Blood of the Fold

The mortally wounded mriswith queen had a death grip on Kahlan's leg. The red beast teetered, and with a nightmarishly slow twist, tumbled off the bridge over the yawning abyss. Kahlan shrieked. Richard tightened his hold on her with all his strength. The pull on his arm as the queen fell slammed his stomach against the wall above the dizzying drop.

Richard swung the sword over the edge and with one powerful stroke sheared the arm that held Kahlan's leg. The red beast spiraied down between the sheer walls that dropped for thousands of feet, to disappear in the distance far below.

Kahlan hung by his hand over the same drop. Blood was running down his arm and over their hands. He could feel her wrist slipping through his grip. His thighs were the only thing keeping him from going over the wall.

With a mighty effort, he lifted her a couple of feet. "Grab the wall with your other hand. I can't hold you. You're slipping."

Kahlan slapped her free hand onto the top of the stone wall, taking some of the weight. He tossed the sword to the road behind and got his other hand under her arm. Richard gritted his teeth and, with her help, pulled her up over the wall and onto the road.

"Get it off!" she cried. "Get it off!"

Richard pried the claws open and extracted her leg. He tossed the red arm over the edge. Kahlan fell into his arms, panting in exhaustion, too weary to speak.

Through the throb of pain, Richard felt the heady warmth of relief. "Why didn't you use your power… the lightning?"

"It wouldn't work down inside the Keep, and out here that thing knocked me senseless. Why didn't you use yours — some of that fearful black lightning, like back at the Palace of the Prophets?"

Richard considered the question. "I don't know. I don't know how the gift works. It has something to do with instinct. I can't make it work at will." He stroked a hand down her hair as he closed his eyes. "I wish Zedd were here. He would be able to help me control it — learn to use it. I miss him so."

"I know," she whispered.

Over their labored breathing, he could hear the distant cries of men and the ring of steel. He realized he smelled smoke. The air was hazy with it.

He helped Kahlan up, ignoring the fierce ache in his shoulder, and they rushed down the road to a switchback where there was a view of the city below.

As they stumbled to an abrupt halt at the edge, Kahlan gasped.

In shock, Richard sank to his knees. "Dear spirits," he whispered, "what have I caused."

CHAPTER 53

“It's Lord Rahl!" Voices carried the shout back through the horde of D'Haran troops. "Rally! It's Lord Rahl!"

A cry swelled in the late-afternoon air. Thousands of voices rose above the din of battle. Weapons thrust into the smoky air with the roar of the shouts. "Lord Rahl! Lord Rahl! Lord Rahl!"

Grim-faced, Richard marched through the soldiers at the rear of the battle. Wounded, bleeding men staggered to their feet and joined in the throng following him.

Through the haze of acrid smoke, Richard could see down the slope of the streets to the frantic fighting at the van of dark uniformed D'Harans. Beyond, a sea of red flooded into the city, driving them back. Blood of the Fold. To each side and all around, they came, relentless, unstoppable.

"There must be well over a hundred thousand," Kahlan said, seemingly to herself.

Richard had sent a force of a hundred thousand to search for Kahlan. They were weeks away from the city. He had divided the force in Aydindril nearly in two, and sent half away. And now came the Blood of the Fold, to take advantage of his mistake.

But still, there should have been enough D'Harans to hold against that many. Something was deadly wrong.

With a growing crowd of wounded dragging along behind, Richard reached the rear of what seemed the largest battle. The Blood of the Fold were pressing in from all sides of the city. Flames snapped skyward from Kings Row. It the center of the sweep of dark uniforms stood the white splendor of the Confessors' Palace.

Officers came at a run, their joy at seeing him tempered by what was happening just beyond. The screams from the site of the fighting burned through his nerves.

Richard was surprised to hear the dead calm quality of his own voice. "What's going on? These are D'Haran soldiers. Why are they being driven back? They are not outnumbered. Why are the Blood of the Fold this far into the city?"

The seasoned commander spoke only one word. "Mriswith."

Richard's fists tightened. These men had no defense against mriswith. One mris-with could cut down dozens of men in a matter of minutes. Richard had seen long lines of mriswith enter the sliph — hundreds of them.

The D'Harans may not have been outnumbered at the start, but they were now.

Already, the voices of the spirits were speaking to him, drowning out the screams of mortal pain. He glanced to the dull disc of the sun behind the smoke. Two hours of light left.