Terry Goodkind: Blood of the Fold

The Wizard’s Keep was where Zedd had grown up and lived prior to leaving the Midlands, before Richard was born. Kahlan had told him stories about how she had spent much of her time in the Keep, studying, but she had never made the place sound in the least bit sinister. Hard against the mountain, the Keep looked baleful to him now.

Richard’s smile returned at the thought of how Kahlan must have looked when she was a little girl, a Confessor in training, strolling the halls of this palace, walking the corridors of the Keep, among wizards, and out among the people of this city.

But Aydindril had fallen under the blight of the Imperial Order, and was no longer a free city, no longer the seat of power in the Midlands.

Zedd had produced one of his wizard’s tricks—magic—to make everyone think they had witnessed Kahlan’s beheading, allowing them to flee Aydindril, while everyone here thought she was dead. No one would chase after them now. Mistress Sanderholt had known Kahlan since she was born, and was delirious with relief when Richard told her that Kahlan was safe and well.

The smile touched his lips again. “What was Kahlan like when she was little?”

She stared off, a smile on her lips as well. “She was always serious, but as precious a child as I’ve ever seen, who grew to be a stalwart and beautiful woman. She was a child not only touched by magic, but also of a special character.

“None of the Confessors were surprised by her accession to Mother Confessor, and all were pleased because her way was to facilitate agreement, not to dominate, though if someone wrongly opposed her they’d find her cast with as much iron as any Mother Confessor ever born. I’ve never known a Confessor with her passion for the people of the Midlands. I’ve always felt honored to know her.” Drifting into memories, she laughed faintly, a sound not nearly as frail as the rest of her appeared. “Even one time when I swatted her bottom after I discovered she had made off with a just roasted duck without asking.”

Richard grinned at the prospect of hearing a story about Kahlan misbehaving. “Punishing a Confessor, even a young one, didn’t give you pause?”

“No,” she scoffed. “Had I pampered her, her mother would have turned me out. We were expected to treat her respectfully, but fairly.”

“Did she cry?” he asked, before he took a big bite of bread. It was delicious, coarse ground wheat with a hint of molasses.

“No. She looked surprised. She believed she had done no wrong, and started explaining. Apparently a woman with two young ones almost Kahlan’s age had been waiting outside the palace for someone she thought would be gullible. As Kahlan started for the Wizard’s Keep, the woman approached her with a sad story, telling her that she needed gold to feed her youngsters. Kahlan told her to wait, and then took her my roasted duck, reasoning that it was food the woman needed, not gold. Kahlan sat the children down—” with a bandaged hand, she pointed off to her left, “—around that side over there, and fed them the duck. The woman was furious, and started yelling, accusing Kahlan of being selfish with all the palace’s gold.

“As Kahlan was telling me this story, a patrol of the Home Guard came into the kitchen dragging the woman and her two young ones along. Apparently, as the woman had been railing at Kahlan the Guard had come upon the scene. About this time Kahlan’s mother showed up in the kitchen wanting to know what the trouble was. Kahlan told her story, and the woman fell to pieces at being in the custody of the Home Guard, and worse, at finding herself before the Mother Confessor herself.

“Kahlan’s mother listened to her story, and to the woman’s, and then told Kahlan that if you chose to help someone then they became your responsibility, and it was your duty to see the help through until they were back on their own feet. Kahlan spent the next day on Kings Row, with the Home Guard dragging the woman behind, going from one palace to another, looking for one that was in need of help. She wasn’t having much luck; they all knew the woman was a sot.

“I felt guilty about giving Kahlan a swat before at least hearing her reasons for taking my roasted duck. I had a friend, a stern woman in charge of the cooks at one of the palaces, and so I rushed over and convinced her to accept the woman into her employ when Kahlan brought her around. I never told Kahlan what I’d done. The woman worked there a long time, but she never again came near the Confessors’ Palace. Her youngest grew up to join the Home Guard. Last summer he was wounded when the D’Harans captured Aydindril, and died a week later.”

Richard, too, had fought D’Hara, and in the end had killed its ruler, Darken Rahl. Though he still couldn’t help feeling a twinge of regret at being sired by that evil man, he no longer felt the guilt of being his son. He knew that the crimes of the father didn’t pass on to the child, and it certainly wasn’t his mother’s fault she had been raped by Darken Rahl. His stepfather loved Richard’s mother no less for it, nor did he show Richard any less love for not having been his own blood. Richard would not have loved his stepfather any less had he known George Cypher was not his real father.

Richard was a wizard, too, he now knew. The gift, the force of magic within him called Han, had been passed down from two lines of wizards: Zedd, his grandfather on his mother’s side, and Darken Rahl, his father. That combination had spawned in him magic no wizard had possessed in thousands of years—not only Additive but also Subtractive Magic. Richard knew precious little about being a wizard, or about magic, but Zedd would help him learn, help him control the gift and use it to aid people.

Richard swallowed the bread he had been chewing. “That sounds like the Kahlan I know.”

Mistress Sanderholt shook her head ruefully. “She always felt a deep responsibility for the people of the Midlands. I know it hurt her to her very soul to have them turn against her for the promise of gold.”

“Not all did that, I’d bet,” Richard said. “But that’s why you mustn’t tell anyone she’s still alive. In order to keep Kahlan safe, and protect her, no one must know the truth.”

“You know you have my promise, Richard. But I expect they’ve forgotten about her by now. I expect that if they don’t get the gold they were promised, they’ll soon be rioting.”

“So that’s why all those people are gathered outside the Confessors’ Palace?”

She nodded. “They now believe they’re entitled to it, because someone from the Imperial Order said that they were to have it. Though the man who promised it is now dead, it’s as if once his words were spoken aloud, the gold magically became theirs. If the Imperial Order doesn’t soon begin handing out the gold in the treasury, I imagine it won’t be long before those people in the streets decide to storm the palace and take it.”

“Maybe the promise was only made as a diversion, and the troops of the Order intended all along to keep the gold for themselves, as plunder, and will defend the palace.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” She stared off. “Come to think of it, I don’t even know what I’m still doing here. I’m of no mind to see the Order set up quarters in the palace. I’m of no mind to end up working for them. Maybe I should leave, and see if I couldn’t find a place to work where people are still free of that lot. It seems so strange to think of doing that, though; the palace has been my home for most of my life.”

Richard looked away from the white splendor of the Confessors’ Palace, out over the city again. Should he flee, too, and leave the ancestral home of the Confessors, and the wizards, to the Imperial Order? But how could he do anything about it? Besides, the Order’s troops were probably searching for him. Best if he slipped away while they were still confused and disorganized after the death of their council. He didn’t know what Mistress Sanderholt should do, but he should be going before the Order found him. He needed to get to Kahlan and Zedd.