Kahlan wished that she could believe that.

Richard finally slid his sword back into its scabbard. "Do you want to rest first, sit a bit?"

His concern for her took precedence over everything. From the first day she met him, it always had. Right then, it was his well-being that concerned her.

Using her power sapped a Confessor of strength. It had left Kahlan feeling not only weak, but, this time, nauseated. She had been named to the post of Mother Confessor, in part, because her power was so strong that she was able to recover it in hours; for others it had taken a day or sometimes two. At the thought of all those other Confessors, some of whom she'd dearly loved, being long dead, Kahlan felt the weight of hopelessness pulling her even lower.

To fully recover her strength, she would need a night's rest. At the moment, though, there were more important considerations, not the least of which was Richard.

"No," she said. "I'm all right. I can rest later. Let's ask him what you will."

Richard's gaze moved over the campsite littered with limbs, entrails, bodies. The ground was soaked with blood. The stench of it all, along with the still smoldering body beside the fire, was making Kahlan sicker by the second. She turned away from the man on his knees, toward Richard, into the protection of his arms. She was exhausted.

"And then let's get away from this place," she said. "We need to get away from here. There might be more men coming." Kahlan worried that if he had to draw the sword again, he might not have the help of its magic. "We need to find a more secure camp."

Richard nodded his agreement. He looked over her head as he held her to his chest. Despite everything, or perhaps because of everything, it felt wonderful simply to be held. She could hear Friedrich just rushing back into camp, panting as he ran. He stumbled to a halt as he let out a moan of astonishment mixed with revulsion at what he saw.

"Tom, Friedrich," Richard asked, "do you have any idea if there are any more men coming?"

"I don't think so," Tom said. "I think they were together. I caught them coming up a gully. I was going to try to make it back here to warn you, but four of them came over a rise and jumped me while the rest ran for our camp."

"I didn't see anyone, Lord Rahl," Friedrich said, catching his breath.

"I came running when I heard the yelling."

Richard acknowledged Friedrich's words with a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder. "Help Tom get the horses hitched. I don't want to spend the night here."

As the two men sprang into action, Richard turned to Jennsen.

"Please lay out some bedrolls in the back of the wagon, will you? I'd like Kahlan to be able to lie down and rest when we move out."

Jennsen patted Betty's shoulder, urging the goat to follow her. "Of course, Richard." She hurried off to the wagon, Betty trotting along close at her side.

As everyone rushed as quickly as possible to get their things together, Richard went by himself to an open patch of ground nearby to dig a shallow grave. There was no time for a funeral pyre. A lonely grave was the best they could do, but Sabar's spirit was gone, and wouldn't fault the necessity of their hurried care for his body.

Kahlan reconsidered her thought. After the letter from Nicci and learning the meaning of the warning beacon, she now had even more reason to doubt that many things, including spirits, were still true. The world of the dead was connected to the world of the living by links of magic. The veil itself was magic and said to be within those like Richard. They had learned that without magic those links themselves could fail, and that, since those other worlds couldn't exist independent of the world of life, but only existed in a relational sense to the world of life, should the links fail completely, those other worlds might very well cease to exist-much as, without the sun, the concept of daytime would not exist.

It was now clear to Kahlan that the world's hold on magic was slipping, and had been slipping for several years.

She knew the reason.

Spirits, the good and the bad, and the existence of everything else that depended on magic, might soon be lost. That meant that death would become final, in every sense of the word. It could even be that there was no longer the possibility of being with a loved one after death, or of being with the good spirits. The good spirits, even the underworld itself, might be passing into nothingness.

When Richard was finished, Tom helped him gently place Sabar's body in the ground. After Tom spoke quiet words asking the good spirits to watch over one of their own, he and Richard covered the body over.

"Lord Rahl," Tom said in a low voice when they were finished, "while some of the men began the attack on you, here, others slit the horses'

throats before joining their fellows to come after you four."

"All the horses?"

"Except mine. My draft horses are pretty big. The men were probably worried about getting trampled. They left some men to take care of me, so these here thought they had me out of the way. They probably figured they could worry about the draft horses later, after they had the rest of you."

Tom shrugged his broad shoulders. "Maybe they even planned to capture you, tie you up, and take you in the wagon."

Richard acknowledged Tom's words with a single nod. He wiped his fingers across his forehead. Kahlan thought he looked worse than she felt.

She could see that the headache had returned and was crushing him under the weight of its pain.

Tom looked around their camp, his gaze playing over the fallen men.

"What should we do with the rest of the bodies?"

"The races can have the rest of them," Richard said without hesitation.

Tom didn't look to have any disagreement with that. "I'd better go help Friedrich finish getting the horses hitched to the wagon. They'll be a handful with the scent of blood in their nostrils and the sight of the others dead."

As Tom went to see to his horses, Richard called to Cara. "Count the bodies," he told her. "We need to know the total."

"Richard," Kahlan asked in a confidential tone after Tom was out of earshot and Cara had started stepping over some of the bodies and between others, going about the task of taking a count, "what happened when you drew the sword?"

He didn't ask what she meant or try to spare her from worry.

"There's something wrong with its magic. When I drew the sword, it failed to heed my call. The men were rushing in and I couldn't delay in what I had to do. Once I met the attack, the magic finally reacted.

"It's probably due to the headaches from the gift-they must be interfering with my ability to join with the sword's magic."

"The last time you had the headaches they didn't interfere with the sword's power."

"I told you, don't let your imagination get carried away. This has only happened since I've started getting the headaches again. That has to be the reason."

Kahlan didn't know if she dared believe him, or if he really even believed it himself. He was right, though. The problem with the sword's magic had only recently developed-after he started getting the headaches.

"They're getting worse, aren't they?"

He nodded. "Come on, let's get what answers we can."

Kahlan let out a tired sigh, resigned to that part of it. They had to use this chance to find out what information was now available to them.

Kahlan turned to the man still on his knees.