Terry Goodkind - Blood of the Fold

Eyebrows as big as axe handles drew together as the huge beast frowned down at Richard. He shrugged, looking perplexed about his failure to come up with a satisfactory answer.

“You mean that before you could see them, you could feel them? Something inside just told you they were there?”

Gratch grinned and nodded, happy that Richard seemed to understand. That was similar to how Richard knew they were there; before he could see them, he could sense them, see them in his mind. But Gratch didn’t have the gift. How could he do it?

Perhaps it was just because animals could sense things before people could. Wolves commonly knew you were there before you knew they were. Usually, the only time you knew a deer was in a thicket was when it bolted, having sensed you long before you saw it. Animals generally had keener senses than people, and predators some of the keenest. Gratch was certainly a predator. That sense seemed to have served him better than Richard’s magic had him.

Mistress Sanderholt, having come down to the bottom of the steps, laid a bandaged hand on Gratch’s furry arm. “Gratch . . . thank you.” She turned to Richard, lowering her voice. “I thought he was going to kill me, too,” she confided. She glanced at several of the torn bodies. “I’ve seen gars do that to people. When he snatched me up like that, I thought sure he was going to kill me. But I was wrong; he’s different.” She peered back up at Gratch. “You saved my life. Thank you.”

Gratch’s smile showed the full length of his bloody fangs. The sight made her gasp.

Richard glanced up at the sinister-looking, grinning face. “Stop smiling, Gratch. You’re scaring her again.”

His mouth turned down, his lips covering his prodigious, wickedly sharp fangs. His wrinkled features melted into a sulk. Gratch viewed himself as lovable, and seemed to think it only natural that everyone else would, too.

Mistress Sanderholt stroked the side of Gratch’s arm. “It’s all right. His smile is heartfelt, and handsome in its own way. I’m just not . . . used to it, that’s all.”

Gratch smiled at Mistress Sanderholt again, adding a sudden, spirited flapping of his wings. Unable to help herself, Mistress Sanderholt lurched back a step. She was just coming to understand that this gar was different from those that were always a threat to people, but her instincts still ruled that understanding. Gratch made for the woman, to give her a hug. Richard was sure she would die of fright before she realized the gar’s benign intent, so he put a restraining arm in front of Gratch.

“He likes you, Mistress Sanderholt. He just wanted to give you a hug, that’s all. But I think your thanks are enough.”

She quickly regained her composure. “Nonsense.” Smiling warmly, she held her arms out. “I’d like a hug, Gratch.”

Gratch gurgled with glee and scooped her up. Under his breath, Richard cautioned Gratch to be gentle. Mistress Sanderholt let out a muffled, helpless giggle. Once back on the ground, she squirmed her bony frame straight in her dress and awkwardly drew her shawl up on her shoulders. She beamed warmly.

“You’re right, Richard. He’s no pet. He’s a friend.”

Gratch nodded enthusiastically, his ears twitching as he flapped his leathery wings again.

Richard pulled a white cape, one that was nearly clean, off a nearby mriswith. He asked Mistress Sanderholt’s indulgence, and when she granted it, stood her before an oak door to a small, low-roofed stone building. He draped the cape around her shoulders and drew the hood up over her head.

“I want you to concentrate,” he told her. “Concentrate on the brown of the door behind you. Hold the cape together under your chin, and close your eyes if it will help you focus. Imagine you’re one with the door, that you’re the same color.”

She frowned up at him. “Why am I to do this?”

“I want to see if you can appear invisible like they were.”

“Invisible!”

Richard smiled his encouragement. “Just give it a try?”

She let out a breath and finally nodded. Her eyes slowly closed. Her breathing evened and slowed. Nothing happened. Richard waited a while longer, but still, nothing happened. The cape remained white, not a stitch of it turning brown. She finally opened her eyes.

“Did I become invisible?” she asked, sounding as if she were afraid she had.

“No,” Richard admitted.

“I didn’t think so. But how did those vile snake men make themselves invisible?” She shrugged the cape off her shoulders and shuddered in revulsion. “And what made you think I could do it?”

“They’re called mriswith. It’s their capes that enable them to do it, so I thought that maybe you could, too.” She regarded him with a dubious expression. “Here, let me show you.”

Richard took her place before the door and drew up the hood of his mriswith cape. Flipping the cape closed, he set his mind to the task. In the space of a breath, the cape became the exact same color as what she saw behind him. Richard knew that the magic of the cape, apparently with the aid of his own, somehow enveloped the exposed parts of him, too, so that he seemed to disappear.

When he moved from in front of the door, the cape transfigured to continually match what she saw behind; as he stepped in front of the white stone, the pallid blocks and shadowed joints appeared to slip across him, mimicking the background as if she truly were looking through him. Richard knew from experience that even if the background was complex, it made no difference; the cape could match anything behind him.

As Richard moved away, Mistress Sanderholt continued to stare at the door, where she had last seen him. Gratch’s eyes, however, never left him. Menace gathered in those green eyes as the gar followed Richard’s movements. A growl rose in the gar’s throat.

Richard let his concentration relax. The background colors sloughed from the cape, letting it return to black as he pushed the hood back. “It’s still me, Gratch.”

Mistress Sanderholt started, jerking around to discover him in his new location.

Gratch’s growl trailed off, and his expression slackened, at first to confusion, and then to a grin. He rumbled with a low gurgle of a laugh at the new game.

“Richard,” Mistress Sanderholt stammered, “how did you do that? How did you make yourself invisible?”

“It’s the cape. It doesn’t really make me invisible, but somehow it can change color to match the background, so it tricks the eye. I guess it takes magic to make the cape work, and you don’t have any, but I was born with the gift so it works for me.” Richard glanced around at the fallen mriswith. “I think it best if we burned these capes, lest they fall into the wrong hands.”

Richard told Gratch to fetch the capes at the top of the steps while he bent to gather up the ones below.

“Richard, do you think it could be . . . dangerous to use the cape from one of those evil creatures?”

“Dangerous?” Richard straightened and scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t see how. All it does is change color. You know, the way some frogs and salamanders can change color to match whatever they’re sitting on, like a rock, or a log, or a leaf.”

She helped him, as best she could with her bandaged hands, wrap the capes into abundle. “I’ve seen those frogs. I’ve always thought it one of the Creator’s wonders that they could do that.” She smiled up at him. “Perhaps the Creator is blessing you with the same wonder, because you have the gift. Praise be to Him; His blessing helped save us.”

As Gratch held out the rest of the capes, one at a time, so she could add them to the bundle, anxiety tightened like arms around Richard’s chest. He glanced up at the gar.