you now?"

Bernie finally agreed and ran back into the dark doorway. Richard was eager to get out of the town before anyone else came out to pay their respects. If he and Anson weren't careful, they would end up attracting the attention of the soldiers.

They moved quickly the rest of the way up the street, using buildings for cover. Pressing up against the side of one at the head of the street, Richard peered around the corner at the squat daub-and-wattle sleeping house where the guards had gone. The door was open, letting soft light spill out across the ground.

"In there?" Richard whispered. "You all slept in there?"

"Yes. That is one of the sleeping houses, and beyond it the other one."

Richard thought about it for a moment. "What did you sleep on?"

"Hay. We put blankets over it, usually. We changed the hay often to keep it fresh, but these men do not bother. They sleep like animals in dusty old hay."

Richard looked out through the open gates at the fields. He looked back at the sleeping house.

"And now the soldiers all sleep in there?"

"Yes. They took the place from us. They said it was to be their barracks. Now our people-the ones still alive-must sleep wherever they can."

Richard made Anson stay put while he slipped through the shadows, out of the light of the torch, to survey the area beyond the first building. The second long structure also had soldiers inside laughing and talking. There were more men than were needed to guard such a small place, but Witherton was the gateway into Bandakar-and the gateway out.

"Come on," Richard said as he came up beside Anson, "let's get back to the others. I have an idea."

As they made their way to the gate, Richard looked up, as he often did, to check the starry sky for any sign of black-tipped races. He saw instead that the pole to each side of the gate held a body hanging by the ankles.

When Anson saw them, he paused, held frozen by the horror of the sight.

Richard laid a hand on the man's shoulder and leaned close. "Are you all right?"

Anson shook his head. "No. But I will be better when the men who come to us and do such things are dead."

CHAPTER 48

Richard didn't know if the antidote was supposed to make him feel better, but if it was, it hadn't yet done its work. As they crept through the pitch-black fields, his chest hurt with every breath he took. He paused and closed his eyes briefly against the pain of the headache caused by his gift. He wanted nothing more than to lie down, but there was no time for that. Everyone started out once more when he did, quietly making their way through the fields outside of Witherton.

It felt good, at least, to have his sword back, even if he dreaded the thought of having to draw it for fear of finding its magic was no longer there for him. Once they recovered the other two bottles of the antidote and he was rid of the poison, then maybe they could make it back to Nicci so that she could help him deal with his gift.

He tried not to worry if a sorceress could help a wizard once his gift had gone out of control, as his had. Nicci had vast experience. As soon as he reached her, she could help him. Even if she couldn't help him, he felt confident that she would at least know what he had to do in order to get the help he needed. After all, she was once a Sister of the Light; the purpose of the Sisters of the Light had been to help those with the gift to learn to control it.

"I think I see the outer wall," Kahlan said in a quiet voice.

"Yes, that's the place." Richard pointed. "There's the gate. See it?"

"I think so," she whispered back.

It was a dark night, with no moon. While the others were having difficulty seeing much of anything as they made their way through the dark, Richard was glad for the conditions. The starlight was enough for him to see by, but he didn't think it was enough to give the soldiers any help in seeing them.

As they crept closer, the sleeping house came into view through the open gate. The torch still burned outside the door to the building where the soldiers slept. Richard signaled everyone to gather around close. They all crouched low. He grabbed the shoulder of Anson's shirt and pulled him up closer yet, then did the same with Owen.

Both now carried battle-axes. Anson also carried the knife he'd earned.

The rest of the men carried the weapons they had helped finish making.

When Richard and Anson had returned to the forest clearing, Anson had told the waiting men everything that had happened. When he said that he killed the man called the weasel, Richard held his breath, not sure exactly how the men would react to hearing that one of their own had actually killed a man. There was a brief moment of astonished silence, and then spontaneous joy at the accomplishment.

Every man wanted to shake Anson's hand to congratulate him, to tell him how proud they were. At that moment, any lingering doubts Richard harbored had vanished. He had allowed the men to celebrate briefly while he waited for the night to darken, and then they had started making their way through the fields.

This was the night that Witherton gained its freedom.

Richard looked around at all the dark shapes. "All right, now, remember all the things we've told you. You must stay quiet and hold the gates steady while Anson and Owen cut the rope where they hinge. Be careful not to let the gates fall once the ropes are cut."

In the dim starlight Richard could just make out the men nodding to his instructions. Richard carefully checked the sky, looking for any sign of black-tipped races. He didn't see any. It had been a long time since they'd seen any races.