Terry Goodkind: Blood of the Fold

“The rooms,” Ann growled. She turned and bulged her eyes up at him. “Ruben needs his sleep. He has a lot of cloud reading to do, and must be at it early in the morning. If he doesn’t get his sleep, he gets the oddest burning rash in a ring around his neck.”

The woman started around the counter. “Well, let me show you to them, then.”

“That wouldn’t be roasted duck I smell, would it?”

“Oh, yes,” the woman said, turning back. “That’s our dinner tonight. Roasted duck with parsnips and onions and gravy, if you’ve a desire for some.”

Zedd inhaled deeply. “My, but it does have a delightful aroma. Takes talent to roast a duck just right, but I can tell by the fragrance that you’ve gotten it right. No doubt about it.”

The woman blushed and giggled. “Well, I am known for my roasted duck.”

“It sounds lovely,” Ann said. “If you could be so kind, would you send it up to our rooms?”

“Oh, of course. It would be my pleasure.”

The woman started them down the hall “On second thought,” Zedd said, “you go ahead, Elsie, I know how nervous you get to have people watch you eat. I’ll take my dinner out here, madam. With a pot of tea, if you don’t mind.”

Ann turned and shot him a scowl. He could feel the collar at his neck heat. “Don’t be long, Ruben. We must get an early start.”

Zedd waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, no, my dear. I’ll just have my dinner, perhaps a game with these gentlemen, and then be off to bed straightaway. See you in the morning, bright and early, so we can be off to show you the world.”

Her glare could have boiled pitch. “Good night, then, Ruben.”

Zedd smiled indulgently. “Don’t forget to pay the kind woman, and add something extra for her generosity with the large helping of her excellent roasted duck.” Zedd craned his neck toward her with a weighty look, his voice thinning. “And don’t forget to write in your journal before bed.”

She stiffened. “My journal?”

“Yes, the little travel journal you keep. I know how you like to write about your adventures, and you haven’t been keeping up to date like you should. I think it’s about time you did.”

“Yes . . .” she stammered. “I will, then, Ruben.”

Once Ann had gone, sending warning glances at him the whole way, the gentlemen at the table, having heard the entire conversation, invited him over. Zedd spread his maroon robes and descended among them.

“Cloud reader, you say?” one asked.

“The very best.” Zedd held up a bony finger. “Cloud reader to kings, no less.”

Astonished whispers passed around the table.

A man to the side took his pipe from his teeth. “Would you do a cloud reading for us, Master Ruben? We’d all put in and pay you a bit.”

Zedd held up a thin hand, as if warding them off. “I’m afraid I couldn’t.” He waited for the disappointment to build. “I couldn’t accept your money. It would be my honor to tell you what the clouds had to say, but I won’t take a copper.”

Smiles returned. “That’s most generous of you, Ruben.”

A heavyset man leaned in. “What do the clouds have to say?”

The innkeeper set a steaming plate of roasted duck before him, diverting his attention. “I’ll have your tea shortly,” she said as she hurried back to the kitchen.

“The clouds had much to say about the winds of change, gentlemen. Dangers and opportunities. About the glorious new Lord Rahl, and the . . . well, let me have a taste of this succulent-looking duck, and I’ll be delighted to tell you all about it.”

“Dig in, Ruben,” another said.

Zedd savored a mouthful, pausing dramatically to sigh with pleasure as the men all watched with rapt attention.

“That would be a mighty strange necklace you wear.”

Zedd tapped the collar as he chewed. “They don’t make them like this anymore.”

Squinting, the man pointed his pipe stem at the collar. “Doesn’t seem to have clasp. Looks to be one piece. How did you get it down over your head?”

Zedd unfastened the collar and held it out for them, working the two halves on the hinge. “Yes it does. See? Mighty fine work, isn’t it? A person can’t even see the workings because they’re so delicate. Master workmanship. Don’t see things like this anymore.”

“That’s what I always say,” the man with the pipe said. “You don’t see fine workmanship anymore.”

Zedd snapped the collar back around his neck. “No, you don’t.”

“I saw an odd cloud today,” a hollow-cheeked man to the other side said. “Strange cloud. Snakelike it was. Wriggled in the sky, sometimes.”

Zedd leaned in and lowered his voice. “You saw it, then.”

They all leaned in. “What’s it mean, Ruben?” one whispered.

He looked from eye to eye. “Some say it’s a tracer cloud, hooked on a man by a wizard.” Zedd was satisfied by the gasps.

“What for?” the heavyset man asked, the whites of his eyes showing all around.

Zedd made a show of looking about at the other tables before he spoke. “To track him, and know where he goes.”

“Wouldn’t he see such a cloud, all snakelike and all?”

“There’s the trick to it, I’m told,” Zedd whispered as he used his fork to demonstrate. “It points down at the man followed, so all he would see is a tiny dot, kind of like looking at the tip of a cane. But those off to the side see the whole of the cane.”

The men aahed and leaned back with this news, digesting it as Zedd dug into the roasted duck.

“Do you know about these winds of change?” one finally asked. “And about this new Lord Rahl?”

“Wouldn’t be a cloud reader to kings if I didn’t.” Zedd brandished his fork. “It’s a mighty good tale, if you gentlemen have a mind to hear it.”

They all leaned in again.

“It all started before, in the ancient war,” Zedd began, “when were created the ones called dream walkers.”