Blood of the Fold (Sword of Truth 3)

“She bleeds,” the mriswith said to Lunetta. “You must heal her. Skin brother would not be pleased if she were scarred.”

She heard the whip snap, and Ahern’s whistle. The coach lurched ahead. Lunetta leaned forward to heal her wound.

Dear spirits, where were they taking her?

40

Ann’s eyes stung with tears as a shuddering cry escaped her throat. She had long ago forsaken her determination to keep from crying out. Who but the Creator would hear, or care?

Valdora lifted the knife, greasy with blood. “Hurt?” A gap-toothed grin came to her as a chuckle fought its way out. “How do you like it when someone else chooses what will happen to you? That’s what you did. You chose how I would die. You denied me life. Life I could have had at the palace. I would still be young. You chose to let me die.”

Ann flinched as the knifepoint pricked her side. “I asked a question, Prelate. How do you like it?”

“No more than you, I would expect.”

The grin returned. “Gooood. I want you to know the pain I’ve lived with all these years.”

“I left you with a life the same as everyone else has. A life to live as you would. You were left with what the Creator gave you, the same as everyone else come into this world. I could have had you executed.”

“For casting a spell! I’m a sorceress! That’s what the Creator gave me, and I used it!”

Though Ann knew the arguments were pointless, she favored them over Valdora going back to her silent knifework.

“You used what the Creator gave you to take from others what they would not have given willingly. You thieved their affections, their hearts, their lives. You had no right. You sampled devotion like candies at a fair. You bound them to you with glamours and then cast them away to snare another.”

The knife pricked her again. “And you banished me!”

“How many lives did you bring to ruin? You were counseled, you were warned, you were punished. Still, you continued. Only after all this were you put out of the Palace of the Prophets.”

Ann’s shoulders throbbed with a dull ache. She was stretched out naked on a wooden table, her wrists bound with magic over her head at one end, and her ankles at the other. The spell chafed worse than coarse hemp rope. She was as helpless as a hog hung up to be bled.

Valdora had used a spell, something else she had learned who knew where, to block Ann’s Han. She could feel it there, like a warm fire on a winter’s night, just beyond a window, inviting, promising warmth, but out of reach.

Ann stared up at the window near the top of the wall in the little stone room. It was nearing daylight. Why hadn’t he come? He should have come to rescue her by now, and then she was to somehow capture him. But he hadn’t come.

It still wasn’t daylight. He still might come. Dear Creator, let him come soon.

Unless it was the wrong day. Panic raced through her mind. What if they had miscalculated? No. She and Nathan had gone over the charts. This was the right day, and besides, it was the events, more than the day itself, that fueled the prophecy. The fact that she had been captured said that it was the right day. If she had been captured a week before, then that would have been the right day. This day was within the window of opportunity. The prophecy was being fulfilled. But where was he?

Ann realized that Valdora’s face was gone. She wasn’t beside her. She should have kept talking. She should…

She felt a sudden, sharp, searing pain as the knife cut down the sole of her left foot. Her whole body jerked against the restraints. Sweat once again beaded on her brow and trickled through her scalp. Again the pain came, another cut, accompanied by another impotent cry.

Her screams reverberated from the stone as Valdora ripped a strip of flesh from the sole of her foot.

She was shaking uncontrollably; her head lolled to the side. The little girl, Holly, was looking into her eyes. Ann felt tears run over the bridge of her nose, and into her other eye, to finally fall away.

Trembling, she stared into Holly’s eyes, wondering what vile things Valdora was teaching such an innocent child. She would turn this small creature’s heart to stone.

Valdora held up the little white curl of flesh. “Look, Holly, how cleanly it comes off, if you do as I say. Would you like to try your hand, my dear?”

“Grandmamma,” Holly said, “must we do this? She has done nothing to harm us. She is not like the others; she never tried to hurt us.”

Valdora gestured with the knife for emphasis. “Oh, but she has, dear one. She hurt me. She stole my youth.”

Holly glanced at Ann as she shivered with the lingering pain. The little girl had an odd mask of calm, for one so young. She would have made an outstanding novice, and one day a fine Sister. “She gave me a silver. She didn’t try to hurt us. This is not fun. I don’t want to do it.”

Valdora chuckled. “Well, do it we will.” She wiggled the knife. “You listen to your grandmamma. She deserves it.”

Holly coolly considered the old woman. “Just because you’re older than me, that doesn’t make you right. I’ll watch no longer. I’m going outside.”

Valdora shrugged. “If you wish. This is between the Prelate and me. If you do not wish to learn anything, then go outside and play.”

Holly strode from the room. Ann could have kissed her for her courage.

Valdora’s face glided closer. “Just you and me, now, Prelate.” Her jaw muscles flexed. “Shall, we, get—” She jabbed the knifepoint into Ann’s side to punctuate each word. “—down, to, business?” She tilted her head to better look into Ann’s eyes. “Near time to die, Prelate. I think I’d like to see you scream to death. Shall we try?”

“Over there!” Zedd tried to point, as best he could, confined as he was. “There’s a light in the Keep.”

Though dawn was beginning to lighten the sky, it was still dark enough to pick out the yellow glow coming from several windows. Gratch saw what Zedd was seeing, and banked toward the Keep.

“Bags,” he muttered, “if that boy is already in the Keep, I’ll…”

Gratch growled at Zedd’s obvious reference to Richard. He could feel the growl against his back pressed to the gar’s chest more than he could hear it. Zedd glanced to the ground, far below.

“I’ll have to save him. That’s all I meant, Gratch. If Richard is in trouble, I’ll have to get down there to save him.”

Gratch gurgled with satisfaction.

Zedd hoped Richard wasn’t in trouble. The effort of maintaining the spell to make himself light enough for Gratch to carry him for the last week had sapped nearly all his strength. He didn’t think he would be able to stand, much less use his power to save anyone. He would need days of rest after this.

Zedd stroked the huge, furry arms around him. “I love Richard, too, Gratch. We’ll help him. Both of us will protect him.” Zedd’s eyes widened. “Gratch! Watch where you’re going! Slow down!”

Zedd held his arms up before his face as the gar swooped down toward the rampart. Peeking between his arms, he could see the stone approach at alarming speed. He gasped as Gratch tightened his grip and flapped his wings, trying to halt their plummeting descent.

Zedd realized he was losing his grip on his spell. He was too exhausted to hold on any longer, and he was becoming too heavy for Gratch to carry. In desperation, he drew the spell back, like catching an egg rolling from the edge of a table.

Just in time, he snatched the spell before it winked out, and yank

ed it back.

Gratch’s flapping finally netted enough air to slow them, and he pulled up before they hit. With a graceful flutter of his huge, leathery wings, the gar set them on the rampart. Zedd felt the furry arms come off his sweat soaked robes.

“Sorry Gratch. I almost lost my grip on the magic. I almost got us both hurt.”

Gratch absently grunted acknowledgment. His glowing green eyes were searching the darkness. There were walls going everywhere up here, and a hundred places to hide. Gratch seemed to be searching them all.

A low growl rumbled in the gar’s throat. The green glow intensified. Zedd searched the dark recesses, but saw nothing. Gratch did.

Zedd flinched, when, with a sudden roar, the gar bounded into the darkness.

Massive claws ripped at the night air. Fangs tore at nothing.

Zedd began to see shapes seeming to come out of the air. Capes billowed open, and knives flashed as the things danced and spun around the gar.

Mriswith.

The creatures let out clicking hisses as they lunged at the great fur beast. Gratch caught them on claws, ripping their scaled hides open, spilling their blood and insides. Their howls as they died drew a shiver up Zedd’s spine.

Zedd felt the air move as one swept past, intent on the gar. The wizard threw his hand out, casting a ball of liquid fire that caught the mriswith, igniting its cape, and then spilled flame over the rest of it.

The rampart was suddenly alive with the creatures. Zedd, digging deep to bring up the power, snapped back a line of dense air, throwing several over the edge. Gratch threw one at the wall with such violence that it burst open when it hit.

Zedd wasn’t prepared for the pitched battle that was suddenly all around him. Through his numb exhaustion, Zedd’s frenetic quest for ideas couldn’t engender anything more ingenious than simple magic of fire and air.

A mriswith turned suddenly, bringing around its bladed claw. Zedd threw a line of air as sharp as an axe. It cleaved the mriswith’s head. He used a web to snare several away from Gratch and cast them over the side of the wall. At this outer rampart, it was a drop of several thousand feet—straight down.