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the grass, splashing through shallow places in the streams.
    Richard tossed Kahlan a small blanket as he watched Cara coming. Kahlan could see the Agiel in her fist.
    The Agiel a Mord-Sith carried was a weapon of magic, and functioned only for her; it delivered inconceivable pain. If she wished it, its touch could even kill.
    Because Mord-Sith carried the same Agiel used to torture them in their training, holding it caused profound pain—part of the paradox of being a giver of pain. The pain never showed on their faces.
    Cara stumbled to a panting halt. “Did he come by here?”
    Blood matted the left side of her blond hair and ran down the side of her face. Her knuckles were white around her Agiel.
    “ Who?” Richard asked. “We’ve seen no one.”
    Her expression twisted with scarlet rage. “Juni!”
    Richard caught her arm. “What’s going on?”
    With the back of her other wrist, Cara swiped a bloody strand of hair away from her eyes as she scanned the vast grassland. “I don’t know.” She ground her teeth. “But I want him.”
    Cara tore away from Richard’s grasp and bolted, calling back, “Get dressed!”
    Richard grabbed Kahlan’s wrist and hauled her out of the water. She pulled on her pants and then scooped up some of her things as she dashed after Cara. Richard, still tugging up his trousers over his wet legs, reached out with a long arm and snagged the waist of her pants, dragging her to a halt.
    “ What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, still trying to pull on his trousers with his other hand. “Stay behind me.”
    Kahlan yanked her pants from his fingers. “You don’t have your sword. I’m the Mother Confessor. You can just stay behind me, Lord Rahl.”
    There was little danger to a Confessor from a single man. There was no defense against the power of a Confessor. Without his sword, Richard was more vulnerable than she.
    Barring a lucky arrow or spear, nothing was going to keep a committed Confessor’s power from taking someone once she was close enough. That commitment bound them in magic that couldn’t be recalled or reversed.
    It was as final as death. In a way, it was death.
    A person touched by a Confessor’s power was forever lost to himself. He was hers.
    Unlike Richard, Kahlan knew how to use her magic. Having been named Mother Confessor was testament to her mastery of it.
    Richard growled his displeasure as he snatched up his big belt with its pouches before chasing after her. He caught up and held her shirt out as they ran so she could stuff her arm in the sleeve. He was bare-chested. He hooked his belt. The only other thing he had was his knife.
    They splashed through a shallow network of streams and raced through the grass, chasing the flashes of red leather. Kahlan stumbled going through a stream, but kept her feet. Richard’s hand on her back steadied her. She knew it wasn’t a good idea to run breakneck and barefoot across unfamiliar ground, but having seen blood on Cara’s face kept her from slowing.
    Cara was more than their protector. She was their friend.
    They crossed several ankle-deep rivulets, crashing through the grass between each. Too late to change course, she came upon a pool and jumped, scarcely making the far bank. Richard’s hand once more steadied and reassured her with its touch.
    As they plunged through grass and sprinted across open streams, Kahlan saw one of the hunters angling in from the left. It wasn’t Juni.
    At the same time as she realized Richard wasn’t behind her, she heard him whistle. She slid to a stop on the slick grass, putting a hand to the ground to keep her balance. Richard, not far back, stood in a stream.
    He put two fingers between his teeth and whistled again, longer, louder, a piercing sound, rising in pitch, cutting across the silence of the plains. Kahlan saw Cara and the other hunter turn to the sound, and then hasten toward them.
    Gulping air, trying to get her breath, Kahlan trotted back to Richard. He knelt