Blood of the Fold

by Terry Goodkind

  “If the Mother Confessor were alive, we could help her, protect her. We are a poor land, but we wish to be of aid to the Midlands, if we can.”

  Her shoulders relaxed a bit. “Some of what you’ve heard is true. In the war with D’Hara all the Confessors, except the Mother Confessor, were killed. The wizards died, too. Since then, Darken Rahl died, and the D’Harans threw their lot in with the Imperial Order, as did Kelton, among others. The Mother Confessor returned and tried to hold the Midlands together. For her trouble the seditious pretenders to the council had her executed.”

  He shook his head. “This is sad news. I had hoped the rumors false. We need her.” Brogan wet his tongue. “You’re quite sure she was killed in the execution? Perhaps you’re mistaken. She is, after all, a creature of magic. She might have escaped in a confusion of smoke, or some such. Perhaps she still lives.”

  The woman fixed a glare on him. “The Mother Confessor is dead.”

  “But I have heard rumors that she was seen alive… across the Kern River.”

  “Idle rumors of fools. She is dead. I myself saw her beheaded.”

  Brogan stroked a finger across the smooth scar at the side of his mouth as he watched the woman. “I also heard a report that she had fled in the other direction: to the southwest. Surely there is hope?”

  “Not true. I will say it for the last time, I saw her beheaded. She did not escape. The Mother Confessor is dead. If you wish to be of aid to the Midlands, then you will do what you can to join the Midlands together once more.”

  Tobias studied her grim face for a moment. “Yes, yes, you’re quite right. This is all very troubling news, but it be good at last to have a reliable witness to shed light on the truth. I thank you, madam, you have been more help than you can know. I will see what I can do to put my troops to the best advantage.”

  “The best advantage would be to help expunge the Imperial Order from Aydindril and then the Midlands.”

  “You think them so wicked?”

  She lifted her bandaged hands toward him. “They tore off my fingernails to make me speak lies.”

  “How ghastly. And what lies did they wish you to speak?”

  “That black was white, and white black. As do the Blood.”

  Brogan smiled, feigning amusement at her wit.

  “You have been a great help, madam. You are loyal to the Midlands, and for that you have my gratitude, but I am sorry you feel the way you do about the Blood of the Fold. Perhaps you, too, shouldn’t listen to rumors. They be only that.

  “I don’t want to inconvenience you any longer. Good day.”

  She upbraided him with a fiery scowl before storming off. Under other circumstances her reluctance to be forthright would have cost her much more than her fingernails, but Brogan had pursued dangerous quarry before, and he knew that discretion now would reward him later. The prize was worth enduring her mocking tone. Even without her cooperation, he had gotten something very valuable from her this day, something she didn’t know she had given, and that was his design: that the hunted wouldn’t know he had picked up the scent.

  Tobias allowed himself, at last, to meet Lunetta’s gleaming gaze.

  “She tells lies, my lord general. She tells mostly the truth, to mask them, but she tells lies.”

  Galtero had indeed brought him a treasure.

  Tobias leaned forward. He wanted to hear Lunetta say it, to hear her voice his suspicions aloud—to put the confirmation of her talent to it. “Which be lies?”

  “Two be lies she guards like the royal treasury.”

  He smacked his lips. “Which two?”

  Lunetta smiled a sly smile. “First, she be lying when she said that the Mother Confessor be dead.”

  Tobias slapped a hand to the table. “I knew it! When she said it, I knew it be a lie!” He closed his eyes and swallowed as he offered a prayer to the Creator. “And the other?”

  “She be lying when she said that the Mother Confessor did not flee. She knows that the Mother Confessor be alive, and that she ran to the southwest. All the rest she told be true.”

  Tobias’s good mood was back. He rubbed his hands together, feeling the warmth it brought. The hunter’s luck was with him. He had the scent.

  “Did you hear what I said, Lord General?”

  “What? Yes, I heard you. She’s alive, and to the southwest. You did well, Lunetta. The Creator will be pleased with you when I tell him of your aid.”

  “I mean about how all the rest be the truth.”

  He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Lunetta drew her scraps of cloth up tight. “She said that the council of dead men be made up of seditious pretenders. True. That the Imperial Order seeks only to hear whatever lies suit their purpose, and their purpose be conquest and domination. True. That they tore off her fingernails to make her speak lies. True. That the Blood acts on rumor, as long as the result be a fresh grave. True.”

  Brogan shot to his feet. “The Blood of the Fold fights evil! How dare you suggest otherwise, you filthy streganicha!”

  She winced as she bit her lower lip. “I do not say it be the truth, Lord General, only that it be the truth as she sees it.”

  He tugged his sash straight. He didn’t want to spoil his triumph with Lunetta’s prattle. “She sees it wrong, and you know it.” He thrust a finger at her. “I’ve spent more time than you’ve a right to, more time than you be worth, to see that you understand the nature of good and evil.”

  Lunetta stared at the floor. “Yes, my lord general, you have spent more time than I be worth. Forgive me. They be her words, not mine.”

  Brogan finally withdrew his glare and took the case from his belt. He set it down, giving it a nudge with a thumb to make it straight with the edge of the table as he sat once more. He put Lunetta’s insolence from his mind as contemplated his next move.

  He was about to call for dinner when he remembered that there was one more witness waiting. He had found what he had sought, there was no need for further questioning… but it was always wise to be thorough.

  “Ettore, bring in the next witness.”

  Brogan glared at Lunetta as she faded back against the wall. She had done well, but then she had spoiled it by provoking him. Though he knew it was the evil in her that bubbled up whenever she did right, it galled him that she didn’t try harder to suppress its influence. Maybe he had been too kind to her of late; in a weak moment, wanting to share his joy, he had given her a pretty. Perhaps she took that to mean that he would let her get away with insolence. He would not.

  Tobias ordered himself in his chair and folded his hands on the table, thinking again about his triumph, thinking about the prize of prizes. There was no need to force a smile this time.

  He was a bit startled to look up and see a young girl glide into the room ahead of the two guards. The old coat she wore dragged the ground. Behind the girl, between the guards, a squat old woman in a tattered wrap of brown blanket limped along with a rolling gait.

  When the group came to a halt before the table, the girl smiled at him. “You’ve a very nice warm home, m’lord. We’ve enjoyed our day here. May we return your hospitality?”

  The old woman added a smile of her own.

  “I’m pleased you have had a chance to get warm, and would be grateful if you and your…” He lifted a questioning eyebrow.

  “Grandmamma,” the girl said.

  “Yes, grandmamma. I would be grateful if you and your grandmamma would answer a few questions, that’s all.”

  “Ahh,” the old woman said. “Questions, is it? Questions can be dangerous, m’lord.”

  “Dangerous?” Tobias rubbed two fingers over the furrows on his forehead. “I seek only the truth, madam. If you answer honestly, no harm will come to you. You have my word.”

  She grinned, showing the gaps where teeth were missing. “I meant for you, m’lord.” She cackled softly to herself, then leaned toward him with a grim expression. “You might not like the answers, or pa
y heed to them.”

  Tobias waved off her concern. “You let me worry about that.”

  She straightened, smiling again. “If you wish, m’lord.” She scratched the side of her nose. “What are your questions, then?”

  Tobias leaned back, studying the woman’s waiting eyes. “The Midlands has been in turmoil, of late, and we want to know if the Keeper’s minions have a hand in the strife shadowing the lands. Have you heard any of the council members speak against the Creator?”

  “Councilors rarely come down to the market to discuss theology with old ladies, m’lord, nor would I suppose any would be so foolish as to publicly reveal any underworld connections, had they any.”

  “Well, what have you heard about what they have had to say?”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “You wish to hear rumors from Stentor Street, m’lord? State which sort of rumor it is you would like to hear, and I can tell you one to fit your needs.”

  Tobias drummed his fingers on the table. “I am not interested in rumor, madam, simply the truth.”

  She nodded. “Of course you are, m’lord, and you shall have it. Sometimes, people can be interested in the most foolish of things.”

  He cleared his throat in annoyance. “I’ve heard any number of rumors already, and don’t need any more. I need to know the truth of what has been going on in Aydindril. Why, I’ve even heard that the council has been executed, as well as the Mother Confessor.”

  Her narrow-eyed smile returned. “Then why wouldn’t a man of your high status simply stop by the palace as he rode in, and ask to see the council? That would make more sense than dragging in all sort of people who would have no direct knowledge, and asking them. The truth would be better discerned with your own eyes, m’lord.”

  Brogan pressed his lips together. “I wasn’t here when the rumors say the Mother Confessor was executed.”

  “Ahh, so it’s the Mother Confessor you’re interested in, then. Why didn’t you simply say so, instead of going all round about? I heard that she was beheaded, but I didn’t see it. My granddaughter saw it though, didn’t you my dear?”

  The little girl nodded. “Yes, m’lord, saw it myself, I did. Chopped her head right off, they did.”

  Brogan made a show of sighing. “That was what I feared. She is dead, then.”

  The girl shook her head. “Didn’t say that, m’lord. I said I saw them chop off her head.” She looked right into his eyes and smiled.

  “What do you mean by that?” Brogan shot a glare up at the old woman. “What does she mean by that?”

  “What she says, m’lord. Aydindril has always been a city with a strong undercurrent of magic, but it has been fairly crackling with it, of late. Where magic is involved, you can’t always trust your eyes alone. Though she is young, this one is smart enough to know that much. A man of your profession would know it, too.”

  “Crackling with magic? That portends evil. What do you know about the Keeper’s minions?”

  “Terrible, they are, m’lord. But magic is, in itself, not evil; it exists without guile of its own.”

  Brogan’s fists tightened. “Magic is the Keeper’s taint.”

  She cackled again. “That would be like saying that the shiny silver knife at your belt is the Keeper’s taint. If used to menace or harm an innocent, then the holder of the knife is evil. But if, for instance, it is used to defend life against a fanatical lunatic, no matter his high standing, then the holder of the knife is good. The knife is neither, because each can use it.”

  Her eyes seemed to go out of focus, and her voice lowered to a hiss. “But if used for retribution, magic is vengeance incarnate.”

  “Well then, in your view, is this magic you say is about in the city being used for good, or evil?”

  “For both, m’lord. This is, after all, the home of the Wizard's Keep, and a seat of power. Confessors have ruled here for thousands of years, as well as wizards. Power draws power. Conflict is afoot. Scaled creatures, called mriswith, have begun to appear out of the very air, and gut any innocent in their way. An ominous omen, if ever there was one. Other magic lurks to snatch the rash, or unwary. Why, the very night is alive with magic carried on the gossamer wings of dreams.”

  She peered at him with one faded blue eye as she went on. “A child who is fascinated with fire could easily be incinerated here. Such a child would be well advised to be very careful, and leave at the first opportunity, before he inadvertently puts his hand into a flame.

  “Why, people are even pulled off the street, to have their words filtered through a sieve of magic.”

  Brogan leaned forward with a smoldering expression. “And what do you know about magic, madam?”

  “An equivocal question, m’lord. Could you be more explicit?”

  Tobias paused for a moment, trying to pick the nettles out of her ramblings. He had dealt with her kind before, and he realized she was gulling him off the subject, off the trail.

  He brought back his polite smile. “Well, for instance, your granddaughter says she saw the Mother Confessor beheaded, but that that doesn’t mean she be dead. You say magic can make it so. I’m intrigued by such a statement. While it’s true that I know magic can occasionally fool people, I’ve only heard of it working small deceptions. Could you explain how death could be revoked?”

  “Revoke death? The Keeper has such power.”

  Brogan pressed forward against the table. “Are you saying the Keeper himself brought her back to life?”

  She cackled. “No, m’lord. You are so persistent in what you want that you do not pay attention, and hear only what you want to hear. You specifically asked how death could be revoked. The Keeper can revoke death. At least, I’m assuming he can because he is the ruler of the dead, holds power over life and death, so it’s only natural to believe that—”

  “Is she alive or not!”

  The old woman blinked at him. “How would I know that, m’lord?”

  Brogan ground his teeth. “You said that just because people saw her beheaded, that doesn’t mean she be dead.”

  “Oh, back to that, are we? Well, magic can perform such a ruse, but that does not mean it did. I said only that it could. Then you went off scent asking about death being revoked. Quite a separate issue, m’lord.”

  “How, woman! How can magic accomplish such high deception!”

  She snugged the tattered blanket up around her shoulders.

  “A death spell, m’lord.”

  Brogan glanced to Lunetta. Her beady eyes were fixed on the old woman, and she was scratching her arms.

  “A death spell. And what, exactly, is a death spell?”

  “Well, I’ve never seen one executed, so to speak—” She chuckled at her own joke. “—so I can’t give you proper witness, but I can tell you what I’ve been told, if you’ve a wish to hear secondhand knowledge.”

  Brogan spoke through clenched teeth. “Tell me.”

  “Seeing a death, comprehending it, is something we all recognize at a spiritual level. It’s this seeing of a body with its soul, or spirit, departed, that we recognize as death. A death spell can mimic a real death by making people believe they have seen a death, that they have seen the body without its soul, and so make them viscerally accept the event as true.”

  She shook her head as if she found the matter both amazing and scandalizing. “Very dangerous, it is. It requires invoking the aid of the spirits to hold the person’s spirit while the web is cast. If anything goes wrong, the subject’s spirit would be cast helpless into the underworld—a very unpleasant way to die. If everything goes right, and if the spirits return that which they have preserved, I am told it will work, and the person will live, but those seeing it will think them dead. Very chancy, though. While I’ve heard of it, I’ve never heard of it actually being attempted, so it may be nothing more than hearsay.”

  Brogan sat quietly moving the pieces of information around in his mind, pulling together things he had learned this day, and things he had learned in the pa
st, searching for the right fit. It must have been a trick done to escape justice, but not one she could have accomplished without accomplices.

  The old woman put a hand to the girl’s shoulder and started shuffling off. “Thank you for the warmth, m’lord, but I grow tired of your haphazard questions, and I’ve better things to do.”

  “Who could perform a death spell?”

  The old woman halted. Her washed-out blue eyes lit up with a dangerous cast. “Only a wizard, m’lord. Only a wizard of immense power and great knowledge.”

  Brogan fixed her with a dangerous look of his own. “And are there any wizards here, in Aydindril?”

  Her slow smile made her faded eyes gleam. She reached into a pocket under the blanket and tossed a coin on the table, where it spun in lazy circles before finally toppling over before him. Brogan picked up the silver coin, squinting at the strike.

  “I asked a question, old woman. I expect an answer.”

  “You hold it, m’lord.”

  “I’ve never seen a coin like this. What’s this image on it? It looks to be a grand structure of some sort.”

  “Oh it is, m’lord,” she hissed. “It’s the spawn of salvation and doom, of wizards and magic: the Palace of the Prophets.”

  “Never heard of it. What is this Palace of the Prophets?”

  The old woman smiled a private smile. “Ask your sorceress, m’lord.” She turned again to leave.

  Brogan shot to his feet. “No one gave you permission to leave, you toothless old hag!”

  She peered back over her shoulder. “It’s the liver, m’lord.”

  Brogan leaned forward on his knuckles. “What?”

  “I’ve a taste for raw liver, m’lord. I believe that’s what makes the teeth fall out, over time.”

  Just then, Galtero appeared, squeezing past the woman and girl as they went through the doorway. He saluted with fingertips to bowed forehead. “Lord General, I have a report.”

  “Yes, yes, in a moment.”

  “But—”

  Brogan held up a silencing finger to Galtero as he turned to Lunetta. “Well?”