Blood of the Fold

Chapter 14

Richard stared at the tall mahogany door after it had closed. It was refreshing to see a person with such a guileless nature that she would come to the Confessors’ Palace, among so many important, finely dressed people, wearing an outfit made of tattered patches of different-colored cloth. Everyone must have thought her mad. Richard looked down at his simple, filthy clothes. He wondered if they thought him mad, too. Maybe he was.

“Lord Rahl,” Cara asked, “how did you know she was a sorceress?”

“She was shrouded in her Han. Couldn’t you see it in her eyes?”

Her red leather creaked as she leaned a hip against the desk beside him. “We would know a woman to be a sorceress if she tried to use her power on us, but not before. What is Han?”

Richard wiped a hand across his face as he yawned. “Her inner power—the force of life. Her magic.”

Cara shrugged. “You have magic, so you could see it. We could not.”

His thumb stroked the hilt of his sword as he answered with an absent grunt.

Over time, without realizing it, he had come to an awareness of the aspect of magic in a person—if they were using their magic, he could usually see it in their eyes. Though singular to each person, or perhaps the specific nature of their magic, there was a commonality Richard could recognize. Maybe, as Cara said, it was because he had the gift, or maybe it was simply the experience of having seen the distinctive, timeless look in the eyes of so many people with magic: Kahlan, Adie the bone woman, Shota the witch woman, Du Chaillu the spirit woman of the Baka Ban Mana, Darken Rahl, Sister Verna, Prelate Annalina, and countless other Sisters of the Light.

The Sisters of the Light were sorceresses, and he had often seen the unique glaze of distant intensity in their eyes when they were joined with their Han. Sometimes, when they were enveloped in a shroud of magic, he could almost see the air about them crackle. There were Sisters who seemed to radiate an aura of such power that when they walked past him the fine hairs at the back of his neck stood on end.

Richard had seen that same look in Lunetta’s eyes; she had been shrouded in her Han. What he didn’t know was why—why she would be standing there, doing nothing, yet touching her Han. Sorceresses usually didn’t let their Han envelop them unless it was to a purpose, the same way he usually didn’t draw his sword and its attendant magic without a reason. Maybe it simply pleased her childlike temper, the way those patches of colored cloth did. Richard didn’t think so.

What concerned him was that it could have been that Lunetta was trying to ascertain if he was telling the truth. He didn’t know enough about magic to know for sure if that was possible, but sorceresses often seemed somehow to know if he was being truthful, making it seem that every time he told a lie it couldn’t have been any more obvious to them had his hair suddenly burst into flames. He hadn’t wanted to take a chance, and had been careful not to be caught in a lie in front of Lunetta, especially about Kahlan being dead.

Brogan had certainly been interested in the Mother Confessor. Richard wished he could believe he was telling the truth; what he had said made enough sense. Maybe it was just his concern for Kahlan’s safety that made him suspicious of everything.

“That man looks like trouble waiting to find a roost,” he said aloud without intending to.

“Would you like us to clip his wings, Lord Rahl?” Berdine flicked her Agiel on the end of the chain at her wrist and caught it in her fist. She cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe something a little lower?” The other two Mord-Sith chuckled.

“No,” Richard said in a tired voice. “I’ve given my word. I’ve asked them all to do something unprecedented, something that will forever change their lives. I have to do as I said I would, and give them all the chance to see that this is right, that it’s for the common good, the best chance for peace.”

Gratch yawned, showing his fangs, and sat down on the floor behind Richard’s chair. Richard hoped the gar wasn’t as tired as he was. Ulic and Egan seemed to ignore the conversation; they stood, relaxed, with their hands clasped behind their backs. They seemed to be a match for some of the pillars around the room. Their eyes were not relaxed, however; they constantly surveyed the columns, corners, and alcoves, watching, even though the huge room was empty except for the eight of them around the ornate dais.

With a meaty thumb, General Reibisch idly burnished the bulbous gold base of a lamp at the edge of the dais. “Lord Rahl, did you mean what you said about the men not taking what they’ve won?”

Richard looked to the general’s troubled eyes. “Yes. That’s the way of our enemies, and not ours. We fight for freedom, not plunder.”

The general averted his eyes as he nodded his assent.

“Do you have something to say about that, General?”

“No, Lord Rahl.”

Richard flopped back in his chair. “General Reibisch, I’ve been a woods guide since I was old enough to be trusted; I’ve never had to command an army before. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know much about the position I find myself in. I could use your help.”

“My help? What sort of help, Lord Rahl?”

“I could use your experience. I would appreciate it if you expressed your opinion instead of holding it back and saying ‘Yes, Lord Rahl.’ I may not agree with you, and I may get angry, but I’ll never punish you for telling me what you think. If you disobey my orders, I’ll replace you, but you’re free to say what you think of them. That’s one of the things we’re fighting for.”

The general clasped his hands behind his back. The muscles of his arms glistened under the chain mail, and Richard could see, too, under the rings of metal, the white scars of his rank. “D’Haran troops have a custom of plundering those we defeat. The men expect it.”

“Past leaders may have tolerated it, or even encouraged it, but I will not.”

His sigh was comment enough to understand. “As you wish, Lord Rahl.”

Richard rubbed his temples. He had a headache from lack of sleep. “Don’t you understand? This isn’t about conquering lands and taking things from others; this is about fighting oppression.”

The general rested a boot on the gilded rung of a chair and hooked a thumb behind his wide belt. “I don’t see much difference. From my experience, the Master Rahl always thinks he knows best, and always wants to rule the world. You are your father’s son. War is war. Reasons make no difference to us; we fight because we are told to, same as those on the other side. Reasons mean little to a man swinging his sword, trying to keep his head.”

Richard slammed a fist to the desk. Gratch’s glowing green eyes became alert. In his peripheral vision, Richard could see red leather move protectively closer.

“The men who went after the butchers of Ebinissia had a reason! That reason, and not plunder, was what sustained them and gave them the strength they needed in order to prevail. They were a detachment of five thousand Galean recruits who had never before been in battle, and yet they defeated General Riggs and his army of over fifty thousand men.”

General Reibisch’s heavy brow drew together. “Recruits? Surely you’re mistaken, Lord Rahl. I knew Riggs; he was an experienced soldier. Those were battle-hardened troops. I’ve received reports from the sights of those battles; they are grisly in the detail of what happened to those men as they tried to fight their way out of the mountains. They could only have been annihilated in such a fashion by an overwhelming force.”

“Then I guess Riggs wasn’t as experienced a soldier as he needed to be. While you have secondhand reports, I heard the story from an unimpeachable source who was there to see it done. Five thousand men, boys, really, came upon Ebinissia after Riggs and his men were finished butchering the women and children. Those recruits pursued Riggs, and took his army down. When it was finished, less than a thousand of those young men were left standing, but not Riggs nor a single one of his force was left alive.”

Richard left unsaid that without Kahlan there to teach them what needed to be done, and lead them into the first battles, directing them in the forge of combat, those recruits probably would have been ground into carrion within a day. At the same time he knew it was their commitment to see the job done that gave them the courage to listen to her, and to go up against impossible odds.

“That is the power of motivation, General. That is what men can do when they have a powerful reason, a righteous cause.”

A sour expression puckered his scarred face. “D’Harans have been fighting most of their lives, and know what they’re about. War is about killing; you kill them before they can kill you, that’s all. Whoever wins is the one who was right.

“Reasons are the spoils of victory. When you’ve destroyed the enemy, then your leaders write down the reasons in books, and give moving speeches about them. If you’ve done your job, then there aren’t any of the enemy left to dispute your leader’s reasons. At least not until the next war.”

Richard raked his fingers through his hair. What was he doing? What did he think he could accomplish if those fighting on his own side didn’t believe in what he was trying to do?

Overhead, across the plastered ceiling of the dome, the painted figure of Magda Searus, the first Mother Confessor, Kahlan had told him, and her wizard, Merritt, looked down on him. In disapproval, it seemed.

“General, what I was trying to do tonight, talking to those people, was about trying to stop the killing. I’m trying to make it possible for peace and freedom to have a chance to take root for good.

“I know it sounds a paradox, but don’t you see? If we behave with honor, then all those lands with integrity, who want peace and freedom, will join us. When they see we fight to stop the fighting, and not simply to conquer and dominate, or for plunder, they will be on our side, and the forces of peace will be invincible.

“For now, the aggressor makes the rules, and our only choice is to fight or submit, but . . .”

He sighed in frustration as he thumped his head back against the chair. He closed his eyes; he couldn’t bear to meet the gaze of the wizard Merritt overhead. Menitt looked as if he were about to launch into a lecture on the folly of presumption.

He had just publicly declared his intention to rule the world, and for reasons his own followers thought were empty talk. He was suddenly beginning to feel hopelessly foolish. He was just a woods guide turned Seeker, not a ruler. Just because he had the gift he was starting to think he could make a difference. Gift. He didn’t even know how to use his gift.

How could he be so arrogant as to think this would work? He was so tired he couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept.

He didn’t want to rule anyone, he just wanted it all to stop so he could be with Kahlan and live his life without any fighting. The night before with her had been bliss. That was all he wanted.

General Reibisch cleared his throat. “I’ve never fought for anything before, any reason, I mean, other than my bond. Maybe it’s time I tried it your way.”

Richard came off the back of the chair and frowned at the man. “Are you just saying that because you think that’s what I want to hear?”

“Well,” the general said as he picked with a thumbnail at the carvings of acorns along the edge of the desk, “the spirits know no one would believe this, but soldiers want peace more than most people, I’d expect. We just don’t dare to dream about it because we see so much killing that we get to thinking it can’t ever end, and if you dwell on it, you’ll get soft, and getting soft gets you killed. If you act like you’re keen for a fight, il gives your enemies pause, lest they give you a reason. Like the paradox you spoke of.

“Seeing all that fighting and killing makes you wonder if there’s anything to you but doing as you’re bidden, and killing people. Makes you wonder if you’re some kind of monster, good for nothing else. Maybe that’s what happened to those men who attacked Ebinissia; maybe they just finally gave in to the voice in their head.

“Maybe, like you say, if we can do this, the killing would finally stop.” He pressed back a long splinter he had worked loose. “I guess a soldier always hopes that once he kills all the people who want to kill him, then he can try laying down his sword. The spirits know that no one hates fighting more than many of those who have do it.” He let out a long sigh. “Ahh, but no one would believe that.”

Richard smiled. “I believe it.”

The general glanced up. “It’s rare to find someone who understands the true cost of killing. Most either glorify or are repelled by it, never feeling the pain of infliction and the agony of responsibility. You’re good at killing. I’m glad you don’t relish it.”

Richard’s gaze left the general, and sought the consoling gloom of the shadows among the arches between marble columns. As he had told the assembled representatives, he was named in prophecy; in one of the oldest prophecies, in High D’Haran, he was called fuer grissa ost drauka: the bringer of death. He was thrice named: the one who could bring the place of the dead and the world of the living together by tearing the veil to the underworld; the one who brought the spirits of the dead forth, which he did when he used the magic of his sword and danced with death; and in its most base meaning, one who kills.

Berdine clapped Richard on the back, jarring his teeth and breaking the uncomfortable silence. “You didn’t tell us you had found yourself a bride. I hope you plan on a bath before the wedding night, or she’ll turn you out.” The three women laughed.

Richard was surprised to find he had the energy to grin. “I’m not the only one who smells like a horse.”

“If there’s nothing else, Lord Rahl, I’d best see to a number of matters.” General Reibisch straightened and scratched his rust-colored beard. “Just how many people do you expect there are we’ll have to kill to have this peace you speak of?” He smiled crookedly. “So I can know how much farther there is to go before I don’t have to have guards watch my back when I lie down for a snooze.”

Richard shared a long look with the man. “Maybe they’ll come to their senses and surrender, and we won’t have to fight.”

General Reibisch grunted a cynical laugh. “If you don’t mind. I think I’ll have the men sharpen their swords, just in case.” He peered up. “Do you know how many lands there are in the Midlands?”

Richard thought it over a moment. “As a matter of fact, I don’t. Not all the lands are large enough to be represented in Aydindril, but many of those are still large enough to have men at arms. The queen will know. She’ll join us soon, and be able to help.”

Tiny specks of lamplight danced off his chain mail. “I’ll start sweeps through the Palace Guard forces at once, tonight, before they have a chance to organize. Maybe it’ll be nice and peaceful that way. I expect that before the night’s over, though, at least one of the guard forces will try to bolt.”

“Make sure there are enough men around the Nicobarese Palace. I don’t want Lord General Brogan leaving the city. I don’t trust that man, but I’ve given my word that he will have the same chance as all the rest.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“And General, have the men be careful of his sister, Lunetta.” Richard felt an odd sympathy for Tobias Brogan’s sister, for her innocent-seeming heart. He liked her eyes. He steeled himself. “If they come out of their palace, intending to leave, have plenty of archers at strategic locations and in range. If she uses magic, don’t take any chances by delay.”

Richard already hated this. He had never had to commit men to a battle in which people could easily be hurt, or killed. He remembered what the Prelate had once told him: wizards had to use people to do what must be done.

General Reibisch eyed the silent Ulic and Egan, the gar, and the three women. He spoke to them past Richard. “A thousand men will be wide awake and a shout away, if you need them.”

Cara’s expression sobered after the general had gone. “You must sleep, Lord Rahl. As Mord-Sith, I know when a man is exhausted and about to fall over. You can make your plans to conquer the world tomorrow, after you have rested.”

Richard shook his head. “Not yet. I have to write her a letter, first.”

Berdine leaned against the desk beside Cara and folded her arms. “A love letter to your bride?”

Richard pulled open a drawer. “Something like that.”

Berdine put on a coy smile. “Maybe we can help. We will tell you the proper things to say to keep her heart pounding and forget you need a bath.”

Raina joined her sisters of the Agiel against the desk, adding an impish laugh that sparkled in her dark eyes. “We will give you lessons in being a proper mate. You and your queen will be happy to have us around for advice.”

“And you had better listen to us,” Berdine cautioned, “or we will teach her how to make you dance to her tune.”

Richard tapped Berdine’s leg, urging her to move aside so he could get at the drawers behind her. He found paper in the bottom one. “Why don’t you go get some sleep,” he said absently as he searched for a pen and ink. “You were riding hard, too, trying to catch me, and couldn’t have gotten much more sleep than I did.”

Cara turned her nose up in mock indignation. “We will stand watch while you sleep. Women are stronger than men.”

Richard remembered Denna telling him that very thing, only she hadn’t been playful when she said it. These three never let their guard down when anyone was around; he was the only one they trusted when they wanted to practice their social graces. He thought they needed a lot of practice. Maybe that was why they wouldn’t give up their Agiel; they had never been anything but Mord-Sith, and were afraid they wouldn’t be able to do it.

Cara leaned over, looking in the empty drawer before he pushed it shut. She flicked her blond braid back over her shoulder. “She must care greatly for you, Lord Rahl, if she is willing to surrender her land to you. I don’t know if I would do such a thing for a man, even if he was one such as you. He would have to be the one to surrender to me.”

Richard made her scoot aside, and at last found pens and ink in a drawer he would have opened first had she not been in the way. “You’re right, she cares greatly for me. But as to surrendering her land, well, I haven’t told her that part, yet.”

Cara’s arms unfolded. “You mean to say that you have yet to demand her surrender, as you have done tonight with the others?”

Richard wiggled the stopper from the ink bottle. “That’s one reason I must write this letter at once, to explain my plan to her. Why don’t you three be quiet, and let me write?”

Raina, a look of true concern in her dark eyes, squatted beside his chair. “What if she calls off the wedding? Queens are proud; she may not wish to do such a thing.”

A ripple of worry surged through his gut. It was worse than that. These women didn’t really understand what he was asking Kahlan to do. He was not asking a queen to surrender her land; he was asking the Mother Confessor to surrender all of the Midlands.

“She is as committed to defeating the Imperial Order as am I. She has fought with determination that would make a Mord-Sith blanch. She wishes the killing to stop as much as do I. She loves me, and will understand the benevolence of what I’m asking.”

Raina sighed. “Well, if she doesn’t, we will protect you.”

Richard fixed her with such a deadly glare that she rocked back on her heels as if he had struck her. “Don’t you ever, ever, even think of harming Kahlan. You will protect her the same as you would me, or you can leave right now and join the ranks of my enemies. You are to hold her life as dear as mine. Swear it on your bond to me. Swear it!”

Raina swallowed. “I swear it, Lord Rahl.”

He glared at the other two women. “Swear it.”

“I swear it, Lord Rahl,” they said together.

He looked to Ulic and Egan.

“I swear it, Lord Rahl,” they said as one.

He let slip his belligerent tone. “All right, then.”

Richard placed the paper on the desk before himself and tried to think. Everyone thought she was dead; this was the only way. They couldn’t let people know she was alive, or someone might try to finish what the council had thought they had accomplished. She would understand if he could just explain it properly.

Richard could feel the figure of Magda Searus, overhead, glaring down at him. He feared to look up, lest her wizard, Merritt, send down a bolt of lightning to punish him for what he was doing.

Kahlan had to believe him. She had told him once that she would die to protect him, if necessary, in order to save the Midlands, that she would do anything. Anything.

Cara sat back on her hands. “Is the queen pretty?” Her mischievous smile returned. “What does she look like? She won’t try to make us wear dresses once you’re married, will she? We’ll obey her, but Mord-Sith don’t wear dresses.”

Richard sighed inwardly. They were only trying to lighten the mood by acting mischievous. He wondered how many people these “mischievous” women had killed. He reprimanded himself; that wasn’t fair, especially coming from the bringer of death. One of them had died this very day trying to protect him. Poor Hally never had a chance against a mriswith.

Neither would Kahlan.

He had to help her. This was the only thing he could think of, and every minute that passed could be a minute too late. He had to hurry. He tried to think of what to say. He couldn’t let it out that Queen Kahlan was really the Mother Confessor. If the letter fell into the wrong hands . . .

Richard looked up when he heard the door squeak open. “Berdine, where do you think you’re going?”

“To find a bed of my own. We will take turns standing watch over you.” She put one hand on a hip, and with the other spun the Agiel on the chain at her wrist. “Control yourself, Lord Rahl. You will have a new bride in your bed soon enough. You can wait until then.”

Richard couldn’t help smiling. He liked Berdine’s wry sense of humor. “General Reibisch said there were a thousand men standing guard, there is no need—”

Berdine winked. “Lord Rahl, I know you like me the best, but stop thinking about my behind as I walk, and write your letter.”

Richard tapped the glass-handled pen against a tooth as the door closed.

Cara’s brow wrinkled in a frown. “Lord Rahl, do you think that the queen will be jealous of us?”

“Why should she be jealous?” he mumbled as he scratched the back of his neck. “She has no reason.”

“Well, don’t you think we’re attractive?”

Richard blinked up at her. He pointed at the door. “Both of you, go stand by the doors and make sure no one can get in here to kill your Lord Rahl. If you’re quiet, like Egan and Ulic here, and let me write this letter, you may remain on this side of the door, if not, then you will guard from the other side.”

They rolled their eyes, but both had smiles as they headed across the room, apparently enjoying the fact that their nettling had finally gotten a reaction from him. He guessed Mord-Sith must be hungry for playful banter, it was something they got precious little of, but he had more important things on his mind.

Richard stared at the blank piece of paper and tried to think through the haze of weariness. Gratch put a furry paw on his leg and snuggled against his side as Richard dipped the pen in the ink bottle.

My Dearest Queen, he began with one hand, while patting the paw in his lap with the other.