“We are short an elder,” the Bird Man announced. He turned, looking slowly to the eyes around him, then made his back straight and shoved the coyote hide against Savidlin’s chest. “I choose you.”

Savidlin put his hands around the muddy hide with the reverence due a gold crown. He gave a small, proud smile and a nod to the Bird Man.

“Do you have anything to say to our people, as their newest elder?” It was not a question, it was a command.

Savidlin walked over and turned, standing between Kahlan and Richard. He put the hide around his shoulders, beaming with pride at Weselan, and then addressed the gathered people. Kahlan looked out and realized that the whole village surrounded them.

“Most honored among us,” he addressed the Bird Man, “these two people have acted selflessly in the defense of our people. In my life, I have never witnessed anything to compare with it. They could have left us to fend for ourselves when we foolishly turned our backs on them. Instead, they have shown us what manner of people they be. They are as fine as the best of us.” Almost everyone in the crowd was nodding agreement. “I demand that you name them Mud People.”

The Bird Man smiled a small smile. The smile evaporated as he turned to the other five elders. Though he hid it well, Kahlan could see the Bird Man’s eyes flash with the ghost of his anger. “Step forward.” They gave one another sidelong glances, then did as ordered. “The demand made by Savidlin is extraordinary. It must be unanimous. Do you make the same demand?”

Savidlin strode to the archers and snatched a bow from the hands of one. He smoothly nocked an arrow while he kept his squinted eyes on the elders. He put tension to the string, locking the arrow in place with the bow hand, then stepped in front of the five. “Make the demand. Or we will have new elders who will.”

They stood grimly, facing Savidlin. The Bird Man made no movement to interfere. There was a long silence as the crowd waited, spellbound. At last, Caldus took a step forward. He put his hand on Savidlin’s bow and gently lowered its point to the ground.

“Please, Savidlin, allow us to speak from our hearts, not from the point of an arrow.”

“Speak then.” Caldus walked to Richard, stopping in front of him, looking him in the eye.

“The hardest thing for a man to do, especially an old man,” he said in a soft voice, waiting for Kahlan to translate, “is to admit he has acted foolishly, and selfishly. You have acted neither foolishly nor selfishly. The two of you are better examples of Mud People for our children than I. I demand of the Bird Man that you be named Mud People. Please, Richard With The Temper, and Mother Confessor, our people reed you.” He held his palms out in an open gesture. “If you deem me unworthy of making this demand upon your behalf, please strike me down that one better than I might make the demand.”

Head bowed, he dropped to his knees in the mud in front of Richard and Kahlan. She translated it all word for word, omitting only her title. The other four elders came and knelt beside him, adding their sincere request to that of Caldus. Kahlan sighed in relief. At last, they had what they wanted—what they needed.

Richard stood over the five men with his arms folded, looking down at the tops of their heads, saying nothing. She couldn’t understand why he wasn’t telling them it was all right, and to get to their feet. No one moved. What was he doing? What was he waiting for? It was over. Why wasn’t he acknowledging their contrition?

Kahlan could see the muscle in his jaw tighten and flex. She went cold. She recognized the look in his eyes. The anger. These men had crossed a line against him. And against her. She remembered how he had slid the sword away when he had last stood with them, this very day. It had been final, and Richard meant it. He was not thinking. He was thinking of killing.

Richard’s arms unfolded—his hand went to the hilt. The sword slid out as slowly, smoothly, as it had slid away for them the last time. The high-pitched sound of steel announced the blade’s arrival in the silent air, sending a painful shiver through her shoulders and up the back of her neck. She could see Richard’s chest beginning to heave.

Kahlan stole a glance at the Bird Man. He did not move, nor did he have any intention of moving. Richard did not know it, but under the law of the Mud People, these men were his to kill if he so wished. It was no false offer they had made. Savidlin had not been bluffing either—he would have killed them. In a blink. Strength, to the Mud People, meant the strength to kill your adversary. These men were already dead in the eyes of the village, and only Richard could give them back their lives.

Even so, their law was irrelevant—the Seeker was a law unto himself, answering ultimately to no one but himself. There was no one present who could stop this.

Richard’s knuckles were white as he held the Sword of Truth level in both hands, over the heads of the five elders. Kahlan could see the rage building in him, the hot need, the fury. The whole scene felt like a dream, a dream she could only watch helplessly, one she couldn’t stop.

Kahlan thought of all those she knew who had already died, both the innocent and those who had given their lives trying to stop Darken Rahl. Dennee, all the other Confessors, the wizards, Shar the night wisp, perhaps Zedd and Chase.

She understood.

Richard was not deciding if he should kill them, but if he dared let them live.

Could he trust these men with his chance of stopping Rahl, trust that they were sincere? Could Richard trust them with his life? Or should he have a new council of elders, ones who might be more intent on his success?

If he couldn’t trust these men to send him in the right direction against Rahl, he would have to kill them and have ones he thought would be on his side. Stopping Rahl was all that mattered. The lives of these men must be forfeited if there was a chance they would jeopardize success. Kahlan knew that what Richard was doing was right. It was no less than she herself would do, no less than what the Seeker must do.

She watched him as he stood over the elders. The rain had stopped. Sweat ran from his face. She remembered the pain he suffered when he had killed the last man of the quad. She watched the anger building, hoping it would be enough to protect him from what he was about to do.

Kahlan understood why a Seeker was so feared. This was no game—he meant this. He was lost within himself, within the magic. If anyone were to try to stop him right now, he would kill them, too. If, that was, they got past her.

The blade of the sword came up in front of Richard’s face. His head tilted back. His eyes closed. He shook with wrath. The five did not move as they knelt before the Seeker.

Kahlan remembered the man Richard had killed, remembered the way the sword had exploded through the man’s head. The blood everywhere. Richard had killed him because of a direct threat. Kill or be killed, no matter that the threat was to her and not him.

But this was an indirect threat, a different kind of killing. Very different. This was an execution. And Richard was both judge and executioner.

The sword lowered again. Richard glowered at the elders, then made a fist and pulled the blade in a slow sweep across the inside of his left forearm. He turned the blade, wiping both sides in the blood, until it ran down, dripping off the tip.

Kahlan snatched a quick glance around. The Mud People stood transfixed, gripped by the mortal drama playing out before their eyes, not wanting to watch, yet unable to turn away. No one spoke. No one moved. No one even blinked.

Every eye followed as Richard brought the sword up again, touching it to his forehead.

“Blade, be true this day,” he whispered.

His left hand glistened with blood. She could see him shaking with need. The sword flashed in places between the red. He looked down at the men.