Blood of the Fold (Sword of Truth 3)

Richard, his insides in an agony of lingering, burning pain, used all his strength to put his chest out. He pointed. “Here is my heart, Berdine. The Lord Rahl’s heart. The Lord Rahl you are bonded to.” He tapped his chest again. “Stab me here, if you wish to kill me.”

She gave him a gruesome smile. “Fine. You shall have your wish.”

“No, not my wish—yours. I don’t want you to kill me.”

She faltered. Her brow twitched. “Protect yourself.”

“No, Berdine. If this is what you wish, then you must choose it for yourself.”

“Fight me!” She struck him across the face with the Agiel.

It felt like his jaw shattered and all his teeth were knocked out. The pain stabbed into his ear, nearly blinding him with hurt. Panting, in a cold sweat, he straightened.

“Berdine, you have two magics in you. One is your bond to me, the other is what was put there when they took your nipple. You cannot continue to carry both. One has to be broken. I’m your Lord Rahl. You are bonded to me. The only way you can kill me is to break that bond. My life is in your hands.”

She lunged at him. He felt the back of his head smack against the floor. Berdine was atop him, screaming in fury.

“Fight me, you bastard!” She pounded his chest with one fist as she held the knife up in the other. Tears streamed from her eyes. “Fight me! Fight me! Fight me!”

“No. If you want to kill me, then you have to do it on your own.”

“Fight me!” She struck his face. “I can’t kill you if you don’t fight me! Defend yourself!”

Richard enfolded her in his arms and pulled her to his chest. He pushed his heels against the carpet and slid himself back, taking her with him as he sat up against the bed.

“Berdine, just as you are bonded to me, I protect you. I won’t let you die like this. I want you alive. I want you as my protector.”

“No!” she screamed. “I must kill you! You must fight me so I can! I can’t do it unless you try to kill me! You must!”

Weeping in angry exasperation, she pressed the knife against his throat. Richard did nothing to stop her.

He drew his hand down her wavy brown hair. “Berdine, I’ve sworn to fight to protect those who want to live free. That’s my bond to you. I won’t do anything to harm you. I know you don’t want to kill me; you’ve sworn on your life to protect me.”

“I’ll kill you! I will! I’ll kill you!”

“I believe in you, Berdine, in your oath to me. I put my life in your word and your bond.”

She gasped in racking sobs as she looked into his eyes. She shook as she wept uncontrollably. Richard didn’t move against the sharp blade at his throat.

“Then you must kill me,” she cried. “Please… I can stand it no longer. Please… kill me.”

“I will never do anything to harm you, Berdine. I’ve given you your freedom. You are answerable to yourself.”

Berdine let out a long wail of misery and then threw the knife across the floor. She collapsed against him, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Oh, Lord Rahl,” she sobbed, “forgive me. Forgive me. Oh, dear spirits, what have I done.”

“You have proven your bond,” he whispered as he held her.

“They hurt me,” she wept, “they hurt me so much. Nothing ever hurt like that before. It hurts so to fight it now.”

He held her tight. “I know, but you must fight it.”

She put a hand to his chest and pushed back. “I can’t.” Richard didn’t think he had ever seen anyone in such misery. “Please, Lord Rahl—kill me. I can’t stand the pain. I beg you, please, kill me.”

Richard, in an agony of empathy for her suffering, drew her back to his chest and hugged her, stroking her head, trying to comfort her. It did no good; she only cried harder.

He set her back against the bed as she shook and wept. Without thinking about what he was doing, or even understanding the reason, he cupped his hand over her left breast.

Richard sought the calm center, the place without thought, the fount of peace within, and cloaked himself in instinct. He felt the searing pain seep through him. Her pain. He felt what had been done to her, and what the lingering magic was doing to her now. As he had done with the pain of the Agiel, he endured it.

In his empathy, he felt the torment of her life, the torture of what it meant to become a Mord-Sith, and the anguish of her former self lost. His eyes closed, he took it unto himself. Though he didn’t see the events involved, he understood the trail of scars they left through her soul. He hardened his will in order to endure the suffering of it. He stood, a rock, in a torrent of hurt rushing into his own soul.

He was that rock for her. He let his loving regard for this innocent, this fellow victim of suffering, flow into her. Without fully understanding the feelings he was having, he let his instinct guide him. He felt himself soaking up her suffering so that she wouldn’t have to endure it, so he could help her, and at the same time he felt an inner warmth flowing outward through his hand on her flesh. Through that hand it seemed he was connected to her spark of life, to her soul.

Berdine’s crying slowed, her breathing evened out, and her muscles went slack as she sank back against the bed.

Richard felt the pain that had come into him from her begin to dissipate. Only then did he realize he was holding his breath with the agony of it, and let the breath go.

The warmth flowing from within him began to fade, too, and at last was gone. Richard removed his hand, and brushed her wavy hair back from her face. Her eyes came open, her dazed, blue-eyed gaze meeting his.

They both looked down. She was whole again.

“I’m myself again,” she whispered. “I feel as if I have just awakened from a nightmare.”

Richard pulled the red leather up across her breasts, covering her. “Me too.”

“There has never been a Lord Rahl such as you before,” she said in wonder. “The spirits be praised, there never has.”

“Greater truth has never been spoken,” a voice behind said.

Richard turned to see the tearstained faces of the other two women kneeling behind him.

“Are you all right, Berdine?” Cara asked.

Berdine, still looking a bit stunned, nodded. “I am myself again.”

None of them was as stunned as Richard.

“You could have killed her,” Cara said. “If you had tried to use your sword, she would have had your magic, but you could have used your knife. For you, it would have been easy. You didn’t have to suffer her Agiel. You could have just killed her.”

Richard nodded. “I know. But that pain would have been worse.”

Berdine tossed her Agiel to the floor before him. “I give this over to you, Lord Rahl.”

The other two pulled the gold chains down over their hands and dropped their Agiel to the floor along with Berdine’s.

“I, too, give mine over to you, Lord Rahl,” Cara said.

“And I, Lord Rahl.”

Richard stared at the

red rods on the floor before him. He thought about his sword, and how much he hated the things he did with it, how he hated the killing he had done with it, and the killing he knew he would do again. But he could not yet give up the sword.

“This means more to me than you can know,” he said, unable to meet their eyes. “That you would do this is what matters. It proves your hearts and your bond. Forgive me, all of you, but I must ask you to keep them for now.” He handed back their Agiel. “When this is over, when we are free of the threat, then we can all give up the phantoms that haunt us, but for now we must fight for those who count on us. Our weapons, terrible as they are, allow us to continue the struggle.”

Cara laid a gentle hand to his shoulder. “We understand, Lord Rahl. It shall be as you say. When this is over, we can be free of not only those enemies from without, but within, too.”

Richard nodded. “Until then, we must be strong. We must be the wind of death.”

In the silence, Richard wondered what mriswith were doing in Aydindril. He thought about the one that had killed Cathryn. It was protecting him, it had said. Protecting him? Impossible.

As he thought about it, though, he couldn’t recall a mriswith actually attacking him, personally. He remembered the first attack, outside the Confessors’ Palace, with Gratch. Gratch had attacked them, and Richard had come to the aid of his friend. They had been intent on killing “green eyes,” as they had call the gar, but they never specifically attacked him.

The one tonight had had the best chance of all—Richard had been without his sword—yet it didn’t attack him, and instead escaped without a fight. It had addressed him as “skin brother.” Just to wonder what that could mean gave him goose bumps.

Richard idly scratched his neck.

Cara rubbed a finger on the back side of his neck where he had just scratched. “What’s this?”

“I don’t know. Just a spot that’s always itching.”

30

Verna paced indignantly back and forth in the little sanctuary. How dare Prelate Annalina do this? Verna had told her that she had to tell her the words so as to prove it was really her, to say once again that she regarded Verna as an unremarkable Sister of little note. Verna wanted the Prelate to say those cruel words again so she would know that Verna knew she was being used, and of little value to the palace, in the Prelate’s eyes.