Blood of the Fold

by Terry Goodkind

  Maybe he should give this whole thing up. He could find someplace in the Hartland Woods where they would never be found. The two of them could just vanish and let the rest of the world fend for itself. Why should he care —they didn’t.

  Zedd, I need you here to help me.

  Richard saw light creep across the room toward him when the door opened. He looked over his shoulder to see Cara standing in the doorway. Raina was just behind. Both wore their brown leather outfits and mischievous smiles. He was not amused.

  “Lord Rahl, glad to see your handsome hide back in one piece.” With a smirk, she tossed her blond braid back over her shoulder. “Did you miss us? I hope you will not—”

  “Get out.”

  Her playful smile withered. “What?”

  He rounded on her. “I said get out. Or did you come to threaten me with an Agiel? I don’t want to look at your Mord-Sith faces right now. Get out!”

  Cara swallowed. “We will not be far, if you need us,” she said in a small voice. She looking like he had slapped her. She turned and ushered Raina away with her.

  When they had gone, Richard slumped down in a tufted leather chair behind a small, dark, glossy table with claw-foot legs. The smoky, acrid smell from the hearth told him it was oak, a choice he would have made himself for such a cold night. He pushed the lamp to the side near the wall where hung a grouping of small paintings of country scenes. The largest was no bigger than his hand, yet each still managed to portray grand, sweeping vistas. He stared at their peaceful views, wishing life could be as simple as it looked in the idyllic paintings.

  He was brought out of his thoughts when Ulic and Egan appeared with General Reibisch at the door.

  The general clapped a fist over his heart. “Lord Rahl, I’m relieved to see you’ve returned safely. Did you have any success?”

  Richard shook his head. “The men you sent with me were as good as your word, but the conditions were impossible. We managed to track them for a ways, but they went up Stentor street, into the center of the city. Once they did that, there was no way to tell which direction they took. Probably to the northeast, back to Nicobarese, but we swept a circle of the entire city anyway in case they went another direction, and could find no trace of them. A meticulous search of all the possibilities took quite a while and allowed the storm ample time to cover their trail.”

  The general grunted as he thought. “We questioned the ones they left behind at their palace. None knew where Brogan went.”

  “They could be lying.”

  Reibisch’s thumb stroked the scar on the side of his face. “Take my word, they didn’t know where he went.”

  Richard didn’t want to know the details of what had been done on his behalf. “From the signs at the beginning we were able to discern that there were only three—undoubtedly Lord General Brogan, his sister, and that other one.”

  “Well, if he didn’t take his men, then it would appear he was simply running. You probably scared the wits out of him, and he just bolted for his life.”

  Richard tapped a finger to the table. “Maybe. But I wish I knew where he went, just to be sure.”

  The general shrugged. “Why didn’t you put a tracer cloud on him, or use your magic to follow his trail? That’s what Darken Rahl did when he wanted to follow someone.”

  Richard knew that all too well. He knew what a tracer cloud was, from its unfavorable end. This had all started when Darken Rahl had hooked a tracer cloud to him so he could come and collect him at his leisure in order to recover the Book of Counted Shadows. Zedd had stood Richard up on his wizard’s rock to unhook the cloud. Though he had felt the magic flowing through himself, Richard didn’t know how it worked. He had also seen Zedd use some of his magic dust to cover their trail, to keep Darken Rahl from following, but he didn’t know how that worked, either.

  Richard didn’t really want to shake General Reibisch’s faith in him by admitting he didn’t know the first thing about magic; he wasn’t feeling very comfortable with his allies at the moment.

  “You can’t hook a tracer cloud to someone when there’s a sky full of storm clouds. You couldn’t tell which was yours, in order to follow it. Lunetta, Brogan’s sister, is a sorceress; she would use magic to obscure their trail.”

  “That’s a shame.” The general scratched his beard, apparently believing the bluff. “Well, magic’s not my specialty. We have you for that business.”

  Richard changed the subject. “How is everything going here?”

  The general grinned wickedly. “There isn’t a sword in the city that isn’t ours. Some of them didn’t like it, but once the alternatives were clearly explained, they all went along without a fight.”

  Well, there was that much. “The Blood of the Fold at the Nicobarese Palace, too?”

  “They’ll be having to eat with their fingers. We didn’t let them keep so much as a spoon.”

  Richard rubbed his eyes. “Good. You’ve done well, General. What about the mriswith? Have there been any more attacks?”

  “Not since that first bloody night. It’s been real quiet. Why, I’ve even slept better than I have for weeks. Since you took over, I’ve not even had any of those dreams.”

  Richard looked up. “Dreams? What sort of dreams?”

  “Well…” The general scratched his head of rust-colored hair. “That’s odd. I don’t really remember them, now. I was having these dreams that troubled me greatly, but since you came I haven’t had them. You know how it is with dreams, after a while they fade and you can’t remember them.”

  “I guess.” This whole thing was beginning to feel like a dream: a bad dream. Richard wished that was all it was. “How many men did we lose when the mriswith attacked?”

  “Just shy of three hundred.”

  Richard stroked his forehead as he felt his stomach lurch. “I didn’t think there were that many bodies. I wouldn’t have thought it was that many.”

  “Well, that includes the others.”

  Richard took his hand away from his face. “Others? What others?”

  General Reibisch pointed through the window. “The ones up there. Nearly eighty men on the road up by the Wizard's Keep were cut down, too.”

  Richard swung around and looked out the window. Only the silhouette of the Keep was visible against the deep violet sky. Would the mriswith be trying to get into the Keep? Dear spirits, if they were, what could he do about it? Kahlan told him that the Keep was protected by powerful spells, but he didn’t know if the webs could hold back creatures like the mriswith. Why would they want to get into the Keep?

  He told himself not to let his imagination run away with him; the mriswith had killed soldiers and other people all over the city. Zedd would be back in a few weeks and would know what to do. Weeks? No, it would likely be more than a month, maybe two. Could he wait that long?

  Maybe he should go have a look. But that could be foolish, too. The Keep was a place of powerful magic, and he knew nothing about magic, except that it was dangerous. He would just be asking for more trouble. He had enough trouble. Still, maybe he should have a look for himself. That might be best.

  “Your dinner’s here,” Ulic said.

  Richard turned back. “What? Oh, thanks.”

  Mistress Sanderholt had a silver tray loaded with steaming vegetable stew, black bread slathered with butter, spiced eggs, herbed rice with brown cream, lamb chops, pears with white sauce, and a mug of honeyed tea.

  With a friendly wink, she set down the tray. “Eat all your dinner, it will do you good, and then rest well, Richard.”

  The only night he had spent at the Confessors’ Palace he had slept in the council chambers, in Kahlan’s chair. “Where?”

  She shrugged, “Well, you could stay in—” She paused, catching herself. “You could stay in the Mother Confessor’s room. It’s the finest room in the palace.”

  That was where he and Kahlan were to have spent their wedding night. “I wouldn’t feel right about that, just now. Is there a
nother bed I could use?”

  Mistress Sanderholt gestured with a bandaged hand. The bandages were less bulky now, and cleaner. “Up that wing, at the end, take to the right and there is a row of guest rooms. We have no guests right now, so you can have your pick.”

  “Where are the Mord… Where are Cara and her two friends sleeping?”

  She made a wry face and pointed in the opposite direction. “I directed them to the servant quarters. They share a room there.”

  The farther the better, as far as he was concerned. “That’s good of you, Mistress Sanderholt. I’ll take one of the guest rooms, then.”

  She elbowed Ulic. “What would you big boys like to eat?”

  “What do you have?” Egan asked, with a rare show of enthusiasm.

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Why don’t you two come to the kitchen and choose for yourselves?” She saw the glance to Richard. “It’s just a short distance. You won’t be far from your charge.”

  Richard threw the sides of his black mriswith cape back over the arms of the chair. He waved for them to go as he took a spoonful of the vegetable stew and a swig of the tea. General Reibisch clapped a fist to his heart and bid him a good night. Richard acknowledged the salute with a flourish of brown bread.

  20

  It was a relief to be alone at last. He was weary of people standing ready to jump should he command it. Though he had tried to put the soldiers at ease, they had been apprehensive about having him along, seeming to fear he would strike them down with magic should they fail to find Brogan’s trail. Even when they couldn’t and he had told them that he understood, it didn’t put them at ease. Only near the end had they relaxed a bit, but they still watched him constantly in case he should whisper an order they might miss. It unnerved Richard to be surrounded by people who held him in such awe.

  His mind churned with troubled thoughts as he downed the stew. Even if he wasn’t half starved it could have tasted no better; it wasn’t freshly made, but had simmered for a good long time, bestowing on it the rich melding of flavors that no ingredient but time could add.

  When he looked up from his mug of tea, Berdine was filling the doorway. His muscles tensed. Before he could tell her to go away, she spoke.

  “Duchess Lumholtz of Kelton is here to speak with the Lord Rahl.”

  Richard sucked a piece of the stew from between two teeth as he locked his eyes on Berdine. “I’m not interested in seeing petitioners.”

  Berdine’s advance was halted by the table. She flicked her wavy brown braid back over her shoulder. “You will see her.”

  Richard’s fingertips stroked the familiar nicks and scratches on the hickory handle on his knife at his belt. “The terms of surrender are not open to discussion.”

  Berdine planted her knuckles on the table and leaned toward him. Her Agiel, at the end of the fine chain at her wrist, rolled around her hand. Her blue eyes were cold fire. “You will see her.”

  Richard could feel his face heating. “I’ve given my answer. You will get no other.”

  She didn’t back away. “And I have given my word that you would see her. You will speak with her.”

  “The only thing I will hear from Kelton’s representative is unconditional surrender.”

  “And that is what you shall hear.” The melodious voice came from a silhouette just beyond the doorway. “If you will agree to hear me out. I have not come to make any threats, Lord Rahl.”

  In her soft, humble tone, Richard could hear the hesitancy of fear. It evoked a pang of sympathy.

  “Show the lady in—” His glare returned to Berdine. “—and then shut the door behind yourself on your way to bed.” He left no doubt in his tone that it was a command, and he would brook no violation.

  Showing no emotion, Berdine went to the door and held her arm out in invitation. When the duchess stepped into the warm glow of the firelight, Richard rose to his feet. Berdine cast him a blank glance and then shut the door, but he hardly noticed.

  “Please, Duchess Lumholtz, come in.”

  “Thank you for seeing me, Lord Rahl.”

  He stood mute a moment, gazing at her soft brown eyes, her curvaceous red lips, and her thick mane of black hair, ringlets of it framing her flawless, glowing face. Richard knew that in the Midlands the length of a woman’s hair denoted her social standing. This woman’s long, luxurious hair bespoke a standing of high order. The only hair he had seen that was longer was a queen’s, and above that, the Mother Confessor’s.

  Dizzy, he drew breath, and suddenly remembered his manners. “Here, let me get you a chair.”

  He didn’t remember the duchess looking like this, possessing such pure, captivating elegance, but then, he hadn’t been standing this close. He remembered her as ostentatious, with unnecessary glitter and paint, and a dress not at all simple and delicate, like the one she wore now, of supple, rose-colored silk flowing easily over the contours of her form, complementing her voluptuous shape, cinched just below her breasts.

  Richard groaned when he remembered their last encounter. “Duchess, I’m sorry I said such cruel things to you in the council chambers. Can you ever forgive me? I should have listened; you were only trying to warn me about General Brogan.”

  At the mention of the name, he thought he saw a flash of fright in her eyes, but it was gone so quickly he wasn’t sure. “It is I, Lord Rahl, who should beg forgiveness. It was unpardonable of me to interrupt you before the assembled representatives.”

  Richard shook his head. “You were only trying to warn me about that man, and as it turns out, you were right. I wish I had listened to you.”

  “It was wrong of me to express my opinion in the manner I did.” A demure smile graced her features. “Only the most gallant of men would try to make it seem otherwise.”

  Richard blushed at her calling him gallant. His heart was thumping so hard he feared she would be able to see the veins in his neck throb. For some reason, he imagined his lips brushing back the loose wisp of downy hair hanging free in front of her exquisite ear. Pulling his gaze from her face was almost painful.

  A small voice of warning was sounding in the back of his mind, but it was being drowned out in the roar of a river’s flood of warm sensations. In one hand, he snatched the twin to his tufted chair and spun it around in front of the table, holding it out for her.

  “You are most kind,” the duchess stammered. “Forgive me please, if my voice is less than steady. It’s been a trying few days.” As she moved in front of the chair, her eyes tilted up to meet his again. “And I’m just a little nervous. I’ve never been in the presence of such a great man as yourself, Lord Rahl.”

  Richard blinked, unable to leave her gaze when he thought he had tried. “I’m just a woods guide a long way from home.”

  She laughed, a soft silky sound that turned the room into a cozy, pleasant place. “You are the Seeker. You are the Master of D’Hara.” Her expression slipped from amusement to reverence. “You may one day rule the world.”

  Richard reacted with a wincing shrug. “I don’t want to rule anything, it’s just that…” He thought he must sound a fool. “Won’t you sit down, please, my lady?”

  Her smile returned, radiant, warm, and of such tender charm that he found himself frozen in its glow. He could feel the sweet warmth of her breath on his face.

  Her gaze lingered. “Forgive me for being so forward, Lord Rahl, but you must know your eyes drive women mad with longing. I’d venture you broke the heart of every woman in the council chambers. The queen of Galea is an extremely fortunate woman.”

  Richard’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

  “The queen of Galea. Your bride to be. I envy her.”

  He turned away from her as she sat lightly at the edge of her chair. Richard pulled a deep breath, trying to clear his swimming head, and went around the table to sink into his own chair.

  “Duchess, I was so sorry to hear of your husband’s death.”

  She averted her eyes. “Thank you, Lord Rahl, but do
n’t be troubled for me; I have little grief for the man. Don’t misunderstand me, I didn’t wish him harm, but…”

  Richard’s blood heated. “Did he hurt you?”

  When she glanced away with a self-conscious shrug, Richard had to forcibly resist the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her. “The duke had a vile temper.” Her graceful fingers stroked the sleek fur at the edge of her ermine robe. “But it wasn’t as bad as it must sound. I rarely had to face him; he was away most of the time, in one bed or another.”

  Richard’s mouth dropped opened. “He would forsake you to be with other women?” Her reluctant nod confirmed it was so.

  “It was an arranged marriage,” she explained. “Though he was of noble blood, for him it was a move up in station. He gained his title by marriage to mine.”

  “What did you gain?”

  The ringlets of curls at the sides of her face swayed across her cheekbones as she glanced up. “My father gained a ruthless son-in-law to run the family holdings, and at the same time he rid himself of a useless daughter.”

  Richard came halfway out of his chair. “Don’t say such a thing about yourself. If I had known, I would have seen that the duke had a lesson…” He sank back down. “Forgive my presumption, Duchess.”

  Her tongue leisurely wet the corners of her mouth. “Had I known you, when he struck me, perhaps I would have been bold enough to have sought your protection.”

  Struck her? Richard ached to have been there, to have been able to do something about it.

  “Why didn’t you leave him? Why would you endure it?”

  Her gaze sought the low fire in the hearth. “I couldn’t. I’m the daughter of the queen’s brother. Divorce in such high ranks is not permitted.” She suddenly blushed with a self-conscious smile. “But listen to me ramble on about my petty problems. Forgive me, Lord Rahl. Others have a great deal more trouble in their lives than an unfaithful husband with a ready hand. I’m not an unhappy woman. I have responsibilities to my people that keep me occupied.”

  She lifted a slender finger, pointing. “Could I have just a sip of tea? My throat is dry from worry thinking you…” The blush revisited her cheeks. “Thinking you would chop off my head for coming to you against your orders.”