o。 You must show her。 But no one else。’ She stepped closer。 ‘Do you understand？ No one！’
Richard slowly buttoned his shirt。 ‘Why？’
‘Because； if you do； they will kill you。 That is the mark of the Nameless One。’ Her tongue wet her lips。 ‘Sins of the father。’
From the distance came the plaintive howl of wolves。 Du Chaillu shuddered and hugged herself as she stared off into the deepening fog。
‘People will die tonight；’ Du Chaillu whispered。
Richard frowned at her。 ‘What are you talking about？’
‘Wolves。 When wolves howl like that in the mist； they are foretelling that people are to die violently in the night； in the mist。’
CHAPTER 44
They materialized out of fog and mist； the white fangs of death。 The startled prey； at first immobilized by bone…chilling fright； jumped to flee before the white death。 Fangs of white steel ripped into them without mercy as they bolted for their lives。 Death squeals tore the night air with their terror。 Hysteria sent them running heedlessly onto the waiting cold； white steel。
Fearless men tasted fear before they died。
Pandemonium spread on a wild uproar of noise。 The ringing chime of steel； the splintering of wood； the ripping of canvas； the groan of leather； the pop of bones； the whoosh of fire； the crash of wagons； the thuds of flesh and bone hitting ground； and the screams of man and beast all joined into one long cacophony of terror。 The wave of white death drove the tumult before it。
The sharp smell of blood washed through the air； over the sweet aroma of blazing wood； the acrid tang of igniting lamp oil； the smoky smack of flaming pitch； and the gagging stench of burning fur and flesh。
What wasn’t wet with the cold mist was greasy…slick with hot blood。
The white steel fangs now were coated with blood and gore； white snow became a soggy mat of red splashes。 The cold air was seared by gouts of flame that leapt up to turn the white fog an incandescent orange。 Sinister； dark clouds of smoke hugged the ground while the sky burned overhead。
Arrows zipped past； spears arced through the air； splintered lances spun away into the mist； and severed pike heads whirled off into the darkness。 Remnants of torn tents flapped and fluttered as if battered by a furious storm。 Swords rose and fell in waves； driven by the grunts that acpanied frantic effort。
Men ran in every direction； like frenzied ants。 Some tumbled to the ground； spilling their viscera across the snow。 One of the wounded； blinded by blood； stumbled aimlessly until a white shadow swept by； a spirit of death； cutting him down。 A wagon wheel bounced past； its progress quickly obscured from view by dark curtains of acrid smoke that drifted past。
No alarm had been raised； the sentries were long dead。 Few in camp had realized what was happening until it was upon them。
The camp of the Imperial Order had lately been a place of noise and wild celebration； and for many； in their drunken state； it was hard to tell that anything of consequence was happening。 Many of the men； poisoned by the bandu in the ale； lay sick around fires。 Many were so weak they burned to death without trying to escape flaming tents。 Others were in such a drunken stupor that they actually smiled at the men who drove swords through their guts。
Even the ones who were not drunk； or who were not drunk to the point of dullness； didn’t truly appreciate what was happening。 Their camp was often a place of raucous noise and confusion。 Huge bonfires roared throughout the night； for warmth and as gathering places。 They were generally the only reference points in the disorderly layout； so the fires of destruction caused little concern； except in the immediate area。
Among D’Harans； fighting in the camps was simply part of the revelry； and men screaming when they were stabbed in altercations was not noteworthy。 What one had was only his if he was fierce enough to keep it from others who were always ready to take it。 Alliances among D’Harans were shifting sands that could last a lifetime or； more monly； for as little as an hour； when a new alliance became more advantageous or profitable。 The drinking； and the poison； dulled their grasp of the sheer volume of screams。
In battle they were disciplined； but when not in battle； they were ungoverned to the point of anarchy。 Pay； for D’Harans on expeditions； was in large part a share of the plunder …they had looted Ebinissia； despite all their talk of a new law … and having that new plunder made them perhaps less than single…minded in their devotion to duty。 At battle； or the first sound of an alarm； they became a single unified fighting machine； almost an entity of one mind； but in camp； without the overriding purpose of war； they became thousands of individuals； all bent on serving their own self…interest。
Without an alarm to warn them； they paid the added noise and screaming little attention。 Above the noise of their own business； trading； stories； laughter； drinking； gambling； fighting； and whoring； the unheralded battle a short distance away went largely unnoticed。 The officers would call them if needed。 Without that call to duty； their life was their own； and someone else’s troubles were not theirs。 They were unprepared when the white death materialized。
The sight of white spirits appearing among them was a paralyzing force。 Many a man wailed in fear of the Shahari spirits。 Many envisioned that the separation between the world of the living and the world of the dead had evaporated。 Or that they had somehow been suddenly cast into the underworld。
Without the ale； both poisoned and unadulterated； it might not be so。 As it was； the drink； and their confidence in their numbers and strength； left them vulnerable as they would never be again。 But not all were drunk； or dull。 Some rose up fiercely。
Kahlan watched it all from atop her dancing warhorse。 In a sea of raw； unbridled emotion； she wore her Confessor’s face。
These men were neither moral nor ethical； they were animals who lived by no rule but might。 They had raped the women at the palace and had mercilessly butchered the people of Ebinissia； from the aged down to newborn babes。
A man lunged through the ring of steel around her； grabbing at her saddle for support。 He gaped at her； crying a prayer for mercy from the good spirits。 She split his skull。
Kahlan wheeled her horse to face Sergeant Cullen。 ‘Have we captured the mand tents？’
The sergeant signaled； and one of the white； naked men ran off to check as they drove deeper into the camp of the Order。 When she spotted the horses； she gave the signal。 From behind she heard the sound of galloping hooves； and the sharp rattle of chains： scythes of death； e to reap a crop of the living。
With a sound like a boy running past a picket fence with a stick in hand； the chain scythes being pulled at a full charge reaped a snapping of bone that meshed into a long； clacking roar。 The beasts’ screams and the dull thuds as they slammed the ground drowned out the sound of galloping hooves and breaking bone。
Even the drunken enemy turned from the white spirits to stare at the ghastly spectacle。 It was the last thing they saw。 Men stumbled from their tents； to watch without understanding what it was that was occurring before their eyes。 Others wandered aimlessly； mugs in hand； as if at a fair； drunkenly looking from one sight to another。 There were so many； some had to wait a bit for their turn to die。
Some were not drunk and saw not spirits but men painted white。 They saw an attack； and understood well…honed blades ing for them。 A pocket of fierce counterattack was surrounded and broken； but not without cost。 Kahlan rallied her men and drove her wedge of white steel deeper into the heart of the enemy’s camp。
She saw two men on huge draft horses … she couldn’t see who they were … having cut down all the horses they could find； take to charging down a line of tents； reaping havoc as well as helpless men。 The chain caught something as solid as bedrock。 It whipped the horses around into a brutal collision。 The riders went down。 Men with swords and axes swarmed over them。
A man with sword to hand； and sober； she was alarmed to note； appeared suddenly next to her leg。 He looked up with a fierce glare。 His sharp eyes made her feel suddenly nothing more than a naked woman sitting on a horse。
He took all of her in。 ‘What the 。。。’
A foot of steel erupted from his breastbone； driving a grunt from his lungs。
‘Mother Confessor！’ The naked man behind yanked his sword free and pointed with it。 ‘The mand tents are over there！’
A movement to the other side caught her attention。 With a backhanded swing； she caught the side of a stumbling drunk’s neck。
‘Let’s go！ To the mand tents！ Now！’
Her men abandoned the enemy they were decimating to follow her as she jumped Nick over men and fires and crumpled wagons。 As they followed； they didn’t stop to slaughter the confused； panicked； and drunken D’Harans everywhere； but cut down those they could if it didn’t slow their pace。 Where necessary；