Blood of the Fold

He remembered Kahlan. There was going to be no morning. For him. For her Death was coming for them like the darkness.

With effort, he forced her from his mind. He couldn't afford the distraction. Turn. Blade up, taking off a claw. Twist, slice to the gut. Spin, blade down on a smooth head. Thrust. Duck. Cut. The voices spoke to him, and he reacted without question or pause.

With choking consternation, he realized that they were being pushed to the center of Aydindril. He turned and looked beyond the large square swept with the turmoil, disorganization, and confusion of the brawl of battle, to see the Confessors' Palace not a half mile away. Soon, the mriswith would break through the lines and pour into the palace.

He heard a loud roar and saw a mass of D'Haran soldiers behind the enemy lines charge into the Blood of the Fold from a side street, turning their attention from the fight at the front. From the other side, a like number poured in, pinching off a large number of crimson-caped men in the wide thoroughfare. The D'Harans hacked into the pocket of the Blood of the Fold, cutting them to pieces.

Richard stilled to a statue when he saw Kahlan leading the charge from the right. She was leading not only D'Haran troops, but men and women of the palace staff.

His blood ran cold as he remembered how the people at Ebinissia had joined in the defense of the city at the end.

What was she doing? She was supposed to be at the palace, where it was safe. He could see that while it was a bold move, it was going to be fatal. There were too many of the Blood and she would be trapped in the middle of them.

Before that could happen, she pulled the men back. Richard lopped off the head of a mriswith. Just as he thought she must have retreated to safety, she made another stabbing attack from another street, at a different place in the line.

The crimson-caped men at the front turned to the new threat, only to be set upon from behind. The mriswith blunted the effectiveness of the tactic, and soon sliced into the new front with the same deadly efficiency they had been using all afternoon.

Richard cut a line straight through the mass of crimson capes toward Kahlan. After fighting mriswith, men seemed slow and dull by comparison. Only the distance made it a struggle. His arms were weary, and his strength was flagging.

"Kahlan! What are you doing!" The rage of the magic powered his voice as he snatched her by the arm. "I sent you to the palace where you would be safe!"

She pulled her arm away. In her other hand she held a sword slick with blood. "I will not die cowering in a corner of my home, Richard. I will fight for my life. And don't you yell at me!"

Richard spun when he felt the presence. Kahlan ducked as blood and bone glutted the air.

She turned and shouted orders. Men wheeled to the attack at her word.

"Then we die together, my queen," Richard whispered, not wanting her to hear his resignation.

Richard felt the massing of mriswith as the lines were pushed back to the square. The sense of their presence was too overpowering to pick out individuals. Over the heads of the sea of red capes and polished armor, he could see something green in the distance advancing toward the city. He couldn't make meaning of it.

Richard shoved Kahlan back. Her protest was cut short when he spun into the line of scaled creatures as they became visible right before them. He danced through their charge, cutting them down as fast as he could move.

Through his frenetic onslaught, he saw something else he could make no sense of: spots. He thought it must be that he was so tired he was beginning to see a sky full of spots.

He screamed with rage at a yabree that came too close. He lopped off the arm and then the head in quick succession. Another blade came at him and he ducked under it, coming up sword first. He backhanded another with the knife in his other hand. He had to kick the one behind before he had time to yank his sword free.

With cold fury, he realized that the mriswith had finally determined that he was their only threat, and were surrounding him. He could hear Kahlan screaming his name. He could see beady eyes everywhere. There was nothing he could do, and nowhere to run, even if he wanted to. He felt the sting of blades that came too close before he could stop them.

There were too many. Dear spirits, there were just too many.

He didn't even see any soldiers close anymore. He was surrounded by a wall of scales and flashing three-bladed knives. Only the rage of the magic slowed them. He wished that he had told Kahlan he loved her, instead of yelling at her.

Something brown flashed in his side vision. He heard a howi from a mriswith but it wasn't one he killed. He wondered if confusion was what you felt when you died. He was dizzy from spinning, from swinging his sword, from the bone-jarring impacts.