Blood of the Fold by Terry Goodkind
“If you want to argue, then do it with your sword. If not, be off!”
The near to two hundred horsemen watched the two D’Harans, showing no emotion, especially not fear. There were, after all, only two D’Harans—not an arduous challenge, despite the men’s size. At least a fool might think so. Richard had seen D’Haran troops everywhere in the city. It was possible that at the first sign of trouble, they could show up in short order.
The horseman didn’t seem too concerned about other D’Harans, though. “There be only two of you, brother. Not good odds.”
The one at Richard’s left glanced casually down the line of horsemen, turned his head, and spat. “You’re right, dandy. Egan, here, will stand aside to make the odds more even while I deal with you and your fancy men. But be sure of yourself, ‘brother,’ ‘cause if your foot touches the ground, by my word, you die first.”
Eyes of ice, still and cold, appraised the two a moment, and then the man in the polished armor and crimson cape, grumbling a curse in a foreign tongue, let his weight drop back down in his saddle. “We have important matters that demand our attention. This one be a waste of our time. He be yours.”
With a wave of his arm, the column of horsemen charged up the street, narrowly missing trampling Richard and his two captors. Richard tried, but the two holding him were too strong, and he couldn’t get his hand to his sword as they carried him off. He scanned the rooftops, but saw nothing.
All the people around averted their eyes, wanting nothing to do with the trouble at hand. As the two huge D’Harans dragged Richard from the center of the street, people scattered out of the way as if they had eyes in the back of their heads. Over the noise of the city, his muffled, angry cries were lost. Try as he might, he couldn’t get a hand near a weapon. His boots skimmed across the snow, his feet working in vain for purchase.
Richard struggled, but before he had time to try to think what do next, they pulled him into a narrow, dark passageway between an inn and another shuttered building.
Deep in the passageway, in the murky shadows, four dark, cloaked figures waited.
8
Gently, the two huge D’Harans set Richard down. As his feet found the ground, his hand found the hilt of his sword. The two men spread their feet in a relaxed manner and clasped their hands behind their backs. From the shadowed end of the passageway the four cloaked figures started toward him.
Deciding escape was preferable to a fight, Richard didn’t draw his sword, but instead dove to the side. He rolled through the snow and sprang to his feet. His back smacked up against the cold brick wall. Panting, he flung his mriswith cape around himself. In a heartbeat the cape changed color to match the wall, and he vanished.
It would be an easy matter to slip away while hidden by the cape. Better to escape than to fight. As soon as he caught his breath.
The four marched forward, their dark capes billowing open as they came into the light. Dark brown leather the same color as the D’Harans’ uniforms covered their shapely forms from ground to neck. A yellow star between the cusps of a crescent emblazoned the leather outfits at each woman’s stomach.
The recognition of that yellow star and crescent was like a flash of lightning in Richard’s mind. Too many times to count, his face, wet with his own blood, had laid against that emblem. Out of reflex he froze, drawing neither sword, nor breath. For a panic filled instant he saw only the symbol he knew all too well.
Mord-Sith.
The woman in the lead pushed back her hood, letting her long blond hair, plaited in a single thick braid, fall free. Her blue eyes searched the wall where he stood.
“Lord Rahl? Lord Rahl, where…”
Richard blinked. “Cara?”
Just as he slackened his concentration, allowing his cape to return to black, and her eyes found him, the sky fell in.
With a roar, a flap of wings, and a flash of fangs, Gratch plummeted to the ground. The two men had swords to hand almost instantly, but they were not as fast as the Mord-Sith. Before the men’s blades had cleared their scabbards, the women had their Agiel in their fists. Though an Agiel appeared to be nothing more than a thin, red leather rod, Richard knew them to be weapons of awesome power. Richard had been “trained” with an Agiel.
Richard heaved himself at the gar, knocking him to the far wall before the two men and four women could reach him. Gratch slung him aside in his desire to get at the threat.
“Stop! All of you, stop!” The six people and one gar froze at the sound of his shriek. Richard didn’t know who would win the fight, but he didn’t want to find out. He snatched the instant he had before they might decide to move again and sprang in front of Gratch. With his back to the gar, he held his hands out to each side. “Gratch is my friend. He only wants to protect me. Stay where you are, and he won’t hurt you.”
Gratch’s furry arm circled around Richard’s middle and drew him back against the taut, pink skin of his chest and stomach. The passageway resounded with a growl that, while affectionate, at the same time carried a rumble of threat for the others.
“Lord Rahl,” Cara said in a smooth voice as the two men sheathed their swords, “we are here to protect you, too.”
Richard eased the arm away. “It’s all right, Gratch. I know them. You did good, just like I asked, but it’s all right, now. Just calm down.”
Gratch let out a purling rumble that echoed off the walls rising up like a narrow, dark canyon. Richard knew it as a sound of satisfaction. He had told Gratch to follow him, either high in the air, or flying from rooftop to rooftop, but to stay out of sight unless there was trouble. Gratch had indeed done a good job; Richard hadn’t seen a sign of him until he dropped down on them.
“Cara, what are you doing here?”
Cara reverently touched his arm, seeming surprised at finding it solid. She jabbed a finger at his shoulder, and then broke into a grin.
“Not even Darken Rahl himself could become invisible. He could command beasts, but he could not become invisible.”
“I don’t command Gratch; he’s my friend. And I don’t exactly become… Cara, what are you doing here?”
She looked perplexed at the question. “Protecting you.”
Richard pointed at the two men. “And them? They said they were going to kill me.”
The two men stood rooted like twin oaks. “Lord Rahl,” one said, “we would die before we let harm touch you.”
“We had almost caught up with you when you walked into those fancy horsemen,” Cara said. “I told Egan and Ulic to get you out of there without any fighting, or you could be hurt. If those men thought we were trying to rescue you, they might have tried to kill you. We didn’t want to take a chance with your life.”
Richard glanced to the two, great, blond-headed men. The dark leather straps, plates, and belts of their uniforms were molded to fit like a second skin over the prominent contours of their muscles. Incised in the leather at the center of their chests was an ornate letter R, and beneath that, two crossed swords. One of them, Richard wasn’t sure if it was Egan or Ulic, echoed the truth of what Cara had said. Since Cara and the other Mord-Sith had helped him in D’Hara two weeks before, making it possible for him to defeat Darken Rahl, he was inclined to believe her.
Richard hadn’t anticipated their choice when he had declared the Mord-Sith free from the shackles of their discipline; having their freedom, they chose to be his guardians, and were fiercely protective of him. There didn’t seem to be anything he could do to change their minds.
One of the other women spoke Cara’s name in caution and nodded toward the opening into the street. People slowed as they passed, peering in, looking them over. A glare from the two men as they turned put speed into the onlookers’ steps, and turned their eyes away.
Cara grasped Richard’s arm above the elbow. “It isn’t safe here—yet. Come with us, Lord Rahl.”
Not waiting for his answer, or cooperation, she pulled him into the shadows at the back of the passageway. Richard
Gratch managed to fold his wings and squeeze through, too. He stood close to Richard, quietly watching the others. They, in turn, having been told that he was Richard’s friend, didn’t seem concerned at having a hulking gar eyeing them from a few feet away.
“Cara, what are you doing here?”
She frowned as if he were thick. “I told you, we came to protect you.” A mischievous smile crooked the corners of her mouth. “Seems we arrived just in time. Master Rahl must devote himself to being the magic against magic, a task you are more suited to, and let us be the steel against steel.” She held her hand out to the other three women. “We didn’t have time for introductions at the palace. These are my sisters of the Agiel: Hally, Berdine, and Raina.”
In the flickering candlelight, Richard studied the three faces. He had been in a terrible rush at the time and recalled only Cara; she was the one who had spoken for them, and he had held a knife to her throat until she convinced him she was telling the truth. Like Cara, Hally was blond, blue-eyed, and tall. Berdine and Raina were a bit shorter, blue-eyed Berdine with a loose braid of wavy brown hair, and Raina with dark hair, and eyes that seemed to be examining his soul for every nuance of strength, weakness, and character—an idiosyncratic, piercing scrutiny unique to Mord-Sith. Somehow, Raina’s dark eyes made the penetrating judgment seem more incisive.
Richard didn’t shy from their gazes. “You were among those who saw me safely through the palace?” They nodded. “Then you have my eternal gratitude. What of the others?”
“The others remained at the palace in case you returned before we found you,” Cara said. “Commander General Trimack insisted Ulic and Egan would come, too, since they are among the personal bodyguards to the Master Rahl. We left within an hour after you did, trying to catch you.” She shook her head in wonder. “We wasted no time, and you gained almost a day on us.”
Richard tugged straight the baldric holding his sword. “I was in a hurry.”
Cara shrugged. “You are the Master Rahl. Nothing you do could surprise us.”
Richard thought she had looked very surprised indeed when she saw him become invisible, but he didn’t say it, in view of his newfound restraint on his flip tongue.
He glanced around at the dimly lit, dusty room. “What are you doing in this place?”
Cara pulled off her gloves and tossed them on the table. “We intended to use it as a base while we looked for you. We’ve only been here a short time. We chose this spot because it’s close to the D’Haran headquarters.”
“I was told they’re in a large building beyond the market.”
“They are,” Hally said. “We checked.”
Richard searched her piercing blue eyes. “I was on my way there when you found me. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have you along.” He loosened the mriswith cape at his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “How did you manage to find me in a city of this size?”
The two men stood without showing emotion, but eyebrows went up on the women.
“You are the Master Rahl,” Cara said, seeming to think that would be explanation enough.
Richard planted his fists on his hips. “So?”
“The bond,” Berdine said. She looked perplexed at the blank expression on his face. “We are bonded to the Master Rahl.”
“I don’t understand what that means. What does it have to do with finding me?”
Looks passed among the women. Cara cocked her head to the side. “You are Lord Rahl, the Master of D’Hara. We are D’Harans. How can you not understand?”
Richard wiped his hair back off his forehead as he let out an exasperated breath. “I was raised in Westland, two boundaries away from D’Hara. I never knew anything about D’Hara, much less Darken Rahl, until the boundaries came down. I didn’t even know Darken Rahl was my father until just a few months ago.” He glanced away from their bewildered expressions. “He raped my mother, and she fled to Westland before I was born, before the boundaries went up. Darken Rahl never knew I existed, or that I was his son, until he died. I don’t know anything about being Master Rahl.”
The two men stood as they had, showing no emotion. The four Mord-Sith stared at him a long moment, the candle flame adding a point of light to the corner of their eyes as they seemed to study his soul again. He wondered if they were regretting their oath of loyalty to him.
Richard felt awkward laying out his ancestry to the scrutiny of people he didn’t really know. “You still haven’t explained how you managed to find me.”
As Berdine took off her cape and tossed it atop their gear, Cara laid a hand on his shoulder, urging him to sit in the chair. By the way its loose joints swayed under his weight, he wasn’t sure it would hold him, but it did. She glanced up at the two men. “Maybe you could better explain the bond to him, since you feel it most strongly. Ulic?”
Ulic shifted his weight. “Where should I begin?”
Cara started to say something, but Richard cut her off. “I have important things to do, and I don’t have a great deal of time. Just tell me the important parts. Tell me about this bond.”
Ulic nodded. “I will tell you as we are taught.”
Richard gestured toward a bench, indicating he wanted Ulic to sit. It made him uncomfortable having the man tower over him like some mountain with arms. Checking over his shoulder, Richard saw that Gratch was contentedly licking his fur, but keeping his glowing green eyes on the people. Richard smiled reassuringly. Gratch hadn’t been around that many people, and Richard wanted him to be comfortable, in view of what he planned. The gar’s face wrinkled into a smile, but his ears were perked as he listened. Richard wished he knew for sure how much Gratch could understand.
Ulic pulled up a bench and sat. “Long ago—”
“How long,” Richard interrupted.
Ulic rubbed a thumb along the bone handle of the knife at his belt as he contemplated the question. His deep voice seemed as if it might smother the candle flames. “Long ago… in the beginning times of D’Hara. I believe several thousand years ago.”
“So what took place in these beginning times?”
“Well, that was where the bond originated. In the beginning times, the first Master Rahl cast his power, his magic, over the D’Haran people, in order to protect us.”
Richard lifted an eyebrow. “You mean in order to rule you.”
Ulic shook his head. “It was a covenant. The House of Rahl”—he tapped the ornate letter R incised in the leather over his chest—“would be the magic, and the D’Haran people would be the steel. We protect him and he, in turn, protects us. We were bonded.”
“Why would a wizard need the protection of steel? Wizards have magic.”
Ulic’s leather uniform creaked as he put an elbow to his knee and leaned in with a sobering expression. “You have magic. Has it always protected you? You cannot always remain awake, or always see who is behind you, or conjure magic fast enough if the numbers are great. Even those with magic will die if someone slits their throat. You need us.”
Richard conceded the point. “So, what does this bond have to do with me?”
“Well, the covenant, the magic, links the people of D’Hara to the Master Rahl. When the Master Rahl dies, the bond can be passed on to his gifted heir.” Ulic shrugged. “The bond is the magic of that link. All D’Harans feel it. We understand it from birth. We recognize the Master Rahl by the bond. When the Master Rahl is near we can feel his presence. That’s how we found you. When we’re close enough we can sense you.”
Richard gripped the arms of the chair as he leaned forward. “You mean to tell me that all D’Harans can sense me, and know where I am?”
“No. There’s more to it.” Ulic stuffed a finger under a lea
Berdine put a foot on the bench beside Ulic and leaned forward on an elbow, coming to his rescue. Her thick, brown braid fell forward over her shoulder. “You see, first of all, we must recognize the new Master Rahl. By that I mean we must recognize and accept his rule in a formal manner. This acquiescence is not formal in the sense of ceremony, but more in the sense of an understanding and acceptance within our hearts. It does not have to be an acceptance we desire, and in the past, with us, anyway, it was not, but acceptance is implicit, nonetheless.”
“You mean you must believe.”
All the faces staring at him brightened.
“Yes. That’s a good way to express it,” Egan put in. “Once we acquiesce to his dominion, and as long as the Master Rahl lives, we are bonded to him. When he dies, the new Lord Rahl takes his place, and we are then bonded to him. At least that’s the way it’s supposed to work. This time, something went wrong, and Darken Rahl, or his spirit, somehow maintained a part of himself in this world.”
Richard straightened in his chair. “The gateway. The boxes in the Garden of Life are a gateway to the underworld, and one was left opened. When I came back, two weeks ago, I closed it, sending Darken Rahl back to the underworld for good.”
Ulic’s muscles bulked as he rubbed his palms together. “When Darken Rahl died at the beginning of winter, and you spoke outside the palace, many of the D’Harans there believed you were the new Lord Rahl. Some did not. Some still held on to their loyalty, their bond, to Darken Rahl. It must have been because of this gateway you said was opened. It’s never happened that way before, that I heard of, anyway.
“When you returned to the palace, and defeated Darken Rahl’s spirit with the use of your gift, you also defeated the rebel officers who denounced you. In banishing Darken Rahl’s spirit, you broke the bond he still held over some of them, and convinced the rest at the palace of your authority as Master Rahl. They are loyal, now. The whole palace is. They are all bonded to you.”