Blood of the Fold

by Terry Goodkind

  The woman set the lamp on the floor and straightened to fold her hands at her waist. She stood watching, saying nothing.

  “Who is it? Who’s there?”

  “Sister Leoma Marsick,” came the terse reply.

  Verna blinked as her eyes finally acclimated to the lamplight. Yes, it was Leoma. Verna could make out her wrinkled face and long white hair hanging back over her shoulders.

  Leoma was the one in the Prelate’s office. The one who had put her in here.

  Verna sprang for the woman’s throat.

  Confused for a moment, she realized she was sitting back on her pallet, and her behind smarted from the rough landing. She felt the disturbing sensation of the Rada’Han preventing her from rising. She tried to move her legs, but they wouldn’t respond. It was a singularly terrifying sensation. She gasped for air, fighting back a cry of panic. She stopped trying to fight it, to stand, and the alarm eased, but the disquieting, extrinsic feeling didn’t.

  “That will be quite enough, Verna.”

  Verna made sure her voice was under control before she spoke. “What am I doing in here?”

  “You were being held until your trial had concluded.”

  Trial? What trial? No. She would not give Leoma the satisfaction. “That would seem appropriate.” Verna wished she could stand; it was shaming to have Leoma looking down upon her like this. “And has it, then?”

  “That is why I’m here. I’ve come to inform you of the decision of the tribunal.”

  Verna bit off her caustic reply. Of course these traitors found her guilty of some fraudulent charge. “And their decision, then?”

  “You have been found guilty of being a Sister of the Dark.”

  Verna was struck speechless. She stared up at Leoma, but couldn’t bring forth a word at the pain of having Sisters convict her of that. She had worked nearly her whole life to see the Creator honored in this world. Rage boiled up, but she held it in check, remembering Warren’s admonition about her temper.

  “Sister of the Dark? I see. And how could I have been convicted of such an accusation without evidence?”

  Leoma chuckled. “Come now, Verna, surely you would not believe you could get away with such a high crime and leave no evidence.”

  “No, I suppose you managed to find something. Do you intend to tell me, then, or did you simply come here to gloat over having at last managed to make yourself Prelate?”

  Leoma lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, I have not been named Prelate. Sister Ulicia was chosen.”

  Verna flinched. “Ulicia! Ulicia is a Sister of the Dark! She fled with five of her collaborators!”

  “Quite the contrary. Sisters Tovi, Cecilia, Armina, Nicci, and Merissa have all returned and have been reinstated to their positions of authority as Sisters of the Light.”

  Verna struggled mightily, but unsuccessfully, to rise to her feet. “They were caught attacking Prelate Annalina! Ulicia killed her! They all fled!”

  Leoma sighed, as if having to explain the most simple of things to an ignorant novice. “And who caught them attacking Prelate Annalina?” She paused. “You. You and Richard.

  “The six Sisters have testified how they were attacked by a Sister of the Dark, after Richard had killed Sister Liliana, and they fled for their lives until they could arrange their return in order to save the palace from your grip. The misunderstanding has been set straight.

  “It was you, a Sister of the Dark, who masterminded that accusation. You and Richard were the only witnesses. It was you who killed Prelate Annalina, you and Richard Rahl, whom you then aided in escaping. We heard testimony by Sisters who overheard you telling one of the guards, Kevin Andellmere, that he must be loyal to Richard, your accomplice, instead of the emperor.”

  Verna shook her head in disbelief. “So you took the word of six of the Keeper’s minions, and on that basis, because there are more of them than one of me, convicted me?”

  “Hardly. There were days and days of testimony and evidence presented. So much, in fact, that your trial has taken nearly two weeks; we wanted to make sure, in the interest of justice, and considering the seriousness of the charges, that we were completely fair and thorough. A great number of witnesses came forth to reveal the extent of your nefarious work.”

  Verna threw her hands up. “What are you talking about?”

  “You have been methodically destroying the work of the palace. Thousands of years of tradition and effort have been overturned in your effort to bring the work of the Sisters of the Light to ruin. The problems you caused were extensive.

  “The people in the city rioted because you had ordered the palace to halt payments to women who become pregnant by our young wizards. Those children are one of our main sources of boys with the gift. You wished to strangle that source. You stopped our young men from going to the city to see to their needs, and produce those offspring with the gift.

  “It came to a head last week when we had a riot that had to be put down by the guards. The people were about to storm the palace, because of our cruelty in letting those young women and their children starve. Many of our young men joined in the uprising because you cut off their right to palace gold.”

  Verna wondered just what the true nature of the “uprising” had been, considering that young wizards were involved. But she didn’t think Leoma would be forthcoming with the truth of it. Verna knew that there were good men among those young wizards, and feared their fate.

  “Our gold corrupts the morals of everyone it touches,” Verna said. She knew it was a waste to try to defend herself; this woman was not amenable to reason, or the truth.

  “It has worked for thousands of years. But of course you would not want the benefits of this design to come to fruit in order to aid the Creator. These orders have been reversed, as have others of your ruinous directives.

  “You would not want us to be able to determine if young men were prepared to face the world—you want them to fail—and so you disallowed the test of pain. That order, too, has been reversed.

  “You have been defiling palace doctrine since the day you became Prelate. You yourself are the one responsible for the Prelate’s death, and then you use your underworld tricks to install yourself as Prelate so you may destroy us.

  “You never listened to the advice of your advisors, because you never had any intent of preserving the palace. You no longer even bother to look at reports, but instead burden inexperienced administrators with your work while you lock yourself in your sanctuary to confer with the Keeper.”

  Verna sighed. “That’s it, then? My administrators don’t like having to work? Some avaricious people are unhappy because I refuse to hand out gold from the palace treasury simply because they choose to get pregnant rather than establish their own families to bring children into the world? Some Sisters are disgruntled because I won’t allow our young men to indulge in unrestrained self-gratification? The words of six Sisters who flee rather than stay to be questioned are suddenly taken seriously? And you even name one of them Prelate! All without so much as a single piece of hard evidence?”

  A smile finally came to leoma’s lips. “Oh, we have hard evidence, Verna. We do indeed.”

  With a smug expression, she reached into a pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “We had some very hard, very condemning evidence, Verna.” She solemnly unfurled the paper as her austere gaze again settled on Verna. “And one other witness. Warren.”

  Verna flinched as if she had been struck across the face. She recalled the messages she had received from the Prelate and Nathan. Nathan had been in a panic that Warren must get away from the palace. Ann had been emphatic that Verna make sure Warren left at once.

  “Do you know what this is, Verna?” Verna dared not speak, or even blink. “I think you do. It’s a prophecy. Only a Sister of the Dark would be so arrogant as to leave such an incriminating document lying about. We found it down in the vaults, stuffed in a book. Perhaps you’ve forgotten all about it? Let me read it, then.

&nb
sp; “When the Prelate and the Prophet are given to the Light in the sacred rite, the flames will bring to boil a cauldron of guile and give ascension to a false Prelate, who will reign over the death of the Palace of the Prophets.”

  Leoma folded the paper and slipped it back into her pocket. “You knew Warren was a prophet, and you took off his collar. You let a prophet roam free—a grievous offense in itself.”

  “And what makes you think Warren gave this prophecy,” Verna asked cautiously.

  “Warren testified that he did. It took a while for him to decide to speak his guilt in giving prophecy.”

  Verna’s voice heated. “What did you do to him?”

  “We used his Rada’Han, as is our duty, to elicit the truth. In the end, he confessed that the prophecy was his.”

  “His Rada’Han? You put a collar back on him!”

  “Of course. A prophet must be collared. As Prelate, it was your duty to see it done. Warren is back in a collar, and under shields and guard at the prophet’s quarters, where he belongs.

  “The Palace of the Prophets has once again been set back to the way it is meant to be. This prophecy was the final, condemning piece of evidence. It proved the duplicity in your actions, and revealed your true intent. Fortunately, we were able to act before you could bring the prophecy to fruition. You have failed.”

  “You know none of that is true.”

  “Warren’s prophecy proves your guilt. It names you a false Prelate, and reveals your plans to destroy the Palace of the Prophets.” Her smile returned. “It created quite a stir when it was read before the tribunal. Quite a condemning piece of ‘hard evidence,’ I would say.”

  “You vile beast. I will see you dead.”

  “I would expect no less from one such as you. Fortunately, you are in no position to make good on your threats.”

  Looking up into Leoma’s eyes, Verna kissed her ring finger. “Why don’t you kiss your finger, Sister Leoma, and beseech the Creator’s help in this time of trouble for the Palace of the Prophets?”

  Wearing a mocking smile, Leoma spread her hands. “The palace has no trouble, now, Verna.”

  “Kiss your finger, Leoma, and show the beloved Creator your solicitude for the well-being of the Sisters of the Light.”

  Leoma didn’t bring her hand to her lips. She couldn’t, and Verna knew it. “I have not come here to pray to the Creator.”

  “Of course not, Leoma. You and I both know that you’re a Sister of the Dark, as is the new Prelate. Ulicia is the false Prelate in the prophecy.”

  Leoma shrugged. “You, Verna, are the first Sister ever to be convicted of such a high crime. There is no longer any doubt. The conviction cannot be overturned.”

  “We’re alone, Leoma. No one can hear us behind all those shields, except, of course, one with Subtractive Magic, and you’ve no need to fear those ears. None of the true Sisters of the Light can hear anything we say. If I tried to tell anyone anything you might have to say, no one would believe me.

  “So let’s drop the pretense, Leoma; we both know the truth.”

  A small smile spread onto Leoma’s lips. “Go on.”

  Verna took a calming breath and folded her hands in her lap. “You haven’t killed me, as Ulicia killed Prelate Annalina. You wouldn’t have bothered to go through this whole sham if you intended to kill me; you could have killed me in my office. You obviously want something. What is it?”

  Leoma chuckled. “Ah, Verna, you always were one to cut right to the heart of the matter. You’re not very old, but I must admit, you are a smart one.”

  “Yes, I’m just brilliant; that’s why I’m sitting here. What is it your master, the Keeper, wants you to get from me?”

  Leoma pursed her lips. “At the moment, we serve another master. It is what he wants that is important.”

  Verna frowned. “Jagang? You’ve given an oath to him, too?”

  Leoma’s gaze darted away for an instant. “Not exactly, but that’s beside the point. Jagang wants things, and he shall have them. It’s my duty to see to it that he gets what he wants.”

  “And what is it you want from me?”

  “You must forsake your loyalty to Richard Rahl.”

  “You’re dreaming, if you think I’ll do that.”

  An ironic smile came to Leoma’s face. “Yes, I have been dreaming, but that, too, is beside the point. You must give up your bond to Richard.”

  “Why?”

  “Richard has a way of interfering with the emperor’s control of events. You see, loyalty to Richard blocks Jagang’s power. He wishes to see if this loyalty can be broken so that he can enter your mind. It’s an experiment, of sorts. It’s my task to convince you to forsake that loyalty.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. You can’t make me abandon my fidelity to Richard.”

  Leoma’s smile turned grim as she nodded. “Oh, yes, I can, and I will. I have a great deal of motivation. Before Jagang finally arrives to establish his headquarters here, I will break the bond to his enemy.”

  “How? By cutting off my Han? You think that will break my will?”

  “You forget so easily, Verna? You forget the other uses the Rada’Han has? You forget the test of pain? Sooner or later, you will be on your knees begging to swear fidelity to the emperor.

  “You make a grave mistake if you think I will balk at such a gruesome task. You make a grave mistake if you forget what I am, or think I have an ounce of sympathy. We have weeks yet, before Jagang arrives. We have all the time we need. Those weeks under the test will seem like years to you, until you submit, but submit you will.”

  Verna stiffened. She had forgotten the test of pain. She felt the constriction of terror rising in her throat again. She had seen it done to young men in a Rada’Han, of course, but it was never done for more than an hour, with years between tests.

  Leoma stepped closer and kicked the cup of water aside.

  “Shall we begin, Sister Verna?”

  43

  Richard winced when he saw the boy knocked senseless. Some of the bystanders pulled him aside, and another boy took his place. Even from behind the high window in the Confessors’ Palace, he could hear the cheers from the crowd of children watching the boys play the game he had seen children in Tanimura playing: Ja’La.

  In his homeland of Westland, he had never heard of Ja’La, but children in the Midlands played it just as did those in the Old World. The spirited game was fast-paced and looked exciting, but he didn’t think children should have to pay the price of having their teeth knocked out for the fun of a game.

  “Lord Rahl?” Ulic called. “Lord Rahl, are you here?”

  Richard turned from the window and let the comforting shroud go as he flung the black mriswith cape back over his shoulders.

  “Yes, Ulic. What is it?”

  The big guard strode into the room when he saw Richard seem to appear out of the air. He was used to the sight. “There’s a Keltish general here asking to see you. General Baldwin.”

  Richard touched his fingertips to his forehead as his mind searched. “Baldwin, Baldwin.” He looked up. “General Baldwin. Yes, I remember. He’s the commander of all Keltish forces. We sent him a letter about Kelton’s surrender. What does he want?”

  Ulic shrugged. “He would say only that he wants to speak with Lord Rahl.”

  Richard turned to the window, pushing the heavy gold drape back with a hand as he idly leaned against the painted window casing. He watched a boy doubled over, recovering from a hit with the broc. The boy straightened and went back to the play.

  “How many men accompanied the general to Aydindril?”

  “A small guard of five, maybe six hundred.”

  “He was told that Kelton had surrendered. If he meant trouble, he wouldn’t march into Aydindril with so few men. I guess I had better see him.” He turned back to the attentive Ulic. “Berdine is busy. Have Cara and Raina escort the general in.”

  Ulic clapped a fist to his heart and started to turn away, but
turned back when Richard called his name. “Have the men found anything more at the bottom of the mountain below the Keep?”

  “No, Lord Rahl, nothing more than all those parts of mriswith. The snow at the base of that cliff is drifted so deep that it will be spring, when it melts, before we can discover what else fell from the Keep. The wind could have carried whatever fell anywhere, and the soldiers have no idea where in that vast tract to dig. The mriswith arms and claws they found were light enough so that they didn’t drive under the snow. Anything heavier could have gone down ten, maybe twenty feet in that light, windblown fluff.”

  Richard nodded in disappointment. “One other thing. The palace must have seamstresses. Find the head seamstress and ask her to please come see me.”

  Richard pulled his black mriswith cape around himself without really thinking about what he was doing, and went back to watching the Ja’La game. He was impatient for Kahlan and Zedd to arrive. It shouldn’t be long, now. They must be close. Surely Gratch had found them and they would all be together soon.

  He heard Cara’s voice behind him, at the door. “Lord Rahl?”

  Richard turned, letting the cape fall open as he relaxed. Standing tall between the two Mord-Sith was a sturdily built older man with a white-flecked dark mustache, the ends of which grew down to the bottom of his jaw, and graying black hair growing down over his ears. His pate shone through where his hair was thinning.

  He wore a heavy, semicircular serge cape, richly lined with green silk and fastened on one shoulder with two buttons. A tall, embroidered collar was turned down over a tan surcoat decorated with a heraldic emblem slashed through with a diagonal black line dividing a yellow and blue shield. The man’s high boots covered his knees. Long black gauntlets, their flared cuffs lying over the front, were tucked through a wide belt set with an ornate buckle.

  As Richard became visible before his eyes, the general’s face paled and he lurched to a halt.