The bloodred light of day’s death oozed through the bones of trees lining the spine of the next ridge. Her green-eyed gaze left the well-hidden places where outposts of sentries were stationed. They were too far apart, she noted, or she would not be standing unnoticed where she was. She tallied the men in rank upon rank of tents marching up the valley floor below. Five thousand would be generous, she concluded.

Horses were picketed to her left, near supply wagons all neatly lined up. To the far side of the valley, latrines had been dug in the snow. Cook wagons stationed between the men and the supply wagons were packing up for the night. Colorful battle flags flew over the command tents. It was probably the most orderly army she had ever seen afield. Galeans did have a penchant for order.

“They look very nice,” Chandalen said in a quiet voice, “for men about to be slaughtered.” The two brothers gave nervous chuckles of agreement.

Kahlan nodded absently. That morning, they had seen the army these men were chasing. They were not neat. They were not orderly. They were not pretty. And their sentries were not stationed too far apart. Still, Chandalen and the two brothers had managed to get her close enough to see what she had wanted to see, and to take a tally.

She had guessed their numbers at fifty thousand. And that was not being generous.

She let out a long breath, its thin, white cloud drifting away in the cold air. “I have to stop this.” She hiked her pack and bow up on her back. “Let’s get down there.”

Chandalen, Prindin, and Tossidin followed behind as she slogged down the hillside of fluffy snow. It had taken her longer than she had hoped to catch these men. A blizzard high in Jara Pass had left the four of them holed up in the shelter of a wayward pine for two days. Wayward pines always reminded Kahlan of Richard, and as she had lain in her fur mantle, listening to the howl of the wind, she had dreamed of him while she slept, and while she was awake.

She was furious that she had to lose valuable time on the way to Aydindril to stop this army from their suicide pursuit—of the forces that had destroyed Ebinissia, but as the Mother Confessor she couldn’t allow nearly five thousand men to die to no purpose. She had to stop them before they got close to the army that had plundered Ebinissia. They were too close now. They would surely make contact by the next day.

The army sprang to alert as the four figures in white wolf-pelt mantles marched toward them. Shouts erupted, and were repeated back through the ranks. Tent flaps were flung open and men poured out. Swords were drawn, sending the ring of steel into the cold, twilight air. Men with spears came running through the snow. Men with bows took up positions, nocking arrows. A wall of several hundred men put themselves between her and the command tents. More were coming at a run, pulling on clothes, shouting to others still in their tents.

Kahlan and the three men with her came to a halt. She stood tall and still. Behind her, Chandalen, Prindin, and Tossidin leaned lazily on their spears.

A man of rank tumbled out of the largest tent as he pulled on a heavy, brown coat. He made his way through the wall of men, shouting at the archers to hold their arrows. He was joined by two others of rank as he stumbled through the line of defenders. She recognized his rank as he approached. He was the captain. The two men with him, one to each side, were lieutenants.

When he drew himself to a panting halt before her, she let the hood of her mantle drop back. Her long hair fell across the white fur.

“What is the…” The captain’s eyes went suddenly wide. He and the two lieutenants collapsed to a knee.

Every man as far as she could see fell to his knees. Every head bowed. The rustle of wool, the creek of leather, and the clang of steel fell silent. The three men with her cast one another glances of wonder; they had never seen the Mother Confessor greeted by anyone but Mud People before. The only sound was the slow creak of branches in the cold breeze.

“Rise, my children.”

Accompanied by the renewed racket of movement, all came to their feet. The captain stood and gave her a smart bow, from the waist. He came up with a proud smile.

“Mother Confessor, what an honor!”

Kahlan stared in disbelief at his square jaw, his wavy light brown hair, his clear, blue eyes, his young, handsome face.

“You’re a child,” she whispered. She looked around to the hundreds, the thousands, of young, bright eyes all fixed on her. She blinked at them. She could feel the blood going to her face.

Her fists tightened as she shook with rage. “You’re children! You’re all children!”

The captain glanced back to his men with an embarrassed expression bordering on hurt. “Mother Confessor, we’re new recruits, but we’re all soldiers of the Galean army.”

“You are all children,” she whispered. “Children!”

Silence swept over the gathered recruits. Most looked to be fifteen or sixteen years. The captain and his two lieutenants shifted their weight and hung their heads. Some of the men couldn’t help staring openly at Chandalen, Prindin, and Tos-sidin. They had never seen anyone like them before.

Kahlan grabbed the captain’s lapels and began dragging him off. She growled to the two lieutenants. “You two come along with us.” She glared over their heads. “Everyone go back to what you were doing!”

There was a rattle of swords being returned to scabbards and arrows to quivers as she dragged the captain out of earshot of his men. When she reached the trees, she pulled him toward a log and released him with an angry shove.

Kahlan flopped down on a snow-covered log as if it were a throne. She folded her arms. Chandalen stood to her right, Prindin and Tossidin to her left. They planted the butts of their spears and waited in silence.

She gritted her teeth. “What is your name, Captain?”

He fumbled with a brass button on his open coat. “I’m Bradley Ryan.” His blue eyes came up. “Captain Bradley Ryan, Mother Confessor.” He quickly glanced away to the man at his right. “This is Lieutenant Nolan Sloan.” He pointed to the other side. “This is Lieutenant Flin Hobson.”

“How many children do you have along with you, Captain Ryan?”

He stiffened a little. “Mother Confessor, we may be younger than you, although not by much, and you may not think highly of us, but we’re soldiers. Good soldiers.”

“Good soldiers.” She was hardly able to keep herself from screaming at him. “If you’re such good soldiers, why was I able to walk, unnoticed, through your line of sentries?” His face reddened and he made a visible effort to remain silent. “And is there a one of these good soldiers, including you three, that is beyond eighteen?” He pressed his lips tighter and shook his head. “Then I repeat, how many children do you have along with you?”

There are four and a half thousand under my command.”

“And do you know, Captain Ryan, that you are about to stumble upon a force ten times your size?”

Captain Ryan lifted an eyebrow, and a little-boy grin grew out of one side of his mouth. “We’re not about to “stumble” upon anyone, Mother Confessor. We’re about to catch them. We’ve been chasing them. I think we’ll have them tomorrow.”

She gritted her teeth anew. “Have them? Tomorrow, if I hadn’t caught up with you, young man, you and all your “men” would die. You have no idea of the army you are about to catch.”

He lifted his chin. “We know what we are chasing. We have scouts, you know. I get reports.”

Kahlan shot to her feet, thrusting her arm to the right and pointing. “There are fifty thousand men around that mountain!”

“Fifty-two thousand, and a few hundred.” He shrugged. “We’re not stupid. We know what we’re doing.”

Her arm dropped as she glared. “Oh you do, do you? And just what were you going to do once you caught them?”