Free Chainfire by Terry Goodkind Page B

over his right shoulder. “Back that way is where Cara, Kahlan, and I came in on the night we camped—by where the battle took place. In various places around our camp are my tracks from when I stood second watch, and Cara’s tracks from third watch. Kahlan had first watch that night. There are no tracks from her watch.”
    His glance to each of them in turn was a silent request to hear him out before they started arguing.
    “Back that way,” he said, pointing as he went on, “was where the soldiers were coming up through the woods. From over in that direction, Victor, you and your men came to join the battle. In nearly the same place are your tracks from when you carried me back to the farmhouse. Off that way, where I already showed you, are the tracks of other soldiers who came in and found their fellow soldiers dead.
    “None of us or any of the soldiers has been up this way.
    “Here, where we are now, there are no tracks. Look around. You’ll see only my fresh tracks from this morning when I was searching. Other thanthat, there are no footprints from anyone else coming through here—in fact, there’s no sign that anyone has ever been here. At least, it would appear that no one has ever been here before.”
    Victor idly rubbed his thumb on the steel shaft of the mace hanging from his belt. “But you think otherwise?”
    “Yes. Even though there are no tracks, someone did come this way. And, they left evidence.” Richard leaned out and with one finger touched a smooth rock about the size of a loaf of bread. “As they hurried past, they stumbled on this rock.”
    Victor seemed caught up in the story. “How can you tell?”
    “Look carefully at the markings on the rock.” As Victor leaned in a bit, Richard pointed. “See here, the way the top of the rock, where it was exposed to the air and weather, has the pale tannish yellow discoloration of lichen and such? And here—like the hull of a boat below the waterline—you can see the dark brown rime that shows where the belly of the rock had been lying beneath the ground.
    “But it’s not lying that way now. It’s not settled into its socket in the ground, its recent resting place. It’s now lifted a little out of that socket and turned partway over. See how a section of the dark bottom is now exposed? Were it out of the ground for longer, the dark color would be worn away and the lichen would begin to grow there, too. But it hasn’t had that much time yet. This is recent.”
    Richard waggled his finger back and forth. “Look at the ground, here, on this side of the rock. You can see the socket where the rock originally rested, but now the rock has been shoved back a little, leaving a void between this side of the rock and the wall of the cavity. On the back side, away from us, because the rock was recently disturbed, you can still see a ridge of dirt and debris that has been pushed up.
    “The open socket on this side and the ridge on the far side shows that whoever stumbled on this rock and disturbed it was moving away from our camp, going north.”
    “But then where’s their trail?” Victor asked. “Their footprints?”
    Richard raked back his wet hair. “The trail has been erased with magic. I searched; there is no trail.
    “Look at the rock. It’s been disturbed, kicked partway out of its resting place in the ground. But there is no scuff mark on it. While the rock wasn’t moved much, it was moved. A boot grazing this rock enough to move itlike this would have to leave a mark. Yet there is no mark, just as there are no other footprints.”
    Nicci pushed her hood back. “You’re twisting everything you find around to fit what you want to believe, Richard. You can’t have it both ways. If magic was used to erase their trail, then why is it that are you able to detect their trail by this rock?”
    “Probably because the magic they used erases footprints. The person who used that magic must not know a great deal about tracks or tracking. I