Verna swallowed, afraid to meet Warren's eyes. She set the paper on the table and folded her hands in her lap to stop their trembling. She sat silently staring down, not knowing what to say.

"This is a prophecy on a true fork," Warren said, at last.

"That's an audacious statement, Warren, even for one as talented with prophecies as you. How old is this prophecy?"

"Not yet a day."

Her wide eyes came up. "What?" she whispered. "Warren, are you saying that… that it came to you? That you have at last given a prophecy?"

Warren's red eyes stared back. "Yes. I went into a kind of trance, and in this state of rapture, I had a vision of fragments of this prophecy, along with the words. That was the way it happened for Nathan, too, I believe. Remember that I told you I was beginning to understand prophecy in a way I never had before? It's through the visions that the prophecies are truly meant to be revealed."

Verna swept her hand around. "But the books hold prophecies, not visions. The words prophesy."

"The words are only a way to pass them down, and only meant to be clues thai trip the vision in one who has the gift for prophecy. All the studying the Sisters have done for the last three thousand years is only a partial understanding of them The written words were meant to pass knowledge to wizards through the visions. That's what I learned when this one came to me. It was like a door opening in my mind. All this time, and the key was right inside my own head."

"You mean you can read any of these, and have a vision that will reveal its true meaning?"

He shook his head. "I'm a child, who has taken his first step. I've a long wa> to go before I'll be vaulting over fences."

She looked at the page on the table and then glanced away as she twisted the ring around and around on her finger. "And does this one, the one that came tc you, mean what it sounds like?"

Warren licked his lips. "Like an infant's first step, which is not very steady this is not the most stable of prophecies. You might say it's son of a practice prophecy. I've found others that I think are the same sort of first attempts, like this one here — "

"Warren, is it true or not!"

He tugged his sleeves down his arms. "It's alt true, but the words, as in al! prophecies, while true, are not necessarily what they would seem."

Verna leaned close as she gritted her teeth. "Answer the question, Warren. We're in this together. I have to know."

He flipped his hand, as he often did when trying to diminish the importance of something. To Verna, though, that flip of a hand was like a flag of warning. "Look, Verna, I'll tell you what I know, what I saw in the vision, but I'm new at this, and I don't understand it all, even though it's my prophecy."

She kept a stead glare on him. "Tell me, Warren."

"The Prelate in the prophecy is not you. I don't know who it is, but it isn's you."

Vema closed her eyes as she sighed. "Warren, that's not as bad as I thought At least it's not to be me who does this terrible thing. We can work to turn this prophecy to a false fork."

Warren turned away. He stuffed the paper with his prophecy into an opened book and flopped it closed. "Verna, for someone else to be Prelate, that has to mean you will be dead."

CHAPTER 23

When his whole body suddenly flushed with the sweet agony of desire, he knew, even though he couldn't see her, that she had entered the room. His nostrils filled with her unmistakable scent, and already he ached to surrender. Like a furtive movement in the mist, he couldn't discern the essence of the threat, but somehow in the dim recesses of his awareness he knew without doubt that there was one, and the exquisite peril, too, excited him.

With the desperation of a man being stormed by an overpowering foe, he clawed for the hilt of his sword, hoping to rally his resolve and stay the hand of submission. It wasn't bared steel he sought, though, but the bared teeth of anger, a rage that would sustain him and give him the will to resist. He could do it. He had to; everything turned on this.

His hand anchored on the hilt at his belt, and he felt the flood of perfect fury coursing through his body and mind.

When Richard glanced up, he could see the approach of Ulic and Egan's heads above the knot of people before him. Even if he hadn't seen them, to see the space between them where she would be, he knew she was there. Soldiers and dignitaries began parting to make way for the two big men and their charge. Heads tilted in waves, reminding him of the rings of ripples in a pond, as they passed whispers to others. Richard recalled that the prophecies had also named him "the pebble in the pond"—the generator of ripples in the world of life.

And then he saw her.

His chest constricted with longing. She was wearing the same rose-colored silk dress that she had worn the night before, having no change of clothes with her. Richard recalled vividly how she had said she slept naked. He could feel his heart hammering.

With great effort, he struggled to put his mind to the task at hand. She looked with wide eyes at the soldiers she knew; they were her Keltish palace guard. Now, they wore D'Haran uniforms.

Richard had been up early, preparing everything. He hadn't been able to get much sleep anyway, and the sleep he had gotten had been wracked with dreams of longing.

Kahlan, my love, can you ever forgive me my dreams?

With this many D'Haran troops in Aydindril, he had known there would be supplies of all sorts available, so he had ordered spare uniforms brought out. The Keltans, being disarmed as they were, were in no position to argue, but after they had put on the dark leather and mail, and had had a chance to see how fierce they looked in the new outfits, they began to grin with approval. They were told that Kelton was now a part of D'Hara, and were given back their weapons. They stood in rank, now, proud and straight as they kept an eye on the representatives of the other lands who had yet to surrender.

As it had turned out, the bad luck of the storm that had allowed Brogan to escape had also carried good fortune as a balance; the dignitaries had wanted to wait out the foul weather before departing, so Richard had taken what the fates had offered him and had brought them back to the palace before they were to leave later that morning. Only the highest, the most important, of those officials were present. He wanted them to witness the surrender of Kelton: one of the most powerful lands of the Midlands. He wanted them to have one final lesson.

Richard stood as Cathryn started up the steps at the side of the dais, her gaze sweeping the faces watching her. Berdine stepped back to give her room. Richard had positioned the three Mord-Sith at the far ends of the platform, where they wouldn't be too close to him. He wasn't interested in anything they might have to say.

When Cathryn's brown-eyed gaze finally settled on him, he had to lock his knees to keep his legs from buckling. His left hand, gripping the hilt of his sword, was beginning to throb. He reminded himself that he didn't need to be holding the sword to command its magic and chanced removing his hand to wiggle some feeling back into his fingers while he contemplated the tasks before of him.

When the Sisters of the Light had tried to teach him to touch his Han, they had had him use a mental picture to concentrate his inner will. Richard had selected an image of the Sword of Truth to be his focus, and he had it firmly fixed in his mind, now.

But for the battle with the people gathered before him today, his sword would be of no use. Today he would need the deft maneuvers devised with the aid of General Reibisch, his officers, and knowledgeable members of the palace staff, who had also helped with the arrangements. He hoped he had it all right.