Blood of the Fold (Sword of Truth 3)

“You vile beast. I will see you dead.”

“I would expect no less from one such as you. Fortunately, you are in no position to make good on your threats.”

Looking up into Leoma’s eyes, Verna kissed her ring finger. “Why don’t you kiss your finger, Sister Leoma, and beseech the Creator’s help in this time of trouble for the Palace of the Prophets?”

Wearing a mocking smile, Leoma spread her hands. “The palace has no trouble, now, Verna.”

“Kiss your finger, Leoma, and show the beloved Creator your solicitude for the well-being of the Sisters of the Light.”

Leoma didn’t bring her hand to her lips. She couldn’t, and Verna knew it. “I have not come here to pray to the Creator.”

“Of course not, Leoma. You and I both know that you’re a Sister of the Dark, as is the new Prelate. Ulicia is the false Prelate in the prophecy.”

Leoma shrugged. “You, Verna, are the first Sister ever to be convicted of such a high crime. There is no longer any doubt. The conviction cannot be overturned.”

“We’re alone, Leoma. No one can hear us behind all those shields, except, of course, one with Subtractive Magic, and you’ve no need to fear those ears. None of the true Sisters of the Light can hear anything we say. If I tried to tell anyone anything you might have to say, no one would believe me.

“So let’s drop the pretense, Leoma; we both know the truth.”

A small smile spread onto Leoma’s lips. “Go on.”

Verna took a calming breath and folded her hands in her lap. “You haven’t killed me, as Ulicia killed Prelate Annalina. You wouldn’t have bothered to go through this whole sham if you intended to kill me; you could have killed me in my office. You obviously want something. What is it?”

Leoma chuckled. “Ah, Verna, you always were one to cut right to the heart of the matter. You’re not very old, but I must admit, you are a smart one.”

“Yes, I’m just brilliant; that’s why I’m sitting here. What is it your master, the Keeper, wants you to get from me?”

Leoma pursed her lips. “At the moment, we serve another master. It is what he wants that is important.”

Verna frowned. “Jagang? You’ve given an oath to him, too?”

Leoma’s gaze darted away for an instant. “Not exactly, but that’s beside the point. Jagang wants things, and he shall have them. It’s my duty to see to it that he gets what he wants.”

“And what is it you want from me?”

“You must forsake your loyalty to Richard Rahl.”

“You’re dreaming, if you think I’ll do that.”

An ironic smile came to Leoma’s face. “Yes, I have been dreaming, but that, too, is beside the point. You must give up your bond to Richard.”

“Why?”

“Richard has a way of interfering with the emperor’s control of events. You see, loyalty to Richard blocks Jagang’s power. He wishes to see if this loyalty can be broken so that he can enter your mind. It’s an experiment, of sorts. It’s my task to convince you to forsake that loyalty.”

“I’ll do no such thing. You can’t make me abandon my fidelity to Richard.”

Leoma’s smile turned grim as she nodded. “Oh, yes, I can, and I will. I have a great deal of motivation. Before Jagang finally arrives to establish his headquarters here, I will break the bond to his enemy.”

“How? By cutting off my Han? You think that will break my will?”

“You forget so easily, Verna? You forget the other uses the Rada’Han has? You forget the test of pain? Sooner or later, you will be on your knees begging to swear fidelity to the emperor.

“You make a grave mistake if you think I will balk at such a gruesome task. You make a grave mistake if you forget what I am, or think I have an ounce of sympathy. We have weeks yet, before Jagang arrives. We have all the time we need. Those weeks under the test will seem like years to you, until you submit, but submit you will.”

Verna stiffened. She had forgotten the test of pain. She felt the constriction of terror rising in her throat again. She had seen it done to young men in a Rada’Han, of course, but it was never done for more than an hour, with years between tests.

Leoma stepped closer and kicked the cup of water aside.

“Shall we begin, Sister Verna?”

43

Richard winced when he saw the boy knocked senseless. Some of the bystanders pulled him aside, and another boy took his place. Even from behind the high window in the Confessors’ Palace, he could hear the cheers from the crowd of children watching the boys play the game he had seen children in Tanimura playing: Ja’La.

In his homeland of Westland, he had never heard of Ja’La, but children in the Midlands played it just as did those in the Old World. The spirited game was fast-paced and looked exciting, but he didn’t think children should have to pay the price of having their teeth knocked out for the fun of a game.

“Lord Rahl?” Ulic called. “Lord Rahl, are you here?”

Richard turned from the window and let the comforting shroud go as he flung the black mriswith cape back over his shoulders.

“Yes, Ulic. What is it?”

The big guard strode into the room when he saw Richard seem to appear out of the air. He was used to the sight. “There’s a Keltish general here asking to see you. General Baldwin.”

Richard touched his fingertips to his forehead as his mind searched. “Baldwin, Baldwin.” He looked up. “General Baldwin. Yes, I remember. He’s the commander of all Keltish forces. We sent him a letter about Kelton’s surrender. What does he want?”

Ulic shrugged. “He would say only that he wants to speak with Lord Rahl.”

Richard turned to the window, pushing the heavy gold drape back with a hand as he idly leaned against the painted window casing. He watched a boy doubled over, recovering from a hit with the broc. The boy straightened and went back to the play.

“How many men accompanied the general to Aydindril?”

“A small guard of five, maybe six hundred.”

“He was told that Kelton had surrendered. If he meant trouble, he wouldn’t march into Aydindril with so few men. I guess I had better see him.” He turned back to the attentive Ulic. “Berdine is busy. Have Cara and Raina escort the general in.”

Ulic clapped a fist to his heart and started to turn away, but

turned back when Richard called his name. “Have the men found anything more at the bottom of the mountain below the Keep?”

“No, Lord Rahl, nothing more than all those parts of mriswith. The snow at the base of that cliff is drifted so deep that it will be spring, when it melts, before we can discover what else fell from the Keep. The wind could have carried whatever fell anywhere, and the soldiers have no idea where in that vast tract to dig. The mriswith arms and claws they found were light enough so that they didn’t drive under the snow. Anything heavier could have gone down ten, maybe twenty feet in that light, windblown fluff.”

Richard nodded in disappointment. “One other thing. The palace must have seamstresses. Find the head seamstress and ask her to please come see me.”

Richard pulled his black mriswith cape around himself without really thinking about what he was doing, and went back to watching the Ja’La game. He was impatient for Kahlan and Zedd to arrive. It shouldn’t be long, now. They must be close. Surely Gratch had found them and they would all be together soon.

He heard Cara’s voice behind him, at the door. “Lord Rahl?”

Richard turned, letting the cape fall open as he relaxed. Standing tall between the two Mord-Sith was a sturdily built older man with a white-flecked dark mustache, the ends of which grew down to the bottom of his jaw, and graying black hair growing down over his ears. His pate shone through where his hair was thinning.

He wore a heavy, semicircular serge cape, richly lined with green silk and fastened on one shoulder with two buttons. A tall, embroidered collar was turned down over a tan surcoat decorated with a heraldic emblem slashed through with a diagonal black line dividing a yellow and blue shield. The man’s high boots covered his knees. Long black gauntlets, their flared cuffs lying over the front, were tucked through a wide belt set with an ornate buckle.

As Richard became visible before his eyes, the general’s face paled and he lurched to a halt.