Blood of the Fold (Sword of Truth 3)

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 mean 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.”

45

When the coach stopped, the mriswith climbed out, leaving the door open. Kahlan glanced out the window to one side and the door to the other, seeing that the mriswith were moving off to talk. The two of them were at last alone.

“What do you think is going on?” she whispered. “Where are we?”

Adie leaned to the side, looking out the window. “Dear spirits,” she whispered in dismay, “we be in the heart of enemy territory.”

“Enemy territory? What are you talking about? Where are we?”

“Tanimura,” Adie whispered. “That be the Palace of the Prophets.”

“The Palace of the Prophets! Are you sure?”

Adie straightened in the seat. “I be sure. I s

pent time here when I be younger, fifty years ago.”

Kahlan stared incredulously. “You went to the Old World? You have been to the Palace of the Prophets?”

“It be a long time ago, child, and a long story. We not have time for the story just now, but it be after the Blood killed my Pell.”

They rode until well after dark, and were on their way long before the sun came up each day, but Kahlan and Adie were at least able to get some sleep in the coach. The men riding horseback got little sleep. A mriswith, and sometimes Lunetta, always guarded them, and they hadn’t been able to speak more than a few words in weeks. The mriswith didn’t care if they slept, but had warned them what would happen if they spoke. Kahlan didn’t doubt their word.

Over the weeks as they traveled south, the weather had become warmer, and she no longer shivered in the coach, she and Adie pressed together for a little warmth.

“I wonder why they brought us here?” Kahlan said.

Adie leaned closer. “What I wonder is why they haven’t killed us.”

Kahlan peeked out the window to see a mriswith speaking with Brogan and his sister. “Because we are of more value to them alive, obviously.”

“Value for what?”

“What do you think? Who would they want? When I tried to rally the Midlands, they sent that wizard to kill me, and I had to flee as Aydindril slipped into the hands of the Imperial Order. Who is forging the Midlands in opposition to them now?”

Adie’s eyebrows went up above her white eyes. “Richard.”

Kahlan nodded. “That’s all I can think of. They had started to take the Midlands, and were having success by getting lands to join with them. Richard changed the rules, and disrupted those plans by forcing the lands to surrender to him.”