The difficulty was that yet other prophecies were linked to each branch, but when they were given it wasn't yet decided which fork would come to pass. Once resolved, any prophecy linked to the dead branch became false, too, but because it was often impossible to determine which fork many prophecies were linked to, the vaults were clogged with this dead wood.

Verna moved to the back wall and listened for time as the novices asked questions.

It was frustrating for them to learn the scope of the problems facing one trying to work with prophecy, and how many of the things they asked had no answer. Verna now knew from what Warren had told her that the Sisters had even less understanding of the prophecies than they thought.

Prophecy was really meant to be interpreted by a wizard whose gift possessed (hat aptitude. In the last thousand years, Nathan was the only wizard they had come across who had the ability to give prophecy. She now knew that he understood them in a way no Sister had ever known, except perhaps Prelate Annalina. She now knew that Warren, too, had that latent talent for prophecy.

As Sister Becky went on with an explanation of linkage through key events and chronology, Verna quietly moved off toward the back rooms where Warren usually worked, but found them all empty, and their books returned to the shelves. Verna puzzled over where to look next. It had never been difficult to find Warren, but that was because he was almost always in the vaults.

Sister Leoma met her as she was returning up the aisles between the long rows of shelves. Her advisor smiled in greeting and bowed her head of long, straight white hair, tied behind with a golden ribbon. Verna detected worry in the creases of her face.

"Good morning, Prelate. The Creator's blessing on this new day."

Verna returned the warm smile. "Thank you, Sister. A fine day it is, too. How are the novices doing?"

Leoma glanced off toward the tables with the young women sitting around it in concentration. "They will make fine Sisters. I've been observing the lessons, and there's not an inattentive one in the lot," Without returning her gaze to Vema, she asked, "Have you come to find Warren?"

Verna twisted the ring on her finger. "Yes. There were a few matters I thought to ask him check for me. Have you seen him about?"

When Leoma turned back at last, her creases had deepened into true concern. "Verna, I'm afraid Warren is not here."

"I see. Well, do you know where I could find him?"

She let out a deep breath. "What I mean, Verna, is that Warren is gone."

"Gone? What do you mean gone?"

Sister Leoma's gaze drifted away to the shadows among the shelves. "I mean he has left the palace. For good."

Verna's mouth dropped opened. "Are you sure? You must be mistaken. Perhaps you…"

Leoma smoothed back a wisp of white hair. "Verna, he came to me, night before last, and told me he was leaving."

Verna wet her lips. "Why didn't he come to me? Why wouldn't he tell the Prelate that he was leaving?"

Leoma drew her shawl tighter. "Verna, I'm sorry to have to be the one to te!l you, but he said you and he had words, and he thought that it would be for the best if he were to leave the palace. For now, at least. He made me promise that I wouldn't tell you for a couple of days so he could be away. He didn't want you coming after him."

"Coming after him!" Verna's fists tightened. "What makes him think. ." Verna's head was spinning, trying to understand, and suddenly trying to call back words that were days ago uttered. "But… did he say when he would be back? The palace needs his talent. He knows about the books down here. He can't jusi up and leave!"

Leoma glanced away again. "I'm sorry, Verna, but he's gone. He said that he didn't know when, or if, he would return. He said that he thought it would be for the best, and that you would come to see that, too."

"Did he say anything else," she whispered hopefully.

She shook her head.

"And you just let him go? Didn't you try to stop him?"

"Verna," Leoma said in a gentle tone, "Warren had his collar off. You yourself released him from his Rada'Han. We can't force a wizard to remain at the palace against his will when you've released him. He is a free man. It is his choice, noi ours."

It all came over her in an icy wave of tingling dread. She had released him. How could she expect him to remain to help her when she treated him in such a humiliating fashion? He was her friend, and she had dressed him down as if he were a first-year boy. He was not a boy. He was a man. His own man.

And now he was gone.

Verna forced herself to speak. "Thank you, Leoma, for telling me."

Leoma nodded and after giving Verna's shoulder a squeeze of reassurance, walked back toward the lessons in the distance.

Warren was gone.

Reason told her that the Sisters of the Dark might have taken him, but in her heart she could only blame herself.

Verna's faltering steps bore her to one of the little rooms, and after the stone door had closed, she sank weakly into a chair. Her head fell into her arms, and she began to weep, realizing only now how much Warren had meant to her.

CHAPTER 32

Kahlan leaped out of the wagon bed, rolling through the snow when she landed. She sprang to her feet and scrambled toward the shrieks as rocks still crashed down around her, rebounding into the trees on the low side of the narrow trail, snapping branches and thudding into the huge trunks of the old pines.

She jammed her back against the side of the wagon. "Help me!" she screamed to men already in a dead run toward her.

Arriving only seconds after her, they threw themselves up against the wagon, taking up the weight. The man cried out louder.

"Wait, wait, wait!" It sounded like they were killing him. "Just hold it there. Don't lift anymore."

The half dozen young soldiers strained to hold the wagon where it was. The rock that had piled down on top had added considerably to the burden.

"Orsk!" she called out.

"Yes, Mistress?"

Kahlan started. In the darkness, she hadn't seen the big, one-eyed D'Haran soldier standing right behind her.

"Orsk, help them hold the wagon up. Don't lift it — just hold it still." She turned to the dark trail behind as Orsk muscled his way in beside the others and clamped his massive hands onto the lower edge of the wagon. "Zedd! Somebody get Zedd! Hurry!"

Pushing her long hair back over her wolf-hide mantle, Kahlan knelt beside the young man under the axle hub. It was too dark to see how badly he was injured, but by his panting grunts, she feared it was serious. She couldn't figure out why he cried out louder when they started to lift the weight off him.

Kahlan found his hand and took it in both of hers. "Hold on, Stephens. Help's coming."

She grimaced when he crushed her hand in his grip as he let out a wail. He clutched her hand as if he were hanging from a cliff and her hand was the only thing keeping him from falling into death's dark grasp. She vowed that she would not take her hand back even if he broke it.

"Forgive me… my queen… for slowing us."

"It was an accident. It wasn't your doing." His legs squirmed in the snow. "Try 'o stay still." With her free hand, she brushed hair back from his brow. He quieted a bit at her touch, so she held the hand to the side of his icy face. “Please, Stephens, try to be still. I won't let them put the weight down on you. I promise. We'll get you out from under there in a just a moment, and the wizard will set you back to right."

She could feel him nod under her hand. No one near had a torch, and in the feeble moonlight ghosting through the thick branches she couldn't see what the problem was. It seemed that lifting the wagon caused him more pain than when it was on him.