Blood of the Fold

by Terry Goodkind

  Nathan, wearing high boots, brown trousers, a ruffled white shirt buttoned up over his Rada’Han, an open dark green vest, and a heavy dark brown cape hanging almost to the floor, strolled up to the short counter set before a few bottles and kegs. With a noble air, he flipped his cape back over a shoulder as he settled a boot to the footrail. Nathan relished wearing clothes other than the black robes he always wore at the palace. He called it “playing down.”

  The humorless innkeeper smiled only after Nathan had slid silver his way and advised that for the high price of lodging, it had better include a meal. The innkeeper shrugged and agreed.

  Before she knew it, Nathan was already spinning a tale that he was a merchant traveling with his mistress while his wife was home raising his twelve strapping sons. The man wanted to know what sort of merchandise Nathan dealt in. Nathan leaned close, lowered his commanding voice, and winked at the man as he told him that it would be safer if he didn’t know.

  The impressed innkeeper straightened and handed Nathan a mug on the house. Nathan toasted the Ten Oaks Inn, the innkeeper, and the patrons before he started for the stairs, telling the innkeeper to bring a mug for his “woman” when he brought their stew. Every eye in the inn followed him, marveling at the impressive stranger among them.

  Pressing her lips tight, Ann vowed not to let herself be distracted again, giving Nathan enough time to make up their pretense at being there. It was the journey book that had distracted her. She wanted to know what it said, but she was apprehensive about it, too. Something could easily have gone wrong, and one of the Sisters of the Dark could have the book and have discovered the two of them were still alive. They couldn’t afford that. She pressed her fingers against a pang in her stomach. For all she knew, the Palace of the Prophets was already in the hands of the enemy.

  The room was small, but clean, with two narrow pallets, a whitewashed stand holding a tin washbasin and chipped ewer, and a square table atop which Nathan set an oil lamp he had carried in from the bracket beside the door. The innkeeper was not far behind with bowls of lamb stew and brown bread, followed by the stableboy with their bags. After both had gone and closed the door, Ann sat and scooted her chair up to the table.

  “Well,” Nathan said, “aren’t you going to give me a lecture?”

  “No, Nathan, I’m tired.”

  He flourished a hand. “I thought it only fair, in view of the deaf-mute business.” His expression turned dark. “I’ve been held in this collar all but the first four years of my life. How would you feel, being a captive your whole life?”

  Ann mused to herself that, being his keeper, she was nearly as much a captive as he. She met his glare. “Though you never believe me when I say it, Nathan, I will tell you again that I wish it weren’t so. It brings me no pleasure to keep one of the Creator’s children a prisoner for no crime but his birth.”

  After a long silence, he withdrew the glare. His hands clasped behind his back, Nathan strolled the room, giving it a critical appraisal. His boots thumped across the plank floor. “Not what I’m accustomed to,” he announced to no one in particular.

  Ann pushed away the bowl of stew and set the journey book on the table, staring at the black leather cover for a time before finally opening it and turning to the writing.

  You must first tell me the reason you chose me the last time. I remember every word. One mistake, and this journey book feeds the fire.

  “My, my, my,” she murmured. “She’s being very cautious. Good.” Nathan peered over Ann’s shoulder as she pointed. “Look at the strokes, at how hard she pressed. Verna looks to be angry.”

  Ann stared at the words. She knew what Verna meant.

  “She must really hate me,” Ann whispered as the words on the page wavered in her watery gaze.

  Nathan straightened. “So what? I hate you, and it never seems to bother you.”

  “Do you, Nathan? Do you really hate me?”

  His only answer was a dismissive grunt. “Have I told you that this plan of yours is madness?”

  “Not since breakfast.”

  “Well it is, you know.”

  Ann stared at the words in the journey book. “You’ve worked before to influence which fork is taken in prophecy, Nathan, because you know what can happen down the wrong path, and you also know how vulnerable the prophecies are to corruption.”

  “What good will it do everyone if you get yourself killed with this foolhardy plan? And me with you! I’d like to live to see a thousand, you know. You’re going to get us both killed.”

  Ann rose from her chair. She laid gentle a hand on his muscular arm. “Tell me then, Nathan, what you would do. You know the prophecies; you know the threat. You yourself are the one who warned me. Tell me what you would do, if it were up to you.”

  He shared a gaze with her for a long moment. The fire left his eyes as he put a big hand over hers. “The same as you, Ann. It’s our only chance. But it doesn’t make me feel any better knowing the danger to you.”

  “I know, Nathan. Are they there? Are they in Aydindril?”

  “One is,” he said quietly as he squeezed her hand, “and the other will be there around the time we arrive; I have seen it in the prophecy.

  “Ann, this age that is upon us is tangled with a warren of prophecies. War draws prophecies like dung draws flies. Branches go in every direction. Every one of them must be negotiated properly. If we take the wrong path on any of them, we walk into oblivion. Worse, there are gaps where I don’t know what must be done. Worse yet, there are others involved who must also take the correct fork, and we have no control over them.”

  Ann could find no words, and so nodded instead. She sat back at the table and inched her chair close. Nathan straddled the other chair and broke off a chunk of brown bread, chewing while he watched her draw the stylus from the spine of the journey book.

  Ann wrote, Tomorrow night, when the moon is up, go to the place you found this. She closed the book and returned it to a pocket in her gray dress.

  Nathan spoke around his mouthful of bread. “I hope she is smart enough to justify your faith.”

  “We trained her as best we could, Nathan; we sent her away from the palace for twenty years so she might learn to use her wits. We have done all we can. Now we must have faith in her.” Ann kissed the finger where the Prelate’s ring had been all those years. “Dear Creator, give her strength, too.”

  Nathan blew on a spoonful of hot stew. “I want a sword,” he announced.

  Her brow wrinkled. “You’re a wizard with full command of his gift. Why in the name of Creation would you want a sword?”

  He regarded her as if she were witless. “Because I would look dashing with a sword at my hip.”

  29

  “Please?” Cathryn whispered.

  Richard stared into her soft brown eyes as he gently touched the side of her radiant face, brushing a black ringlet back from her cheek. When they looked into each other’s eyes, it was near to impossible for him to look away unless she did so first. He was having that difficulty now. Her hand on his waist sent warm sensations of longing coursing through him. He struggled desperately to put an image of Kahlan in his mind in order to resist the compulsion to take Cathryn in his arms and say yes. His body burned to do so.

  “I’m tired,” he lied. Sleep was the last thing he wanted. “It’s been a long day. Tomorrow we’ll be together again.”

  “But I want—”

  He touched her lips to silence her. He knew that if he heard those words from her again, it would be one time too many. The implied offer of her lips as they sucked the end of his finger with a wet kiss was nearly as impossible to resist as the overt invitation of her words. In the fog of his mind, he could hardly form coherent thoughts.

  He managed to form one: Dear spirits, help me. Give me strength. My heart belongs to Kahlan.

  “Tomorrow,” he managed.

  “You said that yesterday, and it took me hours to find you,” she whispered as she kissed his ear.


  Richard had been using the mriswith cape to make himself invisible. It was just a little easier to resist when she couldn’t appeal to him directly, but it only delayed the inevitable. When he saw her frantic to find him, he couldn’t bear to see her in distress as she searched for him, and would end up going to her.

  As her hand came up to his neck, he took it and administered it a quick kiss. “Sleep well, Cathryn. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Richard glanced to Egan standing ten feet away, with his back to the wall and his arms folded as he stared ahead, as if he saw nothing. Beyond, in the shadows at the end of the gloomy hall, Berdine stood guard, too. She make no pretense at not seeing him standing at the door with Cathryn pressed up against him. She observed without expression. His other guards, Ulic, Cara, and Raina were getting some sleep.

  Richard slipped a hand behind his back and turned the doorknob. His weight against the door caused it to spring open, and as it did he stepped aside and Cathryn stumbled into her room. She caught herself by his hand. Looking into his eyes, she kissed his hand. His knees nearly buckled.

  Knowing he could resist her no longer if he didn’t remove himself from the sight of her, he took back his hand. He was mentally making excuses to himself as to why it would be all right to give in. What could it hurt? Why was it so bad? Why did he think it would be so wrong?

  It felt like there was a thick blanket over his thoughts, suffocating them before they could get to the surface.

  Voices in his head tried to rationalize why he should stop this foolish resistance and simply enjoy the charms of this gorgeous creature who was making it more than stone cold obvious that she wanted him, who in fact was begging him. He felt a lump in his throat at his desire for her. He was near tears from struggling to find reasons to stop himself.

  His thinking churned in a mental stupor. Part of him, the largest part, desperately struggled to make him abandon his resistance, but a small, dim part of his mind fought fiercely, trying to hold him back, trying to warn him that something was wrong. It made no sense. What could be wrong? Why was it wrong? What was it in him that was trying to stop him?

  Dear spirits, help me.

  An image of Kahlan came to him, and he saw her smile that smile she gave no other but him. He saw her lips moving. She said she loved him.

  “I need to be alone with you, Richard,” Cathryn said. “I can’t wait any longer.”

  “Good night, Cathryn. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.” He pulled the door closed.

  Panting with exhaustion at the effort, he closed the door to his room after he entered. His shirt was soaked with sweat. With a weak arm, he reached up and shoved the bolt to the door into place. It broke as he drove it home. He stared at the bracket as it swung, hanging by one screw. In the dim light coming from the fire in the hearth, he couldn’t see the other screws on the ornate carpets.

  He was so hot he could hardly breathe. Richard pulled the baldric over his head and dropped his sword to the floor on his way to the window. With the effort of a drowning man, he twisted the latch and threw the window open, gasping as if he couldn’t get his breath. Cold air filled his lungs, but did little to cool him.

  His room was on the ground floor, and he briefly contemplated stepping over the sill and rolling in the snow. He decided against it, and settled on letting the cold air waft over him as he stared out into the night, at the moonlit, secluded garden.

  Something was wrong, but he couldn’t make himself grasp it. He wanted to be with Cathryn, but something inside was fighting it. Why? He couldn’t understand why he would want to fight his desire for her.

  He thought again about Kahlan. That was why.

  But if he loved Kahlan, why would he be having such an intense desire for Cathryn? He could think of little but her. He was having trouble keeping the memory of Kahlan in his head.

  Richard shuffled to the bed. He instinctively knew that he had reached the end of his ability to resist his lust for Cathryn. He sat on the edge of the bed, in a daze as his head spun.

  The door opened. Richard looked up. It was her. She was wearing something so sheer that the dim light in the hall silhouetted her body underneath. She crossed the room toward him.

  “Richard, please,” she said in that soft voice that paralyzed him, “don’t send me away this time. Please. I will die if I can’t be with you right now.”

  Die? Dear spirits, he didn’t want her to die. Richard nearly burst into tears at the very thought.

  She glided closer, into the firelight. The softly pleated nightdress reached the floor, but did nothing to hide what was beneath it, merely softening her body into a vision of beauty beyond anything he could have imagined. The sight ignited him. He could think of nothing but what he was seeing, and how much he wanted her. If he didn’t have her, he would die of unrealized desire.

  As she stood over him, with one hand behind her back, she smiled as she stroked his face with the other. He could feel the heat of her flesh. She bent and brushed her lips against his. He thought he would die of pleasure. Her hand went to his chest.

  “Lie down, my love,” Cathryn whispered as she pushed him back.

  He flopped back on the bed, staring up at her through the numb agony of desire.

  Richard thought of Kahlan. He was powerless. Richard dimly remembered some of the things Nathan had told him about using his gift: it was within him, and anger could bring it out. But he felt no anger. Instinct was how a war wizard used his gift, Nathan had told him. He remembered abandoning himself to that instinct when he was about to die at the hands of Liliana, a Sister of the Dark. He had given sanction to the inner power. He had let his instinctive use of need bring the power to life.

  Cathryn put a knee on the bed. “At long last, my love.”

  In helpless abandon, Richard gave himself over to that calm center, the instinct beyond the veil within his mind. He let himself fall into that dark void. He relinquished control of his actions to what would be. He was lost either way.

  Clarity ignited, scorching the fog away in seething ripples.

  He looked up to see a woman for whom he had no feelings. With cold lucidity, he understood. Richard had been touched by magic before; he knew its feel. The shroud had been shattered. There was magic about this woman. With the fog gone, he could feel its cold fingers in his mind. But why?

  Then he saw the knife.

  The blade glinted in the firelight as she lifted it over her head. With a wild rush of strength, he flung himself to the floor as the Cathryn buried the knife in the bedding. She drew it back again as she dove toward him.

  It was too late for her now. He cocked his legs to kick her back, but in a confusion of sensations and realizations, Richard felt the presence of a mriswith, and at nearly the same time, he saw it materialize as it dove through the air above him.

  And then the world went red. He felt warm blood splatter his face as he saw the filmy nightdress slashed open; severed edges of diaphanous material fluttered as if in a blast of wind. The three blades ripped Cathryn nearly in two. The mriswith crashed to the floor beyond.

  Richard spun out from underneath her and sprang to his feet as she toppled back, the shocking gore of her insides sloshing across the carpet. Her terrible gasps died out in heaving pants.

  Richard crouched, his feet and his hands spread, facing the mriswith on the other side of her. The mriswith had a three-bladed knife in each claw. Between them, Cathryn writhed in the agony of death.

  The mriswith took a step back toward the window, its beady eyes staying on Richard. It took another step, drawing its black cape over one scaled arm as its gaze swept the room.

  Richard dove for his sword. He slid to a stop as the mriswith planted a clawed foot atop the scabbard, holding it to the floor.

  “No,” it hissed. “She was going to killssss you.”

  “The same as you!”

  “No. I protectssss you, skin brother.”

  Dumbfounded, Richard stared up at the da
rk shape. The mriswith flung the cape around itself and dove through the window into the night, vanishing as it leapt. Richard lunged toward the window to grab it. His arms caught only air as he landed across the windowsill, hanging halfway out into the night. The mriswith was gone. He could no longer feel its presence in his mind.

  In the emptiness left by the departure of the mriswith, Richard’s mind filled with the mental image of Cathryn squirming in a mass of her guts. He vomited out the window.

  When his racking heaves finished, and his head stopped spinning, he staggered back to where she lay to kneel beside her. He thanked the spirits that she was dead, and no longer suffered. Even if she had tried to kill him, he couldn’t stand to watch her suffering in the throes of death.

  He stared at her face. He couldn’t imagine the feelings he had had for her that he now only dimly remembered. She was just an ordinary woman. But she had been shrouded in magic. It was some sort of spell that had overpowered his reason. He had come to his senses with no time to spare. His gift had broken the spell.

  The top half of her slashed nightdress was thrown up around her neck. A cold feeling that gave him goose bumps turned his attention to her breasts. Richard’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned closer, staring. He reached out and touched her right nipple. He touched the left. It wasn’t the same.

  He carried a lamp to the fire and lit it with a long splinter of kindling. He returned to the body and held the lamp near her left breast. Richard wet his thumb on his tongue and rubbed the smooth nipple. It came off. With her nightdress, he cleaned the paint from her breast, to leave a smooth, unbroken mound of skin. Cathryn had no left nipple.

  The calm center within radiated an aura of comprehension. This was connected to the spell she had over him. He didn’t know how, but it was.

  Richard suddenly sat back on his heels. He sat a moment, wide-eyed, and then sprang up, running to the door. He stopped. Why should he be thinking this? He had to be wrong.