Blood of the Fold

by Terry Goodkind

  “Only the spirits know.” Cara stopped at the bottom of the steps and cocked her head. “What do you think? That there are other lands beyond these? Other ponds?” She swept her Agiel around in a circle. “Out there, somewhere?”

  Richard threw his hands up. “I don’t know. But I do know that to the south is the Old World.”

  Raina folded her arms. “To the south is a barren waste.”

  Richard started across the expanse of floor. “Embedded in the wasteland was a place called the Valley of the Lost, and running through it, from ocean to ocean, a barrier called the Towers of Perdition. The towers were set in place three thousand years ago by wizards with unimaginable power. The spells of those towers have prevented almost anyone from crossing for the last three thousand years, and so the Old World beyond was forgotten in time.”

  Cara flashed a skeptical frown as their boot-strikes echoed around the dome. “How do you know this?”

  “I was there, in the Old World, at the Palace of the Prophets, in a great city called Tanimura.”

  “Truly?” Raina asked. Richard nodded. She added a frown to Cara’s. “And if no one can get through, then how did you?”

  “It’s a long story, but basically these women, the Sisters of the Light, took me there. We could cross because we have the gift, but not strong enough to draw the destructive power of the spells. No one else could get through, and so the Old and New Worlds remained separated by the towers and their spells.

  “Now the barrier between the Old and New World has fallen. No one is safe. The Imperial Order is from the Old World. It’s a long way, but they will come, and we must be prepared.”

  Cara eyed him suspiciously. “And if this barrier has been in place for three thousand years, how did this come to happen, now?”

  Richard cleared his throat as they followed him up onto the dais. “Well, I guess it’s my fault. I destroyed the towers’ spells. They no longer stand as a barrier. The wasteland has been restored to the green meadowland it once was.”

  The two women appraised him silently. Cara leaned past him to speak to Raina. “And he says he doesn’t know how to use magic.”

  Raina shifted her gaze to Richard. “So, what you are saying is that you have caused this war. You made it possible.”

  “No. Look, it’s a long story.” Richard raked back his hair. “Even before the barrier was down they were gaining allies here and had started their war. Ebinissia was destroyed before the barrier came down. But now there’s nothing to hold them back, or slow them down. Don’t underestimate them. They use wizards and sorceresses. They wish to destroy all magic.”

  “They wish to destroy all magic, yet they use magic themselves? Lord Rahl, that makes no sense,” Cara scoffed.

  “You want me to be the magic against magic. Why?” He pointed to the men on either end of the dais. “Because they can only be the steel against steel. It often takes magic to destroy magic.”

  Richard gestured, his finger including the two women. “You have magic. And to what purpose? To counter magic. As Mord-Sith, you are able to appropriate the magic of another and turn it against them. It’s the same with them. They use magic to help them destroy magic, just as Darken Rahl used you to torture and kill those with magic who opposed him.

  “You have magic; the Order will want to destroy you. I have magic; they’ll want to destroy me. All D’Haran’s have magic, through the bond; eventually the Order will see that and decide to exterminate the taint. Sooner or later, they’ll come to crush D’Hara, just as they would crush the Midlands.”

  “The D’Haran troops will crush them, instead,” Ulic said over his shoulder, as if stating with confidence that the sun would set this day as it always did.

  Richard shot a glare at the man’s back. “Until I came along, D’Harans joined with them, and in their name annihilated Ebinissia. The D’Harans here, in Aydindril, followed the commands of the Imperial Order.”

  His four guards fell silent. Cara stared at the ground before her feet as Raina let out a disheartened sigh.

  “In the confusion of the war,” Cara said at last, as if thinking aloud, “some of our troops out in the field would have felt the bond break, just as some of those at the palace did when you killed Darken Rahl. They would be like lost souls without a new Master Rahl to take up their bond. They may have simply joined with someone who would give them direction, take up the place of the bond. Now they have their bond back. We have a Master Rahl.”

  Richard slumped down in the Mother Confessor’s chair. “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  “All the more reason to return to D’Hara,” Raina said. “We must protect you so you can continue to be the Master Rahl and our people will not join with the Imperial Order. If you are killed, and the bond is broken, then the army will once again turn to the Order for direction. Better to leave the Midlands to their own battles. It is not your job to save them from themselves.”

  “Everyone in the Midlands, then, will fall under the sword of the Imperial Order,” Richard said in a soft voice. “They will be be treated as you were treated by Darken Rahl. No one will ever again be free. We can’t let that happen as long as there’s any chance we can stop them. It must be done now, before they gain any more of a foothold here in the Midlands.”

  Cara rolled her eyes. “The spirits save us from a man with a just cause. It is not up to you to lead them.”

  “If I don’t, then in the end everyone will live under one rule: the Order’s,” Richard said. “All people will be their chattel, for all time; tyrants don’t tire of tyranny.”

  The room rang with silence. Richard thumped his head against the chair back. He was so tired he didn’t think he could keep his eyes open much longer. He didn’t know why he was bothering to try to convince them; they didn’t seem to understand, or care about, what it was he was trying to do.

  Cara leaned against the desk and wiped a hand across her face. “We don’t want to lose you, Lord Rahl. We don’t want to go back to the way things were.” She sounded on the verge of tears. “We like being able to do simple things, like make a joke, and laugh. We could never do such things before. We always lived in fear that if we said the wrong thing we would be beaten, or worse. Now that we have seen another way, we don’t want to go back to that. If you throw your life away for the Midlands, then we will.”

  “Cara… all of you… listen to me. If I don’t do this, then in the end that’s what will happen. Can’t you see that? If I don’t unite the lands under a strong rule, under a just law and leadership, then the Order will take everything, one chunk at a time. If the Midlands fall under their shadow, then that shadow will steal across D’Hara, too, and in the end all the world will fall into darkness. I don’t do this because I want to, but because I can see that I have a chance to accomplish the task. If I don’t try, there will be no place for me to hide; they will find me, and kill me.

  “I don’t want to conquer and rule people; I just want to live a quiet life. I want to have a family and live in peace.

  “That’s why I must show the lands of the Midlands that we’re strong and will sanction no favoritism or bickering, that we’re not going to be lands in an alliance, standing as one only when it’s expedient, but that we truly are one. They must be confident we will stand for what’s right so that they’ll feel secure joining us, so they will know that there’s a place for them with us, and so that they’ll be heartened by knowing that they will not have to fight alone if they wish to fight for freedom. We must be a powerful force they will trust in. Trust in enough to join.”

  The room fell into an icy silence. Richard closed his eyes as he laid his head back against the chair. They thought him mad. It was no use. He was simply going to have to order them to do the things he needed, and stop worrying about if they liked it or not, much less cared.

  Cara finally spoke. “Lord Rahl.” He opened his eyes to see her standing with her arms folded and a grim expression on her face. “I will not change your child’s swadd
ling clothes, nor bathe it, nor burp it, nor make foolish sounds to it.”

  Richard closed his eyes and laid his head back against the chair again as he chuckled to himself. He remembered the time when he was back home, before all this started, and the midwife had come in a lather for Zedd. Elayne Seaton, a young woman not a whole lot older than Richard, was having her first child, and it was not going well. The midwife had spoken in hushed tones as she turned her broad back to Richard and leaned toward Zedd.

  Before Richard knew Zedd was his grandfather, he only knew him as his best friend. At the time Richard hadn’t known Zedd was a wizard, nor did anyone else; everyone simply knew him as old Zedd, the cloud reader, a man of considerable knowledge about the most ordinary and the most peculiar of things: about rare herbs and human ailments, about healing and where rain clouds had traveled from, about where to dig a well and when to start digging a grave, and he knew about childbirth.

  Richard knew Elayne. She taught him to dance so that he might ask a girl at the midsummer festival for a turn. Richard had wanted to learn, until faced with the prospect of actually holding a woman in his arms; he was afraid he might break her or something, he wasn’t sure what, but everyone always told him he was strong and had to take care not to hurt people. When he changed his mind and tried to beg off, Elayne laughed and swept him up in her arms and started twirling him about while humming a merry tune.

  Richard didn’t know much about the business of birthing babies, but from what he had heard he had no desire to go anywhere near Elayne’s house while it was going on. He headed for the door, intending on a walk in the opposite direction from trouble.

  Zedd snatched up his bag of herbs and potions, grabbed Richard’s sleeve, and said, “Come with me, my boy. I may need you.” Richard insisted he could be of no help, but when Zedd had his mind set on something he could make stone seem malleable by comparison. As Zedd shoved him out the door, he said, “You never know, Richard, you might even learn something.”

  Elayne’s husband, Henry, was off with a crew cutting ice for the inns and, because of the weather, hadn’t returned yet from his deliveries to nearby towns. There were several women in the house, but they were all in with Elayne. Zedd told Richard to make himself busy tending the fire and heating some water, and that he was likely to be a while.

  Richard sat in the cold kitchen, sweat running down his scalp, while he listened to the most horrifying screams he had ever heard. There were muffled words of comfort from the midwife and the other women, but mostly there were the screams. He stoked the fire, melting snow in a big kettle to give himself an excuse to go outside. He told himself that Elayne and Henry might need more wood, what with a new baby and all, so he cut and chopped a good sized pile. It did no good; he could still hear Elayne’s screams. It wasn’t the way they put voice to pain, but the way they were seared with panic that made Richard’s heart hammer.

  Richard knew Elayne was going to die. A midwife wouldn’t have come for Zedd unless there was serious trouble. Richard had never seen a dead person; he didn’t want the first to be Elayne. He remembered her laughter when she had taught him to dance. His face had been red the whole time, but she pretended not to notice.

  And then, while he sat at the table, staring off, thinking the world was a very terrible place indeed, there was a last scream, more agonizing than the rest, that sent a shiver down his spine. It died out in forlorn misery. He squeezed his eyes shut, in the dragging silence, damming in the tears.

  Digging a grave in the frozen ground was going to be near to impossible, but he promised himself that he would do it for Elayne. He didn’t want them to keep her frozen body in the undertakers’ shed until spring. He was strong. He would do it if it took him a month. She had taught him to dance.

  The door to the bedroom squeaked opened, and Zedd shuffled out carrying something. “Richard, come here.” He handed over a gory mess with tiny arms and legs. “Wash him gently.”

  “What? How do I do that?” Richard stammered.

  “In warm water!” Zedd bellowed. “Bags, my boy, you did heat water, didn’t you?” Richard pointed with his chin. “Not too hot, now. Just lukewarm. Then swaddle him in those blankets and bring him back into the bedroom.”

  “But Zedd… the women. They should do it. Not me! Dear spirits, can’t the women do it?”

  Zedd, his white hair in disarray, peered at him with one eye. “If I wanted the women to do it, my boy, I wouldn’t have asked you, now would I?”

  In a flurry of robes, he was off. The door to the bedroom banged closed. Richard was afraid to move for fear he would crush the little thing. It was so tiny he could hardly believe it was real. And then something happened—Richard began to grin. This was a person, a spirit, new to the world. He was beholding magic.

  When he took the bathed and blanketed marvel into the bedroom, he was moved to tears to see that Elayne was very much alive. His trembling legs were hardly able to hold him.

  “Elayne, you sure can dance” was the only thing he could think to say. “How did you manage to do such a wondrous thing?” The women around the bed stared at him as if he were daft.

  Elayne smiled through her exhaustion. “Someday you can teach Bradley to dance, bright eyes.” She held her hands out. Her grin grew as Richard gently put her child into her arms.

  “Well, my boy, seems you figured it out after all.” Zedd lifted an eyebrow. “Learn anything?”

  Bradley must be ten by now, and called him Uncle Richard.

  As he listened to the quiet, returning from the memories, Richard thought about what Cara had said.

  “Yes, you will,” He told her at last in a gentle tone. “Even if I have to command it, you will. I want you to feel the wonder of a new life, a new spirit, in your arms, so that you can feel magic other than that Agiel at your wrist. You will bathe him, and swaddle him, and burp him, so that you will know your tender care is needed in this world, and that I would trust my own child in that care. You will make foolish sounds to him, so that you can laugh with joy at the hope for the future, and perhaps forget that you have killed people in the past.

  “If you can understand none of the rest, I hope you can understand at least this much of my reasons for what I must do.”

  He relaxed back in the chair, letting his muscles slacken for the first time in hours. The hush seemed to hum around him. He thought about Kahlan, and let his mind drift.

  Cara whispered through tight lips and tears: a soft sound almost lost in the huge room and its tomblike silence, “If you get yourself killed trying to rule the world, I will personally break every bone in your body.”

  Richard felt his cheeks tighten with a smile. The darkness behind his eyelids swirled with dark plumes of color.

  He was acutely aware of the chair around him: the Mother Confessor’s chair, Kahlan’s chair. From it she had ruled the Midlands alliance. He could feel the eyes of the first Mother Confessor and her wizard glaring down at him as he sat in the hallowed place after having demanded the surrender of the Midlands and the end of an alliance that they had forged to be the foundation for an everlasting peace.

  He had came into this war fighting for the cause of the Midlands. He now commanded his former enemy, and had placed his sword at the throats of his allies.

  In one day, he had turned the world upside down.

  Richard knew he was breaking the alliance for the right reasons, but he agonized about what Kahlan was going to think. She loved him, and would understand, he told himself. She had to.

  Dear spirits, what was Zedd going to think?

  His arms rested heavily where Kahlan’s had. He imagined her arms around him, now, as they had been the night before in that place between worlds. He didn’t think he had ever been that happy in his whole life, or felt so loved.

  He thought he could hear someone telling him he should find a bed, but he was already asleep.

  17

  Despite returning to find several thousand brutish D’Haran troops surroundin
g his palace, Tobias was in a good mood. Things were turning out splendidly—not the way he had originally planned that morning, but splendidly nonetheless. The D’Harans made no effort to hinder his entrance, but warned him that he had better not come out again that night.

  Their effrontery was galling, but he was more interested in the old woman Ettore was preparing than in the D’Harans’ lack of protocol. He had questions and was impatient for the answers. She would be ready to give them by now; Ettore was well practiced at his craft. Even though this was the first time he had been trusted to handle the preparations for a questioning without a more experienced brother overseeing his hand, that hand had already proven to be talented and steady at the task. Ettore was more than ready for the responsibility.

  Tobias shook the snow from his cape onto the ruby and gold carpet, not bothering to clean his boots before he marched across the spotless anteroom toward the corridors leading to the stairs. The wide halls were lit by cut-glass lamps hung before polished silver reflectors that sent wavering rays of light dancing over the gilt woodwork. Crimson-caped guards patrolling the palace touched fingertips to their foreheads as they bowed. Tobias didn’t trouble himself with returning the salutes.

  With Galtero and Lunetta right behind, he took the steps two at time. While the walls on the main level were trimmed with ornate paneling adorned with portraits of Nicobarese royalty and decorated tapestries depicting their fabled, largely fictitious exploits, the walls on the lower level were simple stone block, cold to the eye as well as the touch. The room he was headed for, though, would be warm.

  As he knuckled his mustache, he winced at the ache in his bones. The cold seemed to make his joints ache more of late. He admonished himself to be more concerned with the Creator’s work and less with such mundane matters. The Creator had blessed him with more than a good amount of help this night; it must not be wasted.

  On the upper levels the halls had been well guarded by the men of the fist, but downstairs the drab corridors were empty; there was no way into or out of the palace from the lower levels. Galtero, ever watchful, eyed the length of the hall outside the door to the questioning room. Lunetta waited patiently with a smile. Tobias had told her she had done well, especially with the last spell, and she was a glowing reflection of his good graces.