Blood of the Fold

Richard peered up at the man who had yelled at him, and briefly gave thought to becoming invisible himself before there was trouble and someone was hurt, but the Wizard's Second Rule came to mind: the greatest harm can result from the best intentions. He had learned that when you mixed in magic, the results could be disastrous. Magic was dangerous and had to be used carefully. He quickly decided that a simple apology would be prudent, and would work best.

"Sorry. I guess I wasn't looking where I was going. Forgive me."

He didn't recall having ever seen soldiers like these, all atop mounts standing in neat, precise rows. Each grim-faced soldier's armor was blinding in the sunlight Besides the impeccably polished armor, their swords, knives, and lances glinted in the sunlight. Each man wore a crimson cape draped in exact fashion over the flank of his white horse. They looked to Richard like men about to pass in review before a great king.

The man who had yelled glared down from under the brim of a gleaming helmet topped with a red horsehair plume. He held the reins to his powerful gray gelding easily in one gauntleted hand as he leaned over.

"Get out of our way, half-wit, or we'll trample you and be done with it."

Richard recognized the man's accent; it was the same as Adie's. He didn't know what land Adie was from, but these men had to be from the same place.

Richard shrugged as he look a step back. "I said I was sorry. I didn't know there was such urgent business about."

"Fighting the Keeper always be urgent business."

Richard took another step back. "Can't argue with you about that. I'm sure he's shivering in a corner right now, waiting for you to come vanquish him, so you best be on with it, then."

The man's dark eyes shone like ice. Richard tried not to let his wince show. He wished he could learn not to be flip. He guessed it was a result of his size.

Richard had never liked righting. As he had grown, he had become the target of others wanting to prove themselves. Before he had been given the Sword of Truth, and it had taught him the need of sometimes releasing the anger he had always kept under tight control, he had learned that he could use a smile and humor to smooth the feelings of agitated foes, and disarm those simply wanting to start a fight. Richard knew his own strength, but that confidence had lent his easy humor a tendency to become flippant. Sometimes it seemed as if he just couldn't help himself; his mouth simply moved before he thought.

"You have a bold tongue. Maybe you be one beguiled by the Keeper."

"I assure you, sir, you and I fight the same foe."

"The Keeper's minions lurk behind arrogance."

Just as Richard was thinking that he didn't need any trouble, and it was time to make a quick retreat, the man made to dismount. At the same instant, powerful hands grabbed him. Two huge men, one at each shoulder, lifted him from his feet "On your way, dandy," the one at his right shoulder said to the horseman. "This one is none of your concern." Richard tried to twist his head around, but he could only manage to see the brown leather of D'Haran uniforms on the men who held him from behind.

The soldier froze with his foot just out of the stirrup. "We be on the same side, brother. This one needs to be questioned — by us — and then to learn some humility. We will — "

"I said, be off!"

Richard opened his mouth to say something. Immediately, the heavily muscled arm of the D'Haran at his right came out from under a thick, dark brown, wool cape. As a massive hand clamped over his mouth, Richard saw a band of gold-colored metal just above the elbow, its razor-sharp projections glinting in the sunlight. The bands were deadly weapons used to rip open an opponent in close combat. Richard nearly choked on his own tongue.:

Most D'Haran soldiers were big, but these two were well beyond merely big. Worse, they were not simply regular D'Haran soldiers; Richard had seen men like these before, with bands just above their elbows. They were Darken Rahl's personal guards. Darken Rahl almost always had two men like these with him.

The two men lifted Richard easily in their fists; he was as helpless as a stick doll. In his two-week race to Aydindril, to get to Kahlan, he had not only had little food, but little sleep. The fight with the mriswith, only hours before, had drained nearly all the energy he had left, but his fright brought a reserve of strength to his muscles. Against these two, it was not enough.

The man on the horse started swinging his leg over its flanks again, to dismount. "I told you, this one be ours. We intend to question him. If he serves the Keeper, he will confess."

The D'Haran at Richard's left shoulder growled in a menacing voice. "Come down here, and I'll lop off your head and use it to play a game of bowls. We've been looking for this one, and he's ours, now. When we're done with him, you can question his corpse all you want."