Blood of the Fold

Chapter 44

“Please, Wizard Zorander.”

The skinny wizard didn’t glance up from spooning beans and bacon into his mouth. She didn’t know how the man could eat as much as he did.

“Are you listening?”

It wasn’t like her to yell, but she was near the end of her patience. This was proving to be even more trouble than she had envisioned. She knew she had to do this, to cultivate his hostility, but this was too much.

With a pleased sigh, Wizard Zorander tossed his tin bowl down with their packs. “Good night, Nathan.”

Nathan lifted an eyebrow as Wizard Zorander crawled into his bedroll. “Good night, Zedd.”

Nathan, too, was becoming dangerously difficult to deal with since she had captured the old wizard. He had never had such a talented cohort before. Ann sprang to her feet and stood with her fists on her hips as she glared down at the white hair sticking from the blanket.

“Wizard Zorander, I’m begging you.”

It infuriated her to implore his aid in such a humble fashion, but she had learned the hard way what the results could be when she used the power of his collar to bring him to task through unpleasant means. How the man could manage to get those tricks through the block she had locked on his collar mystified her, but get them through he did, to the great amusement of Nathan. She was not amused.

Ann was near tears. “Please, Wizard Zorander.”

His head turned up, the firelight casting the lines of his bony face in harsh shadows. His hazel eyes fixed on her.

“If you open that book again, you will die.”

With ghostlike stealth, he slipped spells around her shields when she least expected it. She was at a loss to understand how he had put a light spell on the journey book. She had opened it that night and had seen the message from Verna that she had been captured and put in a collar, and then everything had gone terribly wrong.

Opening the book had triggered the light spell. She had seen it swell and flare. A bright, burning cinder had shot up into the air, and the old wizard had calmly told her that if she didn’t close the book by the time the glowing spark of light hit the ground, she would be incinerated.

With one eye on the hissing spark as it descended, she had managed only to scrawl a hurried message to Verna that she must escape and get the Sisters away. She had closed the book just in time. She knew he was not jesting about the deadly nature of the spell around the book.

She could see the softly glowing spell around it now. She had never seen one quite like it, and how he had managed to set it when she thought she had his power blocked, she couldn’t fathom. Nathan didn’t understand it either, but he seemed quite interested. She knew of no way to open the book without being killed.

Ann squatted down beside the bedroll. “Wizard Zorander, I know you have good reason to rail against me, but this is a matter of life and death. I must get a message through. The lives of Sisters are at stake. Wizard Zorander, please. Sisters could die. I know you are a good man, and wouldn’t want that.”

He brought a finger out from under the blanket and pointed it at her. “You bonded me into slavery. You have brought this upon yourself and your Sisters. I told you, you broke the truce, and have sentenced your Sisters to death. You are endangering the lives of ones I love. They could die because you wouldn’t let me help them. You took me from protecting the things of magic in the Keep. You are endangering the lives of my people in the Midlands. They could all die because of what you have done to me.”

“Can’t you understand that all our live are tied together? This is a war against the Imperial Order, not between us. I have no wish to harm you, only to have you help me.”

He grunted. “Don’t forget what I told you: either you or Nathan had better remain awake at all times. If I catch you asleep, and Nathan isn’t awake to protect you, you will never wake again. Fair warning, though you don’t deserve it.”

He rolled over and pulled the blanket up.

Dear Creator, was this happening the way the prophecy intended, or had everything gone terribly wrong? Ann moved around the fire to Nathan.

“Nathan, do you think you could talk some sense into him?”

Nathan glanced down at her. “I told you that this part of the plan is the true madness. Collaring a young man is one thing, collaring a wizard of the First Order is quite another. This is your plan, not mine.”

She clenched her teeth as she snatched his shirt. “Verna could be killed in that collar. If she is killed, our Sisters could die, too.”

He took a spoonful of beans. “I’ve been warning you against this plan from the beginning. You were nearly killed at the Keep, but this part of the prophecy is even more dangerous. I’ve talked to him; he’s telling you the truth. As far as he is concerned, you are placing his friends in mortal danger. If he can, he will kill you in order to escape and go help them. No doubt in my mind.”

“Nathan, after all the years we’ve been together, how could you be so callous about this?”

“You mean, after all these years of captivity, how can I still rebel against it?”

Ann turned her face away as a tear ran down her cheek. She swallowed back the lump in her throat.

“Nathan,” she whispered, “in all the time you’ve known me, have you ever once seen me do anything cruel to someone other than because I had to, to protect lives? Have you ever once known me to struggle other than to preserve life and freedom?”

“I presume you mean other than my freedom.”

She cleared her throat. “And I know I will have to answer to the Creator for that, but I do it because I must, and because I care for you, Nathan. I know what would happen to you out in the world. You would be hunted down and killed by people who don’t understand you.”

Nathan tossed his bowl atop the others. “You want first watch or second?”

She turned back to him. “If you want your freedom so badly, what’s keeping you from falling asleep on your watch, so I will be killed?”

His piercing blue eyes took on an acrimonious set. “I want this collar off. The one thing I will not do is kill you to accomplish the task. If I were willing to pay that price, you would be dead a thousand times over, and you know it.”

“I’m sorry, Nathan. I know you’re a good man, and I’m fully aware of the vital part you’ve played in helping me preserve life. Forcing you to help me makes my heart ache.”

“Forcing me?” He laughed. “Ann, you’re more fun than any woman I’ve ever met. Most of it I wouldn’t have missed for anything. What other woman would buy me a sword? Or give me need to use it?

“That foolhardy prophecy says you have to bring him angry, and you’re doing a splendid job of it. I fear it might even work. I’ll take first watch. Don’t forget to check your bedroll. No telling what he might have enticed in there this time. I still haven’t figured out the snow fleas.”

“Me neither. I’m still itching.” She absently scratched her neck. “We’re almost home. At the rate we’re running, it won’t be long.”

“Home,” he mocked. “And then you kill us.”

“Dear Creator,” she whispered to herself, “what choice have I?”

Richard leaned back in his chair and yawned. He was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open. When he stretched and yawned, it caused Berdine, sitting next to him, to do the same. Across the room at the door, Raina was infected by their yawns.

A knock came and Richard shot to his feet. “Come!”

Egan stuck his head in. “A messenger is here.”

Richard motioned, and Egan’s head disappeared. A D’Haran soldier in a heavy cape and smelling of a horse hurried in and saluted with a fist to his heart.

“Sit down. You look like you’ve had a hard ride,” Richard said.

The soldier straightened his battle axe at his hip as he glanced to the chair. “I’m fine, Lord Rahl. But I’m afraid I’ve nothing to report.”

Richard sank down in his chair. “I see. No sign? Nothing?”

“No, Lord Rahl. General Reibisch said to tell you they’re making good time, and are scouring every inch, and wanted me to assure you that our men have missed nothing, but so far they’ve found no sign.”

Richard signed in disappointment. “All right. Thank you. You’d best go get something to eat.”

The man saluted and took his leave. Every day for two weeks, starting a week after the force had departed in search of Kahlan, messengers had been returning to give Richard a report. Since the force had started splitting up to cover different routes, each group was sending its own messenger. This was the fifth of the day.

Hearing the reports of what had happened weeks ago, when the messengers had left their troops, was like watching history happen. Everything he heard unfolding had happened in the past. For all Richard knew, they could have found Kahlan a week ago and were on their way back while he was still hearing reports of failure. He kept that constant hope foremost in his mind.

He had filled the time and kept his mind from wandering into worried thoughts by working on translating the journal. It gave him much the same feeling as getting the reports every day, like watching history happen. Richard was rapidly coming to understand more of the argot form of High D’Haran than Berdine.

Because he knew the story of The Adventures of Bonnie Day, they had been working on that the most, making long lists of words as they discovered their meanings, giving them something to refer to when they worked on the journal. As he learned words, Richard was able to read more of the book, piecing together the exact wording, enabling him to fill in more of the blanks in his memory, and thus learn yet more words.

It was often easier for him, now, to simply use what he had learned to translate from the journal than to show Berdine and have her do it. He was beginning to see High D’Haran in his sleep, and speak it when awake.

The wizard who wrote the journal never named himself; it was not an official record, but a private journal, so he had no need to call himself by name. Berdine and Richard had taken to calling him Kolo, short for koloblicin, a High D’Haran word meaning “strong advisor.”

As Richard was able to understand more and more of the journal, a frightening picture was beginning to emerge. Kolo had written his journal during the ancient war that had spawned the creation of the Towers of Perdition in the Valley of the Lost. Sister Verna had once told him that the towers had stood guard over that valley for three thousand years, and had been placed to halt a great war. After learning how desperate these wizards had been to activate the towers, Richard was beginning to feel more and more troubled about having destroyed them.

Kolo had mentioned in one place that his journals had been with him since he was a boy, and he filled about one a year, so this one, number forty-seven, must have been written when he was somewhere in his early to mid-fifties. Richard intended to go to the Keep and search for Kolo’s other journals, but this one still had many secrets to reveal.

Apparently Kolo was a trusted advisor to the others in the Keep. Most of the other wizards had both sides of the gift, Additive and Subtractive, but a few had only Additive. Kolo felt great sorrow for, and was protective of, those born with only that one side of the gift. These “unfortunate wizards” were said to be viewed by many as next to helpless, but Kolo thought that they could contribute in their own unique way and petitioned on their behalf for full status in the Keep.

In Kolo’s time hundreds of wizards lived at the Keep, and it was alive with families, friends, and children. The now empty halls had at one time rung with laughter, conversation, and lighthearted rapport. Several times Kolo mentioned Fryda, probably his wife, and his son and younger daughter. Children were restricted to certain levels in the Keep, and went to lessons where they studied typical subjects like reading, writing, and mathematics, but also prophecy and the use of the gift.

But over this great Keep, teeming with life, work, and the joy of families, hung a pall of dread. The world was at war.

Among Kolo’s other duties was his turn at standing guard over the sliph. Richard remembered the mriswith in the Keep asking him if he had come to wake the sliph. It had pointed down at the room where they had found Kolo’s journal and said she was accessible at last. Kolo, too, referred to the sliph as “she,” sometimes mentioning that “she” was watching him as he wrote in the journal.

Because it was such a struggle to decipher the journal from High D’Haran, they had abandoned skipping around since it only tended to confuse them. It was easier to start at the beginning and translate every word as they went, thus learning Kolo’s idiosyncrasies in the way he used language, making it easier to recognize patterns in his expressions. They were only about a fourth of the way into the journal, but the process was speeding up considerably as Richard was learning High D’Haran.

While Richard leaned back and yawned again, Berdine bent toward him. “What is this word?”

“ ‘Sword,’ ” he responded without hesitation. He remembered the word from The Adventures of Bonnie Day.

“Huh. Look here. I think Kolo is speaking about your sword.”

The front legs of Richard’s chair thumped down as he came forward. He took the book and the piece of paper she had been using to write out the translation. Richard scanned the translation, and then went back to the journal, forcing himself to read it in Kolo’s words.

The third attempt at forging a Sword of Truth failed today. The wives and children of the five men who died roam the halls, wailing in inconsolable anguish. How many men will die before we succeed, or until we abandon the attempt as impossible? The goal may be worthy, but the price is becoming terrible to bear.

“You’re right. It seems he’s talking about when they were trying to make the Sword of Truth.”

Richard felt a chill at learning that men had died in the making of his sword. In fact, it made him feel a little sick. He had always thought of the sword as an object of magic, thinking that maybe it had simply been a plain sword at one time that some powerful wizard had cast a spell over. Learning that people died in the effort to make it made him feel ashamed that he took it for granted most of the time.

Richard went on to the next part of the journal. After an hour of consulting the lists and Berdine, he had it translated.

Last night, our enemies sent assassins through the sliph. Had the man on duty not been so alert, they would have succeeded. When the towers are ignited, the Old World will truly be sealed away, and the sliph will sleep. Then we can all rest easier, except the unlucky man on guard. We have concluded that we will have no way of knowing when the spells will be ignited, if they ever are, or if anyone is in the sliph, so the guard cannot be called away in time. When the towers are brought to life, the man on guard will be sealed in with her.

“The towers,” Richard said. “When they completed the towers, sealing the Old World from the New World, that room was also sealed. That’s why Kolo was down there. He couldn’t get out.”

“Then why is the room open now?” Berdine asked.

“Because I destroyed the towers. Remember I told you that it looked like Kolo’s room had been blasted open within the last few months? How the mold on the walls had been burned away and hadn’t had time to regrow? It must have happened because I destroyed the towers. It also unsealed Kolo’s room for the first time in three thousand years.”

“Why would they seal the room with the well?”

Richard had to force himself to blink. “I think this sliph thing Kolo keeps talking about lives in that well.”

“What is this sliph? The mriswith mentioned it, too.”

“I don’t know, but somehow they used the sliph, whatever it is, to travel to other places. Kolo talks about the enemy sending assassins through the sliph. They were fighting the people in the Old World.”

Berdine lowered her voice in worry as she leaned toward him. “You meant to say that you think these wizards could travel from here all the way to this Old World, and back?”

Richard scratched the itch at the back of his neck. “I don’t know, Berdine. It sounds that way.”

Berdine was still staring at him as if she thought he might be about to show further evidence that he was going mad. “Lord Rahl, how could that be possible?”

“How should I know?” Richard glanced out the window. “It’s late. We’d better get some sleep.”

Berdine yawned again. “Sounds like a good idea.”

Richard shut Kolo’s journal and tucked it under an arm. “I’m going to read a bit in bed until I fall asleep.”

Tobias Brogan peered at the mriswith on the coach, and the one inside, and to the others among his columns of men, the sunrise glinting off their armor. He could see all the mriswith; none were invisible to sneak up on him and listen. His anger boiled at the sight of the side of the Mother Confessor’s head in the coach. It enraged him that she was still alive, and that the Creator had forbade him from laying a blade to her.

He glanced sideways briefly, to make sure Lunetta was close enough to hear him if he spoke softly.

“Lunetta, I’m beginning to become very disturbed about this.”

She stepped her horse closer as they rode so she could speak with him, but she didn’t look over in case any of the mriswith were watching. The Creator’s messengers or not, she didn’t like the scaled creatures.

“But Lord General, you said that when the Creator has come to speak with you he told you that you must do this. You are most honored to be visited by the Creator, and to do his work.”

“I think the Creator . . .”

The mriswith on the coach stood and pointed with a claw as they crested the hill. “Seeee!” it cried out in a sharp hiss, adding a guttural clicking after the word.

Brogan lifted his head to see a great city spread out below them, with the glittering sea beyond. In the center of the vast sprawl of buildings, with a golden, sunlit river splitting to go around the island atop which it sat, was a huge palace, its towers and roofs sparkling in the sunrise. He had seen cities before, he had seen palaces before, but he had never seen such as this. Despite not wanting to be here, he was awed.

“It be beautiful,” Lunetta breathed.

“Lunetta,” he whispered. “The Creator visited me again last night.”

“Really, my lord general? That be wonderful. You be honored to be visited so often of late. The Creator must have great plans for you, my brother.”

“The things he tells me are becoming more and more unsound.”

“The Creator? Unsound?”

Brogan’s gaze slid over to meet his sister’s. “Lunetta, I believe there is trouble. I believe the Creator is going insane.”