Terry Goodkind - Blood of the Fold

Merissa’s grin mocked him, but he didn’t care, he only wanted, needed, to have the twin to his yabree in his other hand.

“Breathe,” the sliph said.

Distracted, Richard glanced over. The sliph was looking at the woman slumped on the floor against the wall. He was about to speak, when Merissa tapped the second yabree against the stone again.

His legs went boneless. He heald his left arm, with die yabree in his fist, over the wall to hold himself up.

“Breathe,” the sliph said again.

Through the enchanting, purring song singing through his bones, Richard struggled to make sense of who it was against the wall that the sliph was speaking to. It seemed important, but he couldn’t reason why. Who was it?

Merissa’s laugh echoed around the room as she tapped the yabree again.

Richard let out a helpless cry both of ecstasy and longing.

“Breathe,” the sliph said again, more insistent.

Through the numbing song of the yabree , it came to him. His inner need surged up, sluicing through the benumbing melody that encased him.

Kahlan.

He looked at her. She wasn’t breathing. An inner voice cried out for help.

When the yabree sang again, his neck muscles went flaccid. His swirling gaze focused on something in the stone under him.

Exigency stirred his muscles. His hand extended. His fingers touched it. His grip enveloped it, and a new need coursed through his bones. A need he knew well.

With an explosion of fury, Richard yanked the Sword of Truth from the stone floor, and the room rang with a new song.

Merissa fixed him with a murderous glare as she again rapped the yabree against the stone. “You will die, Richard Rahl. I have sworn to bathe in your blood, and I will.”

With the last of his strength, powered by the sword’s wrath, Richard heaved himself against the top of the stone wall and stretched down, plunging the blade into the quicksilver of the sliph.

Merissa shrieked.

Silver veins fluxed through her flesh. Her screams echoed around the stone room as her arms reached up in a frantic effort to escape the sliph, but it was too late. The metamorphosis coursed through her, and she waxed as glossy as the sliph, like a silver statue in a silver reflecting pool. The hard edges of her face softened, and what had been Merissa dissolved into the lapping waves of quicksilver.

“Breathe,” the sliph said to Kahlan.

Richard threw the yabree aside as he dashed across the room. He scooped Kahlan up in his arms and carried her to the well. He draped her over the wall, wrapped his arms around her abdomen, and squeezed.

“Breathe! Kahlan, breathe!” He compressed again. “Do it for me! Breathe! Please, Kahlan, breathe.”

Her lungs expelled the quicksilver, and she gasped a sudden, desperate breath, and then another.

At last, she turned in his arms and fell against him. “Oh, Richard, you were right. It was so wonderful I forgot to breathe. You saved me.”

“But he killed the other,” the sliph observed. “I warned him about the object of magic he carries. It is not my fault.”

Kahlan blinked at the silver face. “What are you talking about?”

“The one that is part of me, now.”

“Merissa,” Richard explained. “It’s not your fault, sliph. I had to do it, or she would have killed both of us.”

“Then I am discharged of responsibility. Thank you, Master.”

Kahlan spun back to him, glancing down at the sword. “What happened? What do you mean, Merissa?”

Richard untied the thong at his throat, reached over his shoulder, and pulled the mriswith cape off his back.

“She followed us through the sliph. She tried to kill you, and to . . . well, she wanted to take a bath with me.”

“What!”

“No,” the sliph corrected, “she said she wanted to bathe in your blood.”

Kahlan’s mouth dropped open. “But . . . what happened?”

“She is with me, now,” the sliph said. “For all time.”

“That means she’s dead,” Richard said. “I’ll explain when we have more time.” He turned to the sliph. “Thank you for your help, sliph, but I need you to sleep, now.”

“Of course, Master. I will sleep until I am needed again.”

The shiny silver face softened and melted back into the pool of quicksilver. Richard, without conscious direction, crossed his wrists. The lustrous pool took on a glow. The sliph stilled, and began sinking into the well, slowly at first, and then with gathering speed, until she was gone.

Kahlan stared up at him when he straightened. “I think there are a lot of things you are going to need to explain to me.”

“When we have time, I promise.”

“Where are we, anyway?”

“In the lower parts of the Keep, ai the base of one of the towers.”

“Lower parts of the Keep?”

Richard nodded. “Down under the library.”

“Under the library! No one can go below the library level. There are shields that have kept every wizard from the lower Keep for as long as anyone knows.”

“Well, that’s where we are and that, too, we’ll have to talk about later. We have to get down to the city.”

They stepped out of Kolo’s room, and immediately they both flattened themselves against the wall. The red mriswith queen was in the pool beyond the railing. She spread her wings protectively over a clutch of hundreds of eggs the size of large melons as she trumpeted a warning that echoed around the inside of the huge tower.

From what little light that came in from the openings overheard, Richard could see that it was late afternoon. It had taken less than a day, at least he hoped just one day, to reach Aydindril. In the light, he could also see the vast extent of the clutch of splotchy gray and green eggs alop the rock.

“It’s the mriswith queen,” Richard hastily explained as he climbed the railing. “I have to destroy those eggs.”

Kahlan shouted his name, trying to call him back, as he vaulted the railing, into the dark, slimy water. Richard held out his sword as he waded through the waist-deep water toward the slick rocks in the center. The queen rose up on her claws, venting a clacking bellow.

Her head snaked close to him, her jaws snapping. In that moment, Richard swung the sword. The grotesque head recoiled. She huffed a cloud of acrid aroma at him that carried a clear message of warning. Relentlessly, Richard slogged ahead. Her jaws gaped, revealing long, sharp teeth.

Richard couldn’t let the mriswith have Aydindril. And if he didn’t destroy these eggs, then there would be even more mriswith to deal with.

“Richard! I tried to use the blue lightning, but it won’t work down here! Come back!”

The hissing queen snapped at him. Richard stabbed at the head when it came close, but she kept just out of reach and roared in anger. Richard was able to keep the head at bay while he groped for a handhold.

He found a crag to grasp, and scrambled up onto the dark, slimy rocks. He swung the sword, and when the menacing jaws pulled back, he hacked at the eggs. Stinking yolk oozed across the dark stone as he broke the thick, leathery shells.

The queen went wild. Her wings flapped, lifting her clear of the rock and out of the reach of Richard’s sword. Her tail lashed around, snapping like a huge whip. When the tail came close, Richard swung the sword to keep her at bay. He was more interested in destroying the eggs at the moment.

Her teeth snapped as she lunged at him. Richard thrust the sword, piercing her neck with a glancing strike, enough that the queen reeled back in pain and fury. Her frantically flapping wings knocked him sprawling across the rock. Richard rolled to the side to avoid the slashing claws. Her tail thrashed at him again, and her jaws snapped. Richard was forced to forget the eggs for the moment and defend himself. If he could kill her, it would simplify the task.