Free Debt of Bones by Terry Goodkind

putting a hand back on Abby’s shoulder as she lay in the grass panting.
    “Stay down,” he whispered urgently.
    Light gathered at his fingers. He was conjuring magic. That was what they wanted him to do.
    Tears welled, burning her eyes. She snatched his sleeve. “Zedd, don’t use magic.” She could hardly speak past the tightening pain in her chest. “Don’t—”
    The figure sprang again from the gloom of the bushes. Zedd threw up a hand. The night lit with a flash of hot light that struck the cloaked figure.
    Rather than the assailant going down, it was Zedd who cried out and crumpled to the ground. Whatever he had thought to do to the attacker, it had been turned back on him, and he was in the grip of the most terrible anguish, preventing him from rising, or speaking. That was why they had wanted him to conjure magic: so they could capture him.
    The figure standing over the wizard glowered at Abby. “Your part here is finished. Go.”
    Abby scuttled into the grass. The woman pushed the hood back, and cast off her cloak. In the near darkness, Abby could see the woman’s long braid and red leather uniform. It was one of the women Abby had been told about, the women used to capture those with magic: the Mord-Sith.
    The Mord-Sith watched with satisfaction as the wizard at her feet writhed in choking pain. “Well, well. Looks like the First Wizard himself has just made a very big mistake.”
    The belts and straps of her red leather uniform creaked as she leaned down toward him, grinning at his agony. “I have been given the whole night to make you regret ever having lifted a finger to resist us. In the morning I’m to allow you to watch as our forces annihilate your people. Afterward, I am to take you to Lord Rahl himself, the man who ordered the death of your wife, so you can beg him to order me to kill you, too.” She kicked him. “So you can beg Lord Rahl for your death, as you watch your daughter die before your eyes.”
    Zedd could only scream in horror and pain.
    On her hands and knees, Abby crabbed her way farther back into the weeds and rushes. She wiped at her eyes, trying to see. She was horrified to witness what was being done to the man who had agreed to help her for no more reason than a debt to her mother. By contrast, these people had coerced her service by holding hostage the life of her child.
    As she backed away, Abby saw the knife the Mord-Sith had dropped when Zedd had thrown her into the weeds. The knife was a pretext, used to provoke him to act; it was magic that was the true weapon. The Mord-Sith had used his own magic against him—used it to cripple and capture him, and now used it to hurt him.
    It was the price demanded. Abby had complied. She had had no choice.
    But what toll was she imposing on others?
    How could she save her daughter’s life at the cost of so many others? Would Jana grow up to be a slave to people who would do this? With a mother who would allow it? Jana would grow up to learn to bow to Panis Rahl and his minions, to submit to evil, or worse, grow up to become a willing part in the scourge, never tasting liberty or knowing the value of honor.
    With dreadful finality, everything seemed to fall to ruin in Abby’s mind.
    She snatched up the knife. Zedd was wailing in pain as the Mord-Sith bent, doing some foul thing to him. Before she had time to lose her resolve, Abby was moving toward the woman’s back.
    Abby had butchered animals. She told herself that this was no different. These were not people, but animals. She lifted the knife.
    A hand clamped over her mouth. Another seized her wrist.
    Abby moaned against the hand, against her failure to stop this madness when she had had the chance. A mouth close to her ear urged her to hush.
    Struggling against the figure in hooded cloak that held her, Abby turned her head as much as she could, and in the last of the daylight saw violet eyes looking back. For a moment she couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t make sense of