Blood of the Fold Page 16

  Some of the poles held only heads, some held whole bodies, and others parts of bodies. All appeared to have been killed in a brutal battle. Some of the beasts had been ripped open, and several were cleaved completely in two, their innards hanging frozen from what was left of them.

  It was like stepping through a monument to evil, through the gates to the underworld.

  The other guests covered their noses as best they could with whatever they had handy. A few of the finely dressed women sank to the ground in a swoon; attendants rushed to their aid, fanning them with handkerchiefs or rubbing a bit of snow on their foreheads. Some of the people stared in astonishment while others shuddered so violently that Tobias could hear their teeth rattling. By the time they had run the gauntlet of sights and smells, everyone around them was in a state of either high anxiety or open alarm. Tobias, having often walked among evil, regarded his fellow guests with disgust.

  When a shaken diplomat asked, one of the D’Harans to the side explained that the creatures had attacked the city, and Lord Rahl had slain them. The mood of the guests brightened. As they moved on, their voices became exuberant as they chatted about the honor of meeting such a man as the new Lord Rahl, the Master of all of D’Hara. Effervescent chuckles drifted on the chilling air.

  Galtero leaned close. “While I was out earlier, before all the chanting, and the soldiers around the city were still talkative, they told me to be wary, that there had been attacks by unseen creatures, and a number of their men, as well as people on the streets, had been killed.”

  Tobias remembered the old woman telling him that scaled creatures, he couldn’t recall what she had called them, had begun to appear out of the air to gut anyone in their way. Lunetta had said that the woman’s words were true. These must be the creatures.

  “How convenient of Lord Rahl to arrive just in time to slay the creatures and save the city.”

  “Mriswith,” Lunetta said.

  “What?”

  “The woman said that the creatures be called mriswith.”

  Tobias nodded. “Yes, I believe you’re right: mriswith.”

  White columns towered outside the entrance to the palace. The ranks of soldiers to each side funneled them through white, carved doors spread wide, and into a grand hall lit with windows of pale blue glass set between polished white marble columns topped with gold capitals. Tobias Brogan could feel himself being sucked into the belly of evil. The other guests, had a one of them known better, would be shuddering at the living monument to profanity that surrounded them, instead of dead carcasses.

  After a journey through elegant halls and chambers with enough granite and marble to build a mountain, they at last passed through tall mahogany doors to enter an enormous chamber capped with a huge dome. Ornate frescoes of men and women swept across the ceiling overlooking the assembly. Round windows around the lower edge of the dome let in the waning light and revealed clouds gathering in a darkening sky. Across the room, on a semicircular dais, the chairs behind the resplendent, carved desk sat empty.

  Arched openings around the room covered stairways up to colonnaded balconies edged with sinuous, polished mahogany railings. The balconies were filled with people, he noticed—not finely dressed nobility like those on the main floor, but common working people. The other guests noticed, too, and cast disapproving glances up at the riffraff in the shadows behind the railings. The people crowded there stood back from the railings, as if seeking obscurity in the darkness, lest any of them should be recognized and called to account for daring to be at so grand a function. It was customary for a great man to be introduced to the people in authority first, before letting himself be known to ordinary people.

  Ignoring the audience in the balcony, the guests spread out across the patterned marble floor, keeping distance between themselves and the two Blood of the Fold, and trying to make it seem accidental, rather than by intention that they avoided the two. They looked about expectantly for their host while bending to whisper among themselves. Dressed as finely as they were they almost looked to be part of the ornate carvings and decoration; none betrayed being awed by the grandeur of the Confessors’ Palace. Tobias guessed that most were frequent visitors. Though he had never been to Aydindril before, he knew sycophants when he saw them; his own king had been surrounded by enough of them.

  Lunetta stayed close to his side, only mildly interested in the imposing architecture around her. She took no notice of the people who stared at her, though there were fewer of those now; they were more interested in each other and in the prospect of finally meeting Lord Rahl than in worrying about an odd woman standing between two crimson-caped Blood of the Fold. Galtero’s gaze swept the expansive room, ignoring the opulence and, instead, taking constant appraisal of the people, the soldiers, and the exits. The swords he and Tobias wore were not decoration.

  Despite his revulsion, Tobias couldn’t help marveling at where he stood. This was the spot from where the Mother Confessors and wizards had pulled the strings of the Midlands. This was where the council, for thousands of years, had stood for unity while preserving and protecting magic. This was the spot from which the Keeper’s tendrils spread forth.

  That unity was shattered now. Magic had lost its grip on man, lost its protection. The age of magic was ended. The Midlands was ended. Soon, the palace would be filled with crimson capes, and only the Blood of the Fold would be seated at the dais. Tobias smiled; events were moving inexorably toward a providential end.

  A man and woman drifted near, purposefully, Tobias thought. The woman, with a pile of black hair and wispy curls hanging down around her painted face, leaned casually toward him. “Imagine, we are invited here, and they don’t even have anything to eat.” She smoothed the lace at the bosom of her yellow dress, a polite smile coming to her impossibly red lips as she waited for him to speak. He didn’t, and she went on. “Seems very vulgar not to offer so much as a drop of wine, don’t you think, considering that we’ve come on such short notice and all? I hope he doesn’t expect we will accept his invitation again after treating us so boorishly.”

  Tobias clasped his hands behind his back. “Do you know Lord Rahl?”

  “I may have met him before; I don’t recall.” She brushed a speck, which he couldn’t see, from her bare shoulder, affording the jewels on her fingers, which even someone across the room would have been able to see, the opportunity to glitter before his eyes. “I’m invited to so many of these affairs here at the palace that I have difficulty remembering all the people who strive to meet me. After all, Duke Lumholtz and I would appear to find ourselves in a position of leadership, what with Prince Fyren having been murdered.”

  Her red lips plumped into a simper. “I do know that I’ve never met any of the Blood of the Fold here before. After all, the council has always viewed the Blood as officious, not that I’m saying I would agree, mind you, but they have forbade them from practicing their… ‘craft’ anywhere outside their homeland. Of course we would seem to be without a council, now. Quite ghastly, their being killed like they were, right here, and while they were deliberating the future course of the Midlands. What brings you here, sir?”

  Tobias glanced past her to see soldiers closing the doors. He knuckled his mustache as he started wandering toward the dais. “I was ‘invited,’ the same as you.”

  Duchess Lumholtz strolled with him. “I hear that the Blood are held in high esteem by the Imperial Order.”

  The man with her, dressed in a gold-braided blue coat and displaying the carriage of authority, listened with strained indifference as he worked at appearing to have his attention elsewhere. By his dark hair and heavy brow Tobias had already guessed him as Keltish. The Keltans had been quick to align themselves with the Order, and possessively guarded their high status among them. They also knew that the Imperial Order respected the opinion of the Blood of the Fold.

  “I am surprised, madam, that you hear anything, as much as you talk.”

  Her face flushed as red as her
lips. Tobias was spared her predictable, indignant retort when the crowd noticed a commotion across the room. He was not tall enough to see over the turned heads, so he waited patiently, knowing that in all likelihood Lord Rahl would take to the raised dais. He had placed himself carefully for that probability: close enough to be able to make an appraisal, but not so close as to stand out. Unlike the other guests, he knew this was no social function. This would likely be a stormy night, and if there was lightning, he didn’t want to be the tallest tree. Tobias Brogan, unlike the fluttering fools about him, knew when prudence was warranted.

  Across the room, people hurriedly tried to make way for an echelon of D’Haran soldiers wedging them aside to clear a path. A massive rank of pikemen followed, peeling off in pairs to form an ironclad corridor free of guests. The echelon deployed before the dais, a grim protective wedge of D’Haran muscle and steel. The swift precision was impressive. High-ranking D’Haran officers marched up the corridor to stand beside the dais. Over the top of Lunetta’s head, Tobias met Galtero’s icy gaze. No social function indeed.

  The crowd buzzed in nervous anticipation as they waited to see what was to come next. By the whispers Tobias could overhear, this was well beyond precedent in the Confessors’ Palace. Red-faced dignitaries murmured their indignation to one another over what they considered an intolerable use of armed force in the council chambers, where diplomatic negotiation was the rule.

  Brogan had no tolerance for diplomacy; blood worked better, and left a more lasting impression. He was getting the impression that Lord Rahl understood this, too, unlike the sea of obsequious faces crowding the floor.

  Tobias knew what this Lord Rahl wanted. It was only to be expected; after all, the D’Harans had shouldered most of the load for the Imperial Order. In the mountains he had met a force that had been mostly D’Haran, on their way to Ebinissia. The D’Harans had taken Aydindril, seen to keeping order, and then let the Imperial Order have dominion over it. In the name of the Order they had put their flesh against the steel of rebels, yet others, such as Keltans, like Duke Lumholtz, had held the positions of power and handed down the orders, expecting the D’Harans to fall on the points of enemy blades.

  Lord Rahl no doubt intended to lay claim to a place of high rank among the Imperial Order, and was going to coerce the gathered representatives into acceding. Tobias almost wished there had been food offered, so that he could watch all the scheming officials choke on it when the new Lord Rahl made his demands.

  The two D’Harans who entered next were so huge that Tobias could see their approach over the heads of the crowd. When they came into full view, and he could see their leather armor, chain mail, and sharpened bands above their elbows, Galtero whispered to him over Lunetta’s head. “I’ve seen those two before.”

  “Where,” Tobias whispered back.

  Galtero shook his head as he watched the men. “Out on the street somewhere.”

  Tobias turned back, and to his astonishment saw three women in red leather following the two huge D’Harans. From the reports Tobias had heard, they could be nothing other than Mord-Sith. Mord-Sith had a reputation for being wholly unhealthy to those with magic who opposed them. Tobias had once sought to acquire the services of one of these women, but had been told that they served only the Master of D’Hara, and were not indulgent of anyone making offers of any kind. As he had heard it told, they could not be bought for any price.

  If the Mord-Sith made the crowd edgy, what came next made them gasp. Mouths dropped at the sight of a monstrous beast, one with claws, fangs, and wings. Even Tobias stiffened at the sight of a gar. Short-tailed gars were wildly aggressive, bloodthirsty brutes that would eat anything living. Since the boundary had fallen the past spring, gars had caused the Blood of the Fold no small amount of trouble. For the moment, this beast walked calmly behind the three women. When Tobias checked that his sword was clear in its scabbard, he noticed Galtero doing the same.

  “Please, Lord General,” Lunetta whined, “I want to leave, now.” She was furiously scratching her arms.

  Brogan gripped her upper arm and drew her close, whispering through clenched teeth. “You pay attention to this Lord Rahl, or I’ll find I have no further use for you. Do you understand? And stop that scratching!”

  Her eyes watered as he twisted her arm. “Yes, Lord General.”

  “You pay attention to what he says.”

  She nodded as the two huge D’Harans took places at either end of the dais. The three women in red leather stepped up between them, leaving a place in the center empty, probably for Lord Rahl when he arrived, at last. The gar towered behind the chairs.

  The blond-headed Mord-Sith near the center of the dais looked around the room with a penetrating blue-eyed gaze that commanded silence.

  “People of the Midlands,” she said, lifting an introductory arm to the empty air above the desk, “I present Lord Rahl.”

  A shadow formed in the air. A black cloak appeared suddenly, and as it was thrown wide, there, standing atop the dais, was a man.

  Those near the front fell back in alarm. A scattering of people cried out in terror. Some called for the Creator’s protection, others beseeched the spirits to intercede on their behalf, and some fell to their knees. While many stood in mute shock, a few of the decorative swords were drawn for the first time in fear. When a D’Haran in the front of the echelon calmly warned in a low, icy voice to sheath the weapons, they were reluctantly returned to scabbards.

  Lunetta was scratching frantically as she gazed up at the man, but Brogan didn’t stop her this time; even he could feel his skin crawling with the evil of magic.

  The man atop the desk waited patiently for the crowd to become silent, and then spoke in a quiet voice.

  “I am Richard Rahl, called by the D’Harans Lord Rahl. Other peoples have other titles by which I am known. Prophecies given in the dim past, before the Midlands was born, have placed appellation upon me.” He stepped down off the desk to stand between the Mord-Sith. “But it is the future I come before you to address.”

  Though not as large as the two D’Harans standing at each end of the curved desk, he was a big man, tall and muscular, and surprisingly young. His clothes, black cloak and high boots, dark trousers, and plain shirt, were unassuming, more so for one called “Lord.” Though it was hard to miss the gleam of a silver-and-gold scabbard at his hip, he looked to be nothing so much as a simple woodsman. Tobias thought, too, that the man looked tired, as if he bore a mountain of responsibility on his shoulders.

  Tobias was hardly a stranger to combat, and knew by the grace with which this young man carried himself, by the easy way the baldric lay across his shoulder and by the way the sword moved with him at his hip, that he was not a man to be taken lightly. The sword was not there for decoration; it was a weapon. He looked to be a man who had made a great many desperate decisions of late, and had lived through them all. For all his outward, humble appearance, he had an inexplicable air of authority about him, and a bearing that commanded attention.

  Already, many of the women in the room had recovered their composure and were beginning to flash him private smiles as they batted their lashes, falling into their well-practiced habits of ingratiating themselves with those wielding power. Even if the man were not ruggedly handsome, they would have done the same, but perhaps with less sincerity. Lord Rahl either didn’t notice their warming demeanor, or chose not to.

  But it was his eyes that interested Tobias Brogan; eyes were the mark of a man’s nature, and the one thing that rarely deceived him. When this man’s steely gaze settled on people, some stepped back without realizing it, some froze, and others fidgeted. When those eyes turned in his direction, and the gaze settled on him for the first time, Tobias took a measure of Lord Rahl’s heart and soul.

  That brief look was all he needed: this was a very dangerous man.

  Though he was young and ill at ease being the center of all eyes, this was a man who would fight with a vengeance. Tobias had se
en eyes like this before. This was a man who would jump headlong over a cliff to come after you.

  “I know him,” Galtero whispered.

  “What? How?”

  “Earlier today, when I was picking up witnesses, I came across this man. I was going to bring him to you for questioning, but those two big guards showed up and carried him off.”

  “Unfortunate. It would have been…”

  The hush of the room caused Tobias to look up. Lord Rahl was staring at him. It was like looking into the penetrating, gray-eyed glare of a raptor.

  Lord Rahl’s eyes shifted to Lunetta. She stood frozen in the light of his gaze. Surprisingly, a small smile came to his lips.

  “Of all the women at the ball,” Lord Rahl said to her, “your dress is the prettiest.”

  Lunetta beamed. Tobias almost laughed out loud; Lord Rahl had just delivered a cutting message to the others in the room: their social status counted for nothing with him. Tobias was suddenly beginning to enjoy himself. Perhaps the Order would not be so poorly served with a man like this among their leaders.

  “The Imperial Order,” Lord Rahl began, “believes that the time has come for the world to be united under a common canon: theirs. They say that magic is responsible for all man’s failings, misfortunes, and troubles. They claim all evil to be the external influence of magic. They say the time has come for magic to pass from the world.”

  Some in the room murmured their agreement, some grumbled their skepticism, but most stood mute.

  Lord Rahl laid an arm across the top of the largest chair—the one in the center. “In order for their vision to be complete, and in light of their self-proclaimed divine cause, they will suffer the sovereignty of no land. They wish for all to be brought under their influence, and to go forward into the future as one people: subjects of the Imperial Order.”

  He paused for a moment as he met the gaze of many in the crowd. “Magic is not a fount of evil. This is merely an excuse for their actions as they ascend to supremacy.”