Blood of the Fold (Sword of Truth 3)

Galtero shook his head as he watched the men. “Out on the street somewhere.”

Tobias turned back, and to his astonishment saw three women in red leather following the two huge D’Harans. From the reports Tobias had heard, they could be nothing other than Mord-Sith. Mord-Sith had a reputation for being wholly unhealthy to those with magic who opposed them. Tobias had once sought to acquire the services of one of these women, but had been told that they served only the Master of D’Hara, and were not indulgent of anyone making offers of any kind. As he had heard it told, they could not be bought for any price.

If the Mord-Sith made the crowd edgy, what came next made them gasp. Mouths dropped at the sight of a monstrous beast, one with claws, fangs, and wings. Even Tobias stiffened at the sight of a gar. Short-tailed gars were wildly aggressive, bloodthirsty brutes that would eat anything living. Since the boundary had fallen the past spring, gars had caused the Blood of the Fold no small amount of trouble. For the moment, this beast walked calmly behind the three women. When Tobias checked that his sword was clear in its scabbard, he noticed Galtero doing the same.

“Please, Lord General,” Lunetta whined, “I want to leave, now.” She was furiously scratching her arms.

Brogan gripped her upper arm and drew her close, whispering through clenched teeth. “You pay attention to this Lord Rahl, or I’ll find I have no further use for you. Do you understand? And stop that scratching!”

Her eyes watered as he twisted her arm. “Yes, Lord General.”

“You pay attention to what he says.”

She nodded as the two huge D’Harans took places at either end of the dais. The three women in red leather stepped up between them, leaving a place in the center empty, probably for Lord Rahl when he arrived, at last. The gar towered behind the chairs.

The blond-headed Mord-Sith near the center of the dais looked around the room with a penetrating blue-eyed gaze that commanded silence.

“People of the Midlands,” she said, lifting an introductory arm to the empty air above the desk, “I present Lord Rahl.”

A shadow formed in the air. A black cloak appeared suddenly, and as it was thrown wide, there, standing atop the dais, was a man.

Those near the front fell back in alarm. A scattering of people cried out in terror. Some called for the Creator’s protection, others beseeched the spirits to intercede on their behalf, and some fell to their knees. While many stood in mute shock, a few of the decorative swords were drawn for the first time in fear. When a D’Haran in the front of the echelon calmly warned in a low, icy voice to sheath the weapons, they were reluctantly returned to scabbards.

Lunetta was scratching frantically as she gazed up at the man, but Brogan didn’t stop her this time; even he could feel his skin crawling with the evil of magic.

The man atop the desk waited patiently for the crowd to become silent, and then spoke in a quiet voice.

“I am Richard Rahl, called by the D’Harans Lord Rahl. Other peoples have other titles by which I am known. Prophecies given in the dim past, before the Midlands was born, have placed appellation upon me.” He stepped down off the desk to stand between the Mord-Sith. “But it is the future I come before you to address.”

Though not as large as the two D’Harans standing at each end of the curved desk, he was a big man, tall and muscular, and surprisingly young. His clothes, black cloak and high boots, dark trousers, and plain shirt, were unassuming, more so for one called “Lord.” Though it was hard to miss the gleam of a silver-and-gold scabbard at his hip, he looked to be nothing so much as a simple woodsman. Tobias thought, too, that the man looked tired, as if he bore a mountain of responsibility on his shoulders.

Tobias was hardly a stranger to combat, and knew by the grace with which this young man carried himself, by the easy way the baldric lay across his shoulder and by the way the sword moved with him at his hip, that he was not a man to be taken lightly. The sword was not there for decoration; it was a weapon. He looked to be a man who had made a great many desperate decisions of late, and had lived through them all. For all his outward, humble appearance, he had an inexplicable air of authority about him, and a bearing that commanded attention.

Already, many of the women in the room had recovered their composure and were beginning to flash him private smiles as they batted their lashes, falling into their well-practiced habits of ingratiating themselves with those wielding power. Even if the man were not ruggedly handsome, they would have done the same, but perhaps with less sincerity. Lord Rahl either didn’t notice their warming demeanor, or chose not to.

But it was his eyes that interested Tobias Brogan; eyes were the mark of a man’s nature, and the one thing that rarely deceived him. When this man’s steely gaze settled on people, some stepped back without realizing it, some froze, and others fidgeted. When those eyes turned in his direction, and the gaze settled on him for the first time, Tobias took a measure of Lord Rahl’s heart and soul.

That brief look was all he needed: this was a very dangerous man.

Though he was young and ill at ease being the center of all eyes, this was a man who would fight with a vengeance. Tobias had se

en eyes like this before. This was a man who would jump headlong over a cliff to come after you.

“I know him,” Galtero whispered.

“What? How?”

“Earlier today, when I was picking up witnesses, I came across this man. I was going to bring him to you for questioning, but those two big guards showed up and carried him off.”

“Unfortunate. It would have been…”

The hush of the room caused Tobias to look up. Lord Rahl was staring at him. It was like looking into the penetrating, gray-eyed glare of a raptor.

Lord Rahl’s eyes shifted to Lunetta. She stood frozen in the light of his gaze. Surprisingly, a small smile came to his lips.

“Of all the women at the ball,” Lord Rahl said to her, “your dress is the prettiest.”

Lunetta beamed. Tobias almost laughed out loud; Lord Rahl had just delivered a cutting message to the others in the room: their social status counted for nothing with him. Tobias was suddenly beginning to enjoy himself. Perhaps the Order would not be so poorly served with a man like this among their leaders.

“The Imperial Order,” Lord Rahl began, “believes that the time has come for the world to be united under a common canon: theirs. They say that magic is responsible for all man’s failings, misfortunes, and troubles. They claim all evil to be the external influence of magic. They say the time has come for magic to pass from the world.”

Some in the room murmured their agreement, some grumbled their skepticism, but most stood mute.

Lord Rahl laid an arm across the top of the largest chair—the one in the center. “In order for their vision to be complete, and in light of their self-proclaimed divine cause, they will suffer the sovereignty of no land. They wish for all to be brought under their influence, and to go forward into the future as one people: subjects of the Imperial Order.”

He paused for a moment as he met the gaze of many in the crowd. “Magic is not a fount of evil. This is merely an excuse for their actions as they ascend to supremacy.”