Blood of the Fold tsot-3

by Terry Goodkind

  She squeezed his arm. “Be loyal to your friends, Kevin, and you will be all right. Be loyal to Richard, and it will save you.”

  He nodded. “Thank you, Prelate. But I don’t fear I will have to choose.”

  “Kevin, listen to me. The emperor is an evil man.” Kevin didn’t say anything. “You just remember that. And keep my words to yourself, will you?”

  “Yes, Prelate.”

  As Verna marched into her outer office, Phoebe came halfway out of her chair when she saw her. “Good evening, Prelate.”

  “I have to pray for guidance, Phoebe. No visitors.”

  Something Kevin had said abruptly snagged in her mind. It didn’t make sense. “Guards Bollesdun and Walsh have been assigned to the Prophet’s compound. We don’t have a prophet. Find out why they’re there and who ordered it, and give me a report first thing in the morning.” Verna shook a finger. “First thing.”

  “Verna—” Phoebe sank back into her chair and looked down to her desk. Sister Dulcinia turned her white face away, putting her attention to her reports. “Verna, there are some Sisters here to see you. They wait inside.”

  “I gave no one permission to wait in my office!”

  Phoebe didn’t look up. “I know. Prelate, but—”

  “I’ll see to this. Thank you, Phoebe.”

  Verna was masked in a furious scowl as she stormed into her office. No one was allowed in her office without her explicit permission. She didn’t have time to waste with nonsense. She had figured out how to tell the Sisters of the Light from the Sisters of the Dark, and she knew why Emperor Jagang was coming to Tanimura, to the Palace of the Prophets. She had to send a message to Ann. She had to know what she was to do.

  She saw the figures of four women in the dark room as she closed the distance. “What is the meaning of this!”

  Verna recognized Sister Leoma as she stepped forward into the candlelight.

  And then, in a blinding flash of pain, the world went black.

  “Do as I say, Nathan.”

  He leaned down toward her, quite a distance, considering their difference in height, and gnashed his teeth. “You could at least give me access to my Han! How can I protect you?”

  Ann watched in the darkness as the column of five hundred men followed the Lord Rahl up the street. “I don’t want you to protect me. We can’t take the chance. You know what to do. You must not interfere until he has rescued me, or we won’t have a chance of capturing one so dangerous.”

  “What if he doesn’t ‘rescue’ you?”

  Ann tried not to think of that possibility. She tried not to think of what was going to happen even if events took the correct fork. “Must I now lecture a prophet on prophecy? You must let it happen. Afterward, I will remove the block. Now, take the horses to a stable for the night. Make sure they are well fed.”

  Nathan snatched the reins from her. “Have it your way, woman.” He turned back. “You had better hope that I never get this collar off, or we are going to have a very long talk. You won’t be able to do a proper job of holding up your end of the conversation, though, because you will be bound and gagged at the time.”

  Ann chuckled. “Nathan, you’re a good man. I trust in you. You must trust in me.”

  He shook a finger at her. “If you get yourself killed . . .”

  “I know, Nathan.”

  He growled. “And they say I’m the one who is mad.” He turned back to her. “At least you could get yourself something to eat. You haven’t eaten all day. There’s a market just over there. Promise me you will at least have something to eat.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Promise me!”

  Ann sighed. “All right, Nathan. If it will make you happy, I will have something to eat. But I’m not very hungry.” He lifted a finger in admonition. “I said I promise. Now go on.”

  After he had finally stormed off with the horses, she proceeded on toward the Keep. Her stomach churned with the fear of walking into a prophecy blind. She didn’t like the idea of going to the Keep again, but she liked it even less considering the prophecy involved. Still, she had to do this. It was the only way.

  “Honey cake, ma’am? They’re only a penny, and quite good.”

  Ann looked down at a little girl in big coat standing behind a rickety table. Honey cake. Well, she hadn’t promised what she would eat. A honey cake would do.

  Ann smiled at the pretty face. “All alone out here at night?”

  The girl turned and pointed. “No, m’lady, my grandmamma is here with me.”

  A squat woman was curled up, all covered over in a tattered blanket, apparently asleep. Ann fished around in a pocket and pulled out a coin.

  “A silver for you, my dear. You look to need it more than I.”

  “Oh, thank you, m’lady.” She pulled a honey cake from under the table. “Please take this one. It’s one of the special ones, with the most honey. I save them for the nicest people to stop at my stand.”

  Ann smiled as she took the honey cake. “Well, thank you, my dear.”

  As Ann started up the road to the Keep, the little girl began packing up her things.

  Ann savored the sweet honey cake as she eyed the people milling about the small market, looking for one who would be trouble. She didn’t see any who looked dangerous, but she knew one was. She put her attention back to the road. What would be, would be. She wondered if it would really ease the anxiety if she knew how it would come. Probably not.

  In the darkness, no one saw her take the road to the Keep, and at last she was alone. She wished Nathan were with her, but in a way, it was nice to be alone at last, if only for a brief time. It did give her time, without Nathan’s presence, to think about her life, and what changes this would mean. So many years.

  In a way, what she was doing was like condemning to death those she loved. What choice had she?

  She licked her fingers clean when she finished the honey cake. It hadn’t settled her stomach, as she had hoped it would. By the time she crossed under the iron portcullis, her stomach was in churning turmoil. What was wrong with her? She had faced dangers before. Maybe, as she got older, she found life more precious, and held on more tenaciously, fearing to let it slip.

  By the time she lit a candle inside the Keep, she knew something was wrong. She felt on fire. Her eyes burned. Her joints ached. Was she sick? Dear Creator, not now. She needed strength.

  When she felt the stabbing pain under her breastbone, she crossed an arm across her middle and slumped into a chair. She groaned as the room spun. What was . . . ?

  The honey cake.

  It had never occurred to her that it could come this way. She had been wondering how one could overpower her; she was not without her Han, after all, and it was strong in her, stronger than nearly any other sorceress. How could she be so stupid? She doubled over in the chair with a searing lash of pain.

  In her wavering vision, she saw two figures enter the room, one short, one taller. Two? She hadn’t expected two. Dear Creator, two could ruin everything.

  “Well, well. Look what the night netted me.”

  Struggling with the effort, Ann tilted her head up. “Who . . . is . . . it?”

  They stepped closer. “Don’t you remember me?” The old woman in the blanket cackled. “Don’t recognize me, all old and wasted? Well, you’re to blame for that. I must say, you look hardly a day older. I could still have my youth, were it not for you, my dear, dear Prelate. Then you would recognize me.”

  Ann gasped as the twisting pain bore down on her.

  “Honey cake not setting well?”

  “Who . . .”

  The old woman put her hands to her knees and leaned down. “Why, Prelate, surely, you must remember? I promised you that you would pay for what you did to me. And you don’t even remember the cruel thing you did? Did it mean that little to you?”

  Ann’s eyes widened in sudden recognition. She would never have recognized her after all these years, but the voice, the voice w
as the same. “Valdora.”

  The old woman cackled again. “Well, dear Prelate, I’m honored you would remember one so lowly as I.” She bowed with exaggerated courtesy, “I hope you also remember what I promised you. You do remember, don’t you? I promised to see you dead.”

  Ann felt herself hit the floor as she writhed in agony. “I thought that . . . after you . . . reflected on your actions . . . you would see the wrong in your ways. I can see, now, that . . . I was right to put you . . . from the palace. You . . . have no right to serve as a Sister.”

  “Oh, don’t you concern yourself, Prelate. I’ve started my own palace. My granddaughter here is my student, my novice. I teach her better than your Sisters could ever teach. I teach her everything.”

  “You teach her . . . to poison people?”

  Valdora laughed. “Oh, the poison won’t kill you. Just a little something to incapacitate you until I could bind you up all helpless in a web. You’ll not die so easily.” She leaned down closer, her voice coming like venom. “You are going to be a long time dying, Prelate. You may even last all the way to morning. A person can die a thousand times over in a single night.”

  “How could you have . . . known . . . I would come?”

  The woman straightened. “Oh, I didn’t. When I saw the Lord Rahl, and he gave me one of your coins, I thought he might end up bringing me a Sister, too. I had no idea, not in my wildest hopes, that he would bring me the Prelate herself. Delivered right into my hands. My, my, what a marvel. No, I never even dared hope. I would have been more than happy just to skin one of your Sisters, or even your student, Lord Rahl, to do you a pain. But now I can fulfill my deepest, darkest desires.”

  Ann tried to call her Han. Through the layer of pain, she realized the honey cake had contained more than simple poison. It had been bound up with a spell.

  Dear Creator, this was not going the way it should.

  The room was getting dim. She felt a jerk of pain in her scalp. She felt the stone scrape along her back. She saw the pretty, smiling face of the girl walking along at her side.

  “I forgive you, child,” Ann whispered.

  And then, the blackness smothered her.

  Chapter 39

  Kahlan clutched Adie’s arm in one hand and a sword in the other as they ran. In the darkness, they both stumbled over Orsk, falling hard. Kahlan yanked her hand back from the warm mass of his guts in the snow.

  “How . . . how could he be here!”

  Adie panted, trying to catch her breath. “It be impossible.”

  “There’s enough moon to see. I know we’re not going in circles.” She took a quick swipe against the snow, smearing the gore from her hands. She scrambled to her feet, pulling Adie up with her. There were bodies, clad in red capes, scattered all about. They had had only one fight. There couldn’t be other bodies. And Orsk . . .

  Kahlan swept her gaze along the tree line, looking for the men on horseback. “Adie, remember the vision Jebra had? She saw me going in circles.”

  Adie brushed the snow from her face. “But how?”

  Kahlan knew Adie couldn’t run much more. She had used her power to fight, and she was near dead with exhaustion. The force of her magic unleashed had been a terror to the attackers, but there were too many. Orsk must have killed twenty or thirty by himself. Kahlan hadn’t seen Orsk killed, but she had come across his body three times now. He had been cut nearly in two.

  “Which way do you think we must go to get away?” she asked the sorceress.

  “They be back there.” Adie pointed. “We must go this way.”

  “That’s what I think, too.” She pulled Adie the other way. “We’ve been doing what we think we should, and it’s not working. We have to try something else. Come on. We must do what we think is wrong.”

  “It could be a spell,” Adie offered. “If it is, you be right. I be too tired to feel it if there be one.”

  They charged through the bramble and down a steep slope, half running, half sliding down the snow. Before she bounded over the edge she saw the horsemen spring from the cover of trees. The snow at the bottom was drifted into deep banks. They both struggled through them toward trees. It was like trying to run in a quagmire.

  A man suddenly came out of the night and drove down the slope after them. Kahlan didn’t wait for Adie to try to use her magic. There was no time if she failed.

  Kahlan spun, bringing the sword around. The man in the red cape swept his sword up defensively as he plunged onward. He wore an armored breastplate. Her strike would be wasted on his armor. He was protecting his face—an instinctive reaction, but a fatal move against someone trained by her father, King Wyborn. Men in armor fought with false confidence.

  With all her strength, Kahlan took her sword low instead. It jolted to a halt when it hit his femur. The man, the muscle of his thigh cleaved, tumbled with a helplessly cry to the trampled ground.

  Another man leapt over top of him toward her. His red cape sailed open in the night air. Kahlan brought her sword up, slashing the inside of his thigh, severing the artery. As he fell past her, she hacked his hamstring.

  The first cried out in panic. The second man cursed at the top of his lungs, calling her every vile name she had ever heard as he crawled ahead, brandishing his sword, provoking her to dare to fight him.

  Kahlan remembered her father’s counsel: Words can’t cut you. Ward only for steel. Fight only steel. She didn’t waste the time to finish them; they would probably bleed to death in the snow, and even if they didn’t, maimed as they were, they couldn’t come after her. Clutching each other’s arms, she and Adie fled onward into the trees.

  Panting in the darkness, they wove their way through the snow crusted fur trees. Kahlan realized Adie was shivering. She had lost her heavy cloak at the very beginning. Kahlan pulled off her wolf-hide mantle and threw it around Adie’s shoulders.

  “No, child,” Adie began to protest.

  “Wear it,” Kahlan commanded. “I’m sweating, and anyway, it only slows my sword.” In truth, her sword arm was so weary she could hardly lift the thing, much less swing it. Only fright powered her muscles. For now, that was enough.

  Kahlan no longer knew which way she was running. The two of them simply ran for their lives. When she wanted go right, she went left instead. The trees they ran through were too thick to see the stars, or the moon.

  She had to get away. Richard was in danger. Richard needed her. She had to get to him. Zedd should be there by now, but anything could go wrong. Zedd might not make it. She had to.

  Kahlan slapped a balsam branch aside, struggling into a small open area of ledge wind-blown nearly clean of snow. She started to a halt. Before her stood two horses.

  Tobias Brogan, the lord general of the Blood of the Fold, smiled down at her. A woman in tattered scraps of colored cloth sat on a horse beside him.

  Brogan knuckled his mustache. “And what have we here?”

  “Two travelers,” Kahlan said in voice as cold as the winter air. “Since when has the Blood taken to robbing and butchering helpless travelers?”

  “Helpless travelers? Hardly. The two of you must have killed over a hundred of my men.”

  “We have been defending our lives from the Blood of the Fold, which if it thinks it can get away with it, attacks people it doesn’t even know.”

  “Oh I know you, Kahlan Amnell, Queen of Galea. I know more than you think. I know who you be.”

  Kahlan’s fist tightened on the hilt of the sword.

  Brogan stepped his big dappled gray closer, a gruesome grin overcoming his face. He rested an arm on the pommel as he leaned forward, his dark eyes holding her in their malevolent grip.

  “You, Kahlan Amnell, be the Mother Confessor. I see you for who you be, and you be the Mother Confessor.”

  Kahlan’s muscles locked tight, her breath held prisoner in her lungs. How could he know that? Had Zedd removed the spell? Had something happened to Zedd? Dear spirits, if anything happened to Zedd . . .

&
nbsp; With a cry of rage, she brought the sword around in a mighty swing. At the same time, the woman in the tattered rages flung a hand out. With a grunt of effort, Adie cast out a shield. The blow of air from the woman atop the horse brushed past Kahlan’s face, flicking her hair out. Adie’s shield had saved her.

  Kahlan’s sword flashed in the moonlight. The night air cracked as her blade sundered the horse’s leg under Brogan.

  The horse screamed as it thudded to the ground, pitching Brogan into the trees. At the same time, a gout of flame from Adie enveloped the other horse’s head. It reared wildly, throwing the woman whom Kahlan now knew to be a sorceress, too.

  Kahlan snatched Adie’s hand and yanked her away. They scrambled desperately into the brush. All around, she could hear men and horses crashing through the trees. Kahlan didn’t try to think where she was going; she simply ran.

  There was one thing she hadn’t resorted to, yet; she was saving her power as her last recourse. It could only be used once, and then would take hours to recover. Most Confessors took a day or two to recover their magic. The fact that Kahlan could recover her power within a couple of hours marked her as one of the most powerful Confessors to have ever been born. That power didn’t seem like much, now. One chance.

  “Adie.” Kahlan gasped, trying to catch her breath. “If you can, if they catch us, try to slow one of the two women.”

  Adie didn’t need further explanation. She understood; both the women chasing them were sorceresses. If Kahlan had to use her power, that would be the best use of it.

  Kahlan ducked at a flash of light. A tree beside them crashed down with a deafening roar. As the snow cleared in rolling clouds, the other woman, the one who had been afoot, marched forward.

  Beside the woman was a dark, scaled creature, looking half man, half lizard. Kahlan heard a cry come from her throat. It felt as if her bones wanted to jump out of her unmoving flesh.

  “I’ve had quite enough of this nonsense,” the woman said as she strode forward, the scaled thing at her side.