The Sisters of the Light were sorceresses, and he had often seen the unique glaze of distant intensity in their eyes when they were joined with their Han. Sometimes, when they were enveloped in a shroud of magic, he could almost see the air about them crackle. There were Sisters who seemed to radiate an aura of such power that when they walked past him the fine hairs at the back of his neck stood on end.

Richard had seen that same look in Lunetta's eyes; she had been shrouded in her Han. What he didn't know was why — why she would be standing there, doing nothing, yet touching her Han. Sorceresses usually didn't let their Han envelop them unless it was to a purpose, the same way he usually didn't draw his sword and its attendant magic without a reason. Maybe it simply pleased her childlike temper, the way those patches of colored cloth did. Richard didn't think so.

What concerned him was that it could have been that Lunetta was trying to ascertain if he was telling the truth. He didn't know enough about magic to know for sure if that was possible, but sorceresses often seemed somehow to know if he was being truthful, making it seem that every time he told a He it couldn't have been any more obvious to them had his hair suddenly burst into flames. He hadn't wanted to take a chance, and had been careful not to be caught in a lie in front of Lunetta, especially about Kahlan being dead.

Brogan had certainly been interested in the Mother Confessor. Richard wished he could believe he was telling the truth; what he had said made enough sense. Maybe it was just his concern for Kahlan's safety that made him suspicious of everything.

"That man looks like trouble waiting to find a roost," he said aloud without intending to.

"Would you like us to clip his wings. Lord Rahl?" Berdine flicked her Agiel on the end of the chain at her wrist and caught it in her fist. She cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe something a little lower?" The other two Mord-Sith chuckled.

"No," Richard said in a tired voice. "I've given my word. I've asked them all to do something unprecedented, something that will forever change their lives. I have to do as I said I would, and give them all the chance to see that this is right, that it's for the common good, the best chance for peace."

Gratch yawned, showing his fangs, and sat down on the floor behind Richard's chair. Richard hoped the gar wasn't as tired as he was. Ulic and Egan seemed to ignore the conversation; they stood, relaxed, with their hands clasped behind their backs. They seemed to be a match for some of the pillars around the room. Their eyes were not relaxed, however; they constantly surveyed the columns, corners, and alcoves, watching, even though the huge room was empty except for the eight of them around the ornate dais.

With a meaty thumb, General Reibisch idly burnished the bulbous gold base of a lamp at the edge of the dais. "Lord Rahl, did you mean what you said about the men not taking what they've won?"

Richard looked to the general's troubled eyes. "Yes. That's the way of our enemies, and not ours. We fight for freedom, not plunder."

The general averted his eyes as he nodded his assent.

"Do you have something to say about that, General?"

"No, Lord Rahl."

Richard flopped back in his chair. "General Reibisch, I've been a woods guide since I was old enough to be trusted; I've never had to command an army before. I'll be the first to admit that I don't know much about the position I find myself in. I could use your help."

"My help? What sort of help, Lord Rahl?"

"I could use your experience. I would appreciate it if you expressed your opinion instead of holding it back and saying 'Yes, Lord Rahl. I may not agree with you, and I may get angry, but I'll never punish you for telling me what you think. If you disobey my orders, I'll replace you, but you're free to say what you think of them. That's one of the things we're fighting for."

The general clasped his hands behind his back. The muscles of his arms glistened under the chain mail, and Richard could see, too, under the rings of metal, the white scars of his rank. "D'Haran troops have a custom of plundering those we defeat. The men expect it."

"Past leaders may have tolerated it, or even encouraged it, but I will not."

His sigh was comment enough to understand. "As you wish, Lord Rahl."

Richard rubbed his temples. He had a headache from lack of sleep. "Don't you understand? This isn't about conquering lands and taking things from others; this is about fighting oppression."

The general rested a boot on the gilded rung of a chair and hooked a thumb behind his wide belt. "I don't see much difference. From my experience, the Master Rahl always thinks he knows best, and always wants to rule the world. You are your father's son. War is war. Reasons make no difference to us; we fight because we are told to, same as those on the other side. Reasons mean little to a man swinging his sword, trying to keep his head."

Richard slammed a fist to the desk. Gratch's glowing green eyes became alert. In his peripheral vision, Richard could see red leather move protectively closer.

"The men who went after the butchers of Ebinissia had a reason! That reason, and not plunder, was what sustained them and gave them the strength they needed in order to prevail. They were a detachment of five thousand Galean recruits who had never before been in battle, and yet they defeated General Riggs and his army of over fifty thousand men."

General Reibisch's heavy brow drew together. "Recruits? Surely you're mistaken, Lord Rahl. I knew Riggs; he was an experienced soldier. Those were battle-hardened troops. I've received reports from the sights of those battles; they are grisly in the detail of what happened to those men as they tried to fight their way out of the mountains. They could only have been annihilated in such a fashion by an overwhelming force."

"Then I guess Riggs wasn't as experienced a soldier as he needed to be. While you have secondhand reports, I heard the story from an unimpeachable source who was there to see it done. Five thousand men, boys, really, came upon Ebinissia after Riggs and his men were finished butchering the women and children. Those recruits pursued Riggs, and took his army down. When it was finished, less than a thousand of those young men were left standing, but not Riggs nor a single one of his force was left alive."

Richard left unsaid that without Kahlan there to teach them what needed to be done, and lead them into the first battles, directing them in the forge of combat, those recruits probably would have been ground into carrion within a day. At the same time he knew it was their commitment to see the job done that gave them the courage to listen to her, and to go up against impossible odds.

"That is the power of motivation, General. That is what men can do when they have a powerful reason, a righteous cause."

A sour expression puckered his scarred face. "D'Harans have been fighting most of their lives, and know what they're about. War is about killing; you kill them before they can kill you, that's all. Whoever wins is the one who was right.

"Reasons are the spoils of victory. When you've destroyed the enemy, then your leaders write down the reasons in books, and give moving speeches about them. If you've done your job, then there aren't any of the enemy left to dispute your leader's reasons. At least not until the next war."

Richard raked his fingers through his hair. What was he doing? What did he think he could accomplish if those fighting on his own side didn't believe in what he was trying to do?

Overhead, across the plastered ceiling of the dome, the painted figure of Magda Searus, the first Mother Confessor, Kahlan had told him, and her wizard, Merritt, looked down on him. In disapproval, it seemed.