Blood of the Fold (Sword of Truth 3)

When she had sat, and started signing her name, Richard pushed his sword out of the way and sat beside her, in the Mother Confessor’s chair. He settled his gaze on the people watching, and kept it there as he listened to the pen scratching. He kept the rage on a slow boil in order to concentrate.

Richard turned back to the smiling Keltish officials behind and to each side of her chair. “You’ve all performed a valuable service this morning, and I would be honored if you would be willing to continue in an official capacity. I’m sure I could use your talents in administering the growing D’Hara.”

After they had all bowed and thanked him for his generosity, he once again turned his attention to the silent group watching the proceedings. The D’Haran soldiers, especially the officers, having spent months stationed in Aydindril, had learned a great deal about trade in the Midlands. In the four days he had been with them searching for Brogan, Richard had learned all he could, and had added to that knowledge earlier that morning. When he knew the questions to ask, Mistress Sanderholt had proven to be a woman of vast knowledge gathered over years of having prepared the dishes of many lands. Food, as it turned out, was a reservoir of knowledge about a people. Her keen ear didn’t hurt, either.

“Some of the papers the duchess is signing are trade instructions,” Richard told the officials as Cathryn bent over her work. His eyes lingered on her shoulders. He willed them away. “Since Kelton is now part of D’Hara, you must understand that there can be no trade between Kelton and those of you who have not joined with us.”

He turned his gaze on a short, round man with a curly black and gray beard. “I realize, Representative Garthram, that this will put Lifany in an uncomfortable position. With Galea and Kelton’s borders now ordered sealed to anyone not part of D’Haran, you will have a very difficult time with trade.

“With Galea and Kelton to your north, D’Hara to your east, and the Rang’Shada Mountains to the west, you will be hard-pressed to find a source of iron. Most of what you purchased came from Kelton, and they bought grain from you, but Kelton will just have to buy their grain from the Galean warehouses now. Since they’re now both D’Haran there is no longer any reason for past animosity to hinder trade, and their armies are under my command so they won’t be wasting effort worrying about one another and instead will devote their attention to sealing the borders.

“D’Hara, of course, has a use for Keltish iron and steel. I suggest you find another source, and quickly, as the Imperial Order will probably attack from the south. Possibly right through Lifany, I would suspect. I will have no man spilling blood to protect lands not yet joined with us, nor will I reward hesitation with trade privileges.”

Richard turned his gaze to a tall, gaunt man with a ring of wispy white hair around the base of his knobby skull. “Ambassador Bezancort, I regret to inform you that the letter, here, to Kelton’s Commissioner Cameron, instructs him that all agreements with your homeland of Sanderia are hereby canceled until and unless you, too, are part of D’Hara. When spring comes, Sanderia will not be allowed to drive their herds up from your plains to spring and summer on the highlands of Kelton.”

The tall man lost what little color he had to begin with. “But, Lord Rahl, we have no place to spring and summer them; while those plains are a lush grassland in the winter, they are a brown and barren wasteland in the summer. What would you have us do?”

Richard shrugged. “I would suppose you’ll have to slaughter your herds in order to salvage what you can before they starve.”

The ambassador gasped. “Lord Rahl, these agreements have been in place for centuries. Our whole economy is based on the husbandry of our sheep.”

Richard lifted an eyebrow. “It’s not my concern; my concern is with those who stand with us.”

Ambassador Bezancort raised his hands in an imploring gesture. “Lord Rahl, my people would be ruined. Our whole country would be devastated if we were forced to slaughter our herds.”

Representative Theriault took an urgent step forward. “You can’t allow those herds to be slaughtered. Herjborgue depends on that wool. Why, why… it would ruin our industry.”

Another spoke up. “And then they couldn’t trade with us, and we would have no way to buy crops that won’t grow in our land.”

Richard leaned forward. “Then I suggest you impress these arguments on your leaders, and do your best to convince them that surrender is the only way. The sooner the better.” He looked out at the other dignitaries. “As interdependent as you all are I’m sure you will soon come to realize the value of unity. Kelton is part of D’Hara, now. The trade routes will be closed to any who fail to stand with us. I told you before, there are no bystanders.”

A riot of protests, appeals, and supplications filled the council chambers. Richard stood, and the voices fell to silence.

The Sanderian ambassador lifted a bony finger in accusation. “You are a ruthless man.”

Richard nodded, the magic heating his glare. “Be sure to tell that to the Imperial Order, if you choose to join with them.” He looked down on the other faces. “You all had peace and unity through the Council and the Mother Confessor. While she was away, fighting for you and your people, you threw that unity aside for ambition, for naked greed. You acted like children fighting over a cake. You had a chance to share it, but instead chose to try to steal it all from your smaller siblings. If you come to my table, you will have to mind your manners, but you each will have bread.”

No one offered an argument this time. Richard straightened his mriswith cape on his shoulders when he realized Cathryn had finished signing and was watching him with those big brown eyes. He couldn’t maintain the grip on the sword’s anger in the glow of her sweet gaze.

He turned back to the representatives, the rage gone from his tone. “The weather is clear. You had best be off. The sooner you convince your leaders to agree to my terms, the less inconvenience your people will suffer. I don’t want anyone to suffer.…” His voice trailed off.

Cathryn stood next to him and looked down at the people she knew so well. “Do as Lord Rahl asks. He has given you enough of his time.” She turned and addressed one of her aides. “Have my clothes brought over at once. I’ll be staying here, at the Confessors’ Palace.”

“Why is she staying here?” one of the ambassadors asked as his brow wrinkled in suspicion.

“Her husband, as you know, was killed by a mriswith,” Richard said. “She is staying here for protection.”

“You mean there is danger for us?”

“Very possibly,” Richard said. “Her husband was an expert swordsman, yet he… well, I hope you will be careful. If you join with us then you are entitled to be guests of the palace, and the protection of my magic. There are plenty of empty guest rooms, but they will remain empty until you surrender.”

Accompanied by worried chatter, they headed for the doors.

“Shall we go?” Cathryn asked in a breathy voice.

His task done, Richard felt the sudden emptiness being filled with her presence. As she took his arm and they started away, he summoned the last shred of his will to stop at the end of the dais, where Ulic and Cara were standing.

“Keep us in sight at all times. Understand?”

“Yes, Lord Rahl,” Ulic and Cara said as one.

Cathryn tugged on his arm, urging his ear close. “Richard.” Her warm breath carrying his name sent a shudder of longing through him. “You said we would be alone. I want to be alone with you. Very alone. Please?”

It was from this moment that Richard had borrowed strength. He could no longer hold the image of the sword in his mind. In desperation, he put Kahlan’s face there in its stead.

“There is danger about, Cathryn. I can sense it. I won’t risk your life carelessly. When I don’t feel the danger, then we can be alone. Please try to understand, for now.”

She looked distraught, but nodded. “For now.”

As they stepped off the platform, Richard’s gaze snagged on

Cara’s. “Don’t let us out of your sight for anything.”

24

Phoebe plopped down the reports in a narrow vacant spot on the polished walnut table. “Verna, may I ask you a personal question?”

Verna scrawled her initials across the bottom of a report from the kitchens requesting replacements for the large caldrons that had burned through. “We’ve been friends for a good long time, Phoebe; you may ask me anything you wish.” She again scrutinized the request, and then above her initials she wrote a note denying permission and telling them to instead have the caldrons repaired. Verna reminded herself to show a smile. “Ask.”

Phoebe’s round cheeks flushed as she twisted her fingers together. “Well, I mean no offense, but you’re in a unique position, and I could never ask anyone else but a friend like you.” She cleared her throat. “What’s it like to get old?”

Verna snorted a laugh. “We’re the same age, Phoebe.”

She wiped her palms at the hips of her green dress as Verna waited. “Yes… but you’ve been away for more than twenty years. You’ve aged that much, just like those outside the palace. It will take me near to three hundred years to age to where you are right now. Why, you look like a woman of almost… forty.”

Verna signed. “Yes, well, a journey will do that to you. At least mine did.”

“I don’t want to ever go on a journey and get old. Does it hurt, or something, to so suddenly be old? Do you feel… I don’t know, like you’re not attractive and life is no longer sweet? I like it when men view me as desirable. I don’t want to get old like… It worries me.”

Verna pushed away from the table and leaned back in her chair. Her strongest urge was to strangle the woman, but she took a breath and reminded herself that it was a friend’s sincere question asked out of ignorance.