Sister Ulicia, a woman given to reckless impulse, seemed to be taking a deliberately restrained approach. Kahlan could think of no better place to be on such a dark and wretched night than bundled up under bed covers, safe and warm.Ī horse in the nearby stable whinnied when Sister Ulicia knocked a second time, louder, more insistently, evidently intending herself to be heard over the riot of rain, yet not so loud as to sound hostile. Despite the steady roar of the deluge and the rumble of thunder, it appeared that the village was sound asleep. In the sporadic displays of distant lightning, she could just make out the hulking shoulders of dark structures standing like ghosts beyond the billowing sheets of rain. The light from the windows wasn’t enough to enable her to read the name, but because the other three women with her had talked of little else for days, Kahlan knew that the name would be the White Horse Inn.īy the smell of manure and wet hay, she judged that one of the dark buildings nearby had to be a stable.
Kahlan was able to make out the spectral white shape of a horse painted on the dark, wet sign. The sign overhead, hung by two iron rings, grated and squealed each time it swung back and forth in the wind-borne rain. The light of a single lantern flickered weakly through the slender windows to either side of the door, reflecting a pale, shimmering glow off the wet floor of the portico. She knew, though, that she had no say in the matter.
As much as she would like to spend the night in out of the rain, she didn’t want trouble to visit innocent people. Huddled under the small overhang, off to the side, she hoped that no one would answer that knock. Kahlan stood quietly in the shadows, watching, as evil knocked softly on the door.
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