Free Blood of the Fold by Terry Goodkind Page A

has been lost.”
    “ Warren, now that you have the collar off, I know you’re anxious to go out into the world, but you’ve said that you intend to stay at the palace, at least for a time, to study. The palace is without a prophet, now. I think you should consider the fact that your gift manifests itself strongly in that area. You could someday be a prophet.”
    A gentle breeze rippled his robes as he looked out over the green hills toward the palace. “Not only my gift, but my interest, my hopes, have always involved the prophecies. I’ve only recently begun to understand them in a way that no one else does, but understanding them is different than giving them.”
    “ It takes time, Warren. Why, when Nathan was your age, I’m sure he was no more advanced in prophecy than you. If you stayed and continued to study, I believe that in four or five hundred years you might be a prophet as great as Nathan.”
    He was silent for a time. “But there’s a whole world out there. I’ve heard there are books at the Wizard’s Keep in Aydindril, and other places, too. Richard said there are sure to be many at the People’s Palace in D’Hara. I want to learn, and there may be things to know that can’t be found here.”
    Sister Verna rolled her shoulders to ease their ache. “The Palace of the Prophets is spelled, Warren. If you leave, you will age the same as those outside. Look at what’s happened to me in a scant twenty-odd years away from it; even though we were born only a year apart you still look as if you should be thinking of marriage, and I look as if I should be preparing to bounce a grandchild on my knee. Now that I’m back, I will age by the palace’s time again, but what has been lost cannot be recovered.”
    Warren averted his eyes. “I think you see more wrinkles than are there, Sister Verna.”
    She smiled in spite of herself. “Did you know, Warren, that I was once smitten with you?”
    He was so astonished he stumbled back a step. “Me? You can’t be serious. When?”
    “ Oh, it was a long time ago. Well over a hundred years, I would suppose. You were so scholarly and intelligent, with all that curly blond hair. And those blue eyes made my heart race.”
    “ Sister Verna!”
    She couldn’t hold back a chuckle as his face went crimson. “It was long ago, Warren, and I was young, as were you. It was a fleeting infatuation.” Her smile ghosted away. “Now you seem a child to me, and I look old enough to be your mother. Being away from the palace has aged me in more ways than one.
    “ Out there, you will have a few brief decades to learn what you could before you grow old and die. Here, you would have the time to learn and perhaps become a prophet. Books from those places could always be borrowed, and brought here for study.
    “ You’re the closest thing we have to a prophet. With the Prelate and Nathan dead, you may know more about the prophecies than anyone alive, now. We need you, Warren.”
    He turned to the sunlight shimmering off the spires and roofs of the palace. “I’ll think on it, Sister.”
    “ That’s all I ask, Warren.”
    With a sigh, he turned back. “What now? Who do you think will be chosen as the new prelate?”
    They had learned through their research of the funeral rite that the process of selecting a new prelate was quite involved. Warren would know of it; few knew the books in the vaults as well as he.
    She shrugged. “The post requires vast experience and knowledge. That means it would have to be one of the older Sisters. Leoma Marsick would be a likely candidate, or Philippa, or Dulcinia. Sister Maren, of course, would be a top nominee. There are any number of qualified Sisters; I could name at least thirty, though I doubt that more than a dozen truly have a serious chance to become prelate.”
    He absently rubbed the side of his nose with a finger. “I suppose you’re right.”
    Sister Verna had no doubt that Sisters were already maneuvering to place themselves