Blood of the Fold

Frozen half off his horse, the man glared down at the D'Harans. "I told you, brother, we be on the same side. We both fight the Keeper's evil, There be no need for us to fight one another."

"If you want to argue, then do it with your sword. If not, be off!"

The near to two hundred horsemen watched the two D'Harans, showing no emotion, especially not fear. There were, after all, only two D'Harans — not an arduous challenge, despite the men's size. At least a fool might think so. Richard had seen D'Haran troops everywhere in the city. It was possible that at the first sign of trouble, they could show up in short order.

The horseman didn't seem too concerned about orner D'Harans, though. "There be only two of you, brother. Not good odds."

The one at Richard's left glanced casually down the line of horsemen, turned his head, and spat. "You're right, dandy. Egans here, will stand aside to make the odds more even while I deal with you and your fancy men. But be sure of yourself, 'brother,”cause if your foot touches the ground, by my word, you die first."

Eyes of ice, still and cold, appraised the two a moment, and then the man in the polished armor and crimson cape, grumbling a curse in a foreign tongue, let his weight drop back down in his saddle. "We have important matters that demand our attention. This one be a waste of our time. He be yours."

With a wave of his arm, the column of horsemen charged up the street, narrowly missing trampling Richard and his two captors. Richard tried, but the two holding him were too strong, and he couldn't get his hand to his sword as they carried him off. He scanned the rooftops, but saw nothing.

All the people around averted their eyes, wanting nothing to do with the trouble at hand. As the two huge D'Harans dragged Richard from the center of the street, people scattered out of the way as if they had eyes in the back of their heads. Over the noise of the city, his muffled, angry cries were lost. Try as he might, he couldn't get a hand near a weapon. His boots skimmed across the snow, his feet working in vain for purchase.

Richard struggled, but before he had time to try to think what do next, they pulled him into a narrow, dark passageway between an inn and another shuttered building.

Deep in the passageway, in the murky shadows, four dark, cloaked figures waited.

CHAPTER 8

Gently, the two huge D'Harans set Richard down. As his feet found the ground, his hand found the hilt of his sword. The two men spread their feet in a relaxed manner and clasped their hands behind their backs. From the shadowed end of the passageway the four cloaked figures started toward him.

Deciding escape was preferable to a fight, Richard didn't draw his sword, but instead dove to the side. He rolled through the snow and sprang to his feet. His back smacked up against the cold brick wall. Panting, he flung his mriswith cape around himself. In a heartbeat the cape changed color to match the wall, and he vanished.

It would be an easy matter to slip away while hidden by the cape. Better to escape than to fight. As soon as he caught his breath.

The four marched forward, their dark capes billowing open as they came into the light. Dark brown leather the same color as the D'Harans' uniforms covered their shapely forms from ground to neck. A yellow star between the cusps of a crescent emblazoned the leather outfits at each woman's stomach.

The recognition of that yellow star and crescent was like a flash of lightning in Richard's mind. Too many times to count, his face, wet with his own blood, had laid against that emblem. Out of reflex he froze, drawing neither sword, nor breath. For a panic filled instant he saw only the symbol he knew all too well.

Mord-Sith.

The woman in the lead pushed back her hood, letting her long blond hair, plaited in a single thick braid, fall free. Her blue eyes searched the wall where he stood.

"Lord Rahl? Lord Rahl, where…"

Richard blinked. "Cara?"

Just as he slackened his concentration, allowing his cape to return to black, and her eyes found him, the sky fell in.

With a roar, a flap of wings, and a flash of fangs, Gratch plummeted to the ground. The two men had swords to hand almost instantly, but they were not as fast as the Mord-Sith. Before the men's blades had cleared their scabbards, the women had their Agiel in their fists. Though an Agiel appeared to be nothing more than a thin, red leather rod, Richard knew them to be weapons of awesome power. Richard had been «trained» with an Agiel.

Richard heaved himself at the gar, knocking him to the far wall before the two men and four women could reach him. Gratch slung him aside in his desire to get at the threat.