The Bird Man looked to Kahlan as she translated, smiled to Scarlet, and then turned to his people. “As Richard With The Temper says, this noble dragon, Scarlet, is a friend to the Mud People. She may hunt our land, and we will bring no harm to her, nor her to us.”

Cheering erupted from the crowd. For a people to have a dragon as a friend was taken as an honor to their strength. Everyone seemed to be shouting with excitement. They waved their arms in the air and stamped around in little dances. Scarlet joined in the merriment by throwing her head back and sending a roaring column of flame skyward. The people cheered louder.

Kahlan noticed Richard glancing off to the side. She followed the direction of his gaze to a small band of hunters standing together. None of them were cheering. She recognized their leader. He was the one who had blamed Richard for bringing trouble to their village—blamed Richard for the deaths of Mud People at the hands of Darken Rahl.

As the hooting and hollering went on, Richard motioned Scarlet toward him. When she lowered her head, he put his face right in her ear. She listened to whatever he was saying and then pulled her head back, regarding him with a big yellow eye. She nodded.

Richard held out the carved bone whistle hanging from a leather thong at his neck as he turned to the Bird Man. “You gave me this as a gift, but told me it would never aid me because I could only call all the birds at once. I think maybe the good spirits wanted it that way. This gift helped me save everyone from Darken Rahl. It helped me save Kahlan. Thank you.”

The Bird Man smiled at the translation. Richard whispered in Kahlan’s ear that he would be back in a short time, and then climbed up on Scarlet.

“Honored elder, Scarlet and I would like to give you a small gift. We would like to take you up in the air, so you may see where your beloved birds fly.” He extended a hand to the Bird Man.

The elder, upon hearing the translation, looked apprehensively at Scarlet. Her vibrant red scales were glossy in the late-afternoon sun, undulating with her breathing. Her tail reached nearly to the mud-brick homes across the field. The dragon unfolded her wings and lazily stretched them. He looked at Richard, who was still offering his hand to him. A little-boy grin lit the elder’s face. It made Kahlan laugh. He clasped Richard’s arm and hoisted himself up.

Savidlin strode over and stood by Kahlan as the dragon rose into the air. The people cheered their approval as they watched the dragon lifting their honored elder into the air. Kahlan wasn’t seeing the dragon. She saw only Richard. She could hear the Bird Man laughing as Scarlet carried them up Hid away. She hoped he was still laughing after Scarlet made a turn.

Savidlin glanced at her. “He is a rare person, Richard With The Temper.”

She smiled and nodded. Her gaze went across the way, to the man who wasn’t cheering or happy. “savidlin, who is that man?”

“Chandalen. He blames Richard for Darken Rahl coming here and killing people.”

The Wizard’s First Rule came to her mind: People will believe anything. “If it wasn’t for Richard, Darken Rahl would rule us all now, the same Darken Rahl who killed those people.” Savidlin shrugged. “Not everyone who has eyes can see. Remember the elder you killed? Toffalar? That was his uncle.” She nodded absently. “ Wait here.”

Kahlan walked across the field, pulling the tie from her hair as she went. She was still dazed by the knowledge that Richard loved her and that he couldn’t be harmed by her magic. It was hardly possible to believe she, a Confessor, could ever experience love. It went against everything she had ever been taught. She just wanted to take Richard somewhere alone and kiss him and hug him until they were old.

There was no way she was going to allow this man, Chandalen, to bring any harm to Richard. Now that she and the man she loved could somehow, magically, be together, she wasn’t going to allow anything to jeopardize that.

The mere thought of anyone harming Richard brought the Blood Rage, the Con Dar, boiling up inside her. She had never known about the Con Dar before, had never known it was part of her magic, until she brought it forth when she thought Richard had been killed. Since then, she felt it within her, just as she always felt the rest of the Confessor’s magic.

With his arms folded across his chest, Chandalen watched her come. His hunters stood behind him, leaning on spears planted butt-first in the ground. Apparently, they had just returned from a hunt; their lean bodies were still smeared with sticky mud. They stood easy but alert. Bows were slung over their shoulders and quivers hung at one side of their belts, long knives at the other. There were smears of blood on some of the men. Grass tied in bands at their upper arms and around their heads helped make them invisible in the surrounding grassland when they chose to be. Kahlan stopped in front of Chandalen, looking into his dark eyes. She slapped him. “strength to Chandalen.” He pulled his glare from her, arms still folded, turned his head, and spat. His fierce eyes came back to hers. “What do you want, Confessor?”

The hunters” mud-streaked faces all took on small, tight smiles. The Mud People’s land was probably the only place where it was an insult not to be slapped. “Richard With The Temper has sacrificed more than you could ever know to save our people from Darken Rahl. Why do you hate him?”

“The two of you have brought trouble to my people. You will bring it again.”

“Our people,” she corrected. Kahlan unbuttoned the cuff of her shirt and drew the sleeve up to her shoulder. She pushed her arm up in front of his face. “Toffalar cut me. This is the scar he left as he tried to kill me. That was before I killed him. Not after. He killed himself by attacking me. I did not go after him.”

Without emotion Chandalen’s gaze rose from the scar to her eyes. “Uncle never was very good with a knife. Pity.”

Kahlan’s jaw clenched rigid. She couldn’t back down now.

She kissed the end of her fingers as she held his gaze. Reaching out, she touched the kissed fingers to his cheek where she had slapped him. The hunters broke into angry whispers, yanking their spears from the ground. Chandalen’s face twisted into a hateful glare.

This was the worst insult you could give a hunter. He had given a disrespectful slight by not slapping her. It did not admit to having no respect for her strength, only that he didn’t wish to show it if he did. By placing a kiss where she had offered a slap of respect, she had withdrawn her respect for his strength. The touch of the kiss said she had no respect for his strength and considered him no more than a foolish child. She had as much as spat on his honor publicly.

While this was a dangerous thing to do, it was more dangerous among the Mud People to show weakness to an enemy. That would be an invitation to be murdered in your sleep. Showing weakness denied you the right to face an adversary in the light. Honor required that strength be challenged openly. Since she had done this to him in the view of others, honor required any challenge from him be the same.

“From now on,” she said, “if you want my respect, you must earn it.”

Chandalen’s white-knuckled fist jerked back to his ear, preparing to strike her.

Kahlan held her chin out for him. “so You have decided to show your respect for my strength?”

His glare flicked to something behind her. His hunters flinched and reluctantly thrust the butts of their spears into the ground. Kahlan turned and saw about fifty men with drawn bows. Every arrow was leveled at Chandalen or one of his nine men.

“So,” Chandalen sneered, “you are not so strong. You must ask others to back you.”

“Lower your weapons,” she called back to the men. “No one is to raise a weapon to these men for me. No one. This is between Chandalen and me only.”