Swordheart Page 25

  “Those vultures!” said Bartholomew, scowling. “Forgive me, Halla, I know they’re your relatives and perhaps I should not speak ill of them—”

  “Speak as ill as you like,” said Halla cheerfully. “I’ll join in on the choruses.”

  Bartholomew blinked at her, then broke into a rueful smile. He glanced at Nolan, then back to her, and squared his shoulders. “My dear, I’ve been remiss, and I must apologize. You should have been able to come to me for help, instead of having to involve the Rat priests—with no offense to you, Priest Zale!”

  Zale shot Sarkis a humorous look. Sarkis wondered how many people told the priest, “No offense” on a weekly basis.

  “It’s all right,” said Halla. “Really, Bartholomew. Things get strange when people die.”

  “Yes. But my oldest friend made a will and instead of helping to see his last bequest carried out, I sat here wringing my hands. I’m sorry. Please forgive me for my failure.”

  Halla looked surprised, and even more so when Bartholomew hugged her awkwardly. Sarkis had a sudden, startling intense desire to grab the man by the collar and fling him aside.

  It is not just jealousy, he told himself. It is that she looks uncomfortable. And also jealousy.

  Really, he had no reason at all to be jealous. The man was old enough to be her father.

  And I am several hundred years older than he is, so what does that say?

  He took a step forward anyway, ready to pull the man aside, but Bartholomew stepped back hastily.

  “So.” He cleared his throat and glanced at Nolan again. “I will go with you to Rutger’s Howe and see that this is all settled.”

  “What?” Halla blinked at him. “Really?”

  “If I can help in any way, it is my duty.”

  Zale inclined their head. “Indeed, sir, your presence would be even more helpful than a signed document.”

  “Ha!” Halla grinned, clearly warming to the idea. “Yes! I can’t imagine Alver can twist his way out of that one.” She paused. “Although—uh—the wagon’s going to get a bit crowded…”

  “I believe,” said Bartholomew, with some asperity, “that I can make my own way to Rutger’s Howe. I have done so many times before and I am not so aged and infirm that I cannot do so again for my good friend’s niece.”

  “Sorry,” said Halla. “Yes. Oh, thank you! I can’t wait to see the look on Cousin Alver’s face!”

  This time she was the one to hug him, and after an owlish blink at Sarkis, Bartholomew hugged her back.

  Chapter 37

  They rode out of Amalcross in a merry mood. Zale and Halla were full of plans. Sarkis slid down and walked alongside the wagon, keeping an eye out for trouble.

  His own mood alternated between light and dark. They were nearly to Halla’s home. When she was safely in possession of her inheritance…when their association was no longer so terribly one-sided…then Sarkis could act at last on his feelings.

  There was no point in pretending he did not have them. He wanted to run his hands over her body, put his lips against the softest part of her throat, cradle her breasts in his hands. She had absurdly good breasts. The decadent south had fallen down on pretty much every other point, but it got this much right. He wanted very much to make a closer acquaintance with hers.

  Nor did he want to stop there. He wanted to be the answer to questions she didn’t even know she had. Mostly carnal ones. There was a way that she stretched, and he knew she wasn’t doing it intentionally, but it showed off every curve and his mouth went dry every single time.

  He was fairly certain that the attraction wasn’t all one-sided. Halla did not exactly cast burning glances in his direction—she wouldn’t have known how, and the shock might kill him if she did—but it seemed that their hands touched rather more often than necessary, and when they did, they both paused too long, then sprang apart, as if they expected someone to catch them at something illicit.

  This line of thinking was having an effect, which was why he was walking instead of sitting where any of his companions could notice. It was just his luck to be cursed to permanently wear clothes that made it obvious when he’d gotten hard. If only he’d been wearing a codpiece or something when they’d killed him.

  At least I was over forty when I died. Back when I was eighteen, I could get turned on by a stiff breeze, and that would have been a hell of a way to spend eternity.

  He was pretty sure Zale had a suspicion about why he was suddenly spending so much time on foot, but the priest didn’t say anything. Discreet, competent, humorous…Sarkis was still unsure about the Rat, but Zale had been an excellent antidote to some priests of the great god that he’d known in his life.

  Halla laughed from her perch on the wagon seat. Sarkis knew that it wasn’t a sexy laugh, it was neither low nor throaty nor any of the things that men generally liked in women’s laughter, but that didn’t matter. It was sexy because Halla was the one doing it, and he was hopelessly enamored. Befuddled. Something. There were words in the language of the Weeping Lands, but none of them translated quite correctly. “Overwhelmed with baffled and lustful affection,” was accurate, but much too long. And a perfectly good word like maraal kept trying to turn into the word “crush” in his head and that was a very stupid idiom because he did not want to crush Halla and would have to stop anyone else who was trying to crush her.

  No wonder the decadent south had so many problems. They couldn’t even sort their language out in their heads.

  There were other words that kept coming up. Love. In love. Beloved. He shoved them all back where they came from. You started to think words like that and then you began to hope for things. Things that disgraced mercenary captains should not hope for. Particularly not with respectable widows, when they had everything to offer and you had nothing but secrets and failure and a body wracked with silver scars.

  No, things were going to be difficult enough without words like that. But if Halla could still see fit to forgive him, once she knew what was written on the sword, then perhaps they could have a little time together, before she remembered that she was respectable and Sarkis remembered that she was mortal.

  It was all that he dared hope for, and it scared him how much that he was hoping.

  He climbed back onto the wagon, after a suitable time had elapsed.

  “Not much longer now,” said Halla. “At least, I hope.”

  “Going to be a bit longer, fish-lady.” Brindle reined in the ox and nodded to the road in front of the wagon.

  There was a man in the road, waving his arms frantically to get their attention.

  “Is he hurt?” asked Halla. “He looks like he needs help.”

  “Decoy,” Zale said. “I expect the woods are full of highwaymen. We’re about to get robbed.” They looked more than a little annoyed by the prospect.

  “And you’re stopping?” Sarkis put his hand on his sword hilt.

  The gnole glanced at him. “Ox can’t outrun arrows, sword-man,” he said. “A gnole won’t kill an ox trying.”

  Sarkis grunted. The ox, indeed, could not outrun arrows. If you placed an arrow on the ground and walked away from it, there was a decent chance it would still move faster than the ox.

  “Robbers?” said Halla. “Really? We’re getting robbed now?” She sounded less frightened than indignant, as if this really was the last straw. “After all that? We get through the Vagrant Hills, we deal with the Motherhood and now—”

  Something punched Sarkis very hard in the side.

  Sarkis had taken enough arrows to recognize the sensation. He grabbed Halla around the waist and rolled off the wagon seat, away from the direction of the attack. His side screamed in agony.

  Zale scrambled down beside them, followed by Brindle. The priest’s eyes were wide. “Normally they try to shake you down for valuables before they shoot…”

  “Amateurs,” muttered Sarkis.

  Halla gasped. “Oh my god, there’s an arrow sticking out of you!”

&nbs
p; “So there is.”

  “Does…does that hurt?”

  “It does not feel great, no,” Sarkis said.

  “Should I pull it out?”

  “Please don’t.”

  “What should I do?”

  “You should keep your head down.”

  Another arrow slammed into the side of the wagon. Someone was definitely feeling hostile.

  “How do we get the arrow out?!”

  “It’s not in my lungs,” said Sarkis calmly. “So at the moment, we don’t worry about it.”

  “I am worrying!”

  “All you have to do is sheathe the sword,” said Sarkis. “The arrow will fall out then. It will be fine.”

  Halla grabbed for the hilt of the sword over her shoulder.

  “Stand and deliver!” someone shouted from the trees.

  “We can’t stand!” Halla shouted back. “You’re shooting at us! If you’d stop shooting, it’d be different!”

  Sarkis rubbed his face. This was not the thing to shout at highwaymen. It was hard to read Brindle’s expression, but he thought the gnole was staring at Halla with disbelief.

  “I am a servant of the White Rat!” Zale called. “My temple has negotiated for safe passage through this region.”

  An oath came from the trees. The man in the road, who had been waving his arms, stopped and put his hands on his hips.

  “A Rat priest?” Sarkis heard one of the bandits say. “You shot at a Rat priest?!”

  Whatever the archer said in his defense was drowned out by the smack of fist on flesh. Someone was very unhappy.

  Sarkis shifted, then grabbed for the edge of the wagon wheel as the world went gray around him. He had perhaps been overly optimistic about the arrow.

  “Sarkis!” cried Halla, grabbing him to steady him. Unfortunately, she was on the arrow side. He sank his teeth into his lower lip to keep from crying out.

  “Oh hell no,” Halla muttered.

  “We’ve stopped shooting!” someone called from the trees. “You can stand and deliver now!”

  “Just a minute!” called Halla.

  “You don’t tell highwaymen ‘just a minute,’” said Sarkis.

  “I just did. Zale, take him.” She sounded very businesslike and determined.

  Zale took Sarkis’s weight across their shoulders. Even that shift made the arrow move in Sarkis’s side. It felt strange and cold and heavy.

  “You’re all over blood,” said Zale. “Did you know that?”

  “No.” He considered this. “Well, it’s not the first ti—”

  Halla got the cords untied and slapped the sword back in the scabbard, and the blue fire took Sarkis away.

  “Was that wise?” asked Zale. Blue light skittered over their clothes, removing the bloodstain as well.

  “He had an arrow in him!”

  “Yes, but he was also the only one who knew how to fight. Also the only one who’s immortal.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “We would really appreciate it if you stood and delivered now!” called the highwayman. “We are extremely sorry to bother a Rat priest, you understand, but if you don’t put your hands in the air and come out from behind the wagon, things are going to go very badly.”

  Zale put their hands in the air. So did Halla. So did Brindle.

  The highwaymen came out of the trees. There were about a half-dozen of them, armed with bows. One no longer had a bow and didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. The side of his face was already swelling up.

  “Where’s the other one?” said the apparent leader.

  “You shot him,” said Halla. “He ran away.”

  “Didn’t see him leave,” said the man who had been in the roadway.

  The leader looked at Halla. Halla shrugged as best she could with her arms already in the air. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  “Your holiness,” said the leader, nodding to Zale. “I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.”

  Zale shrugged. “People make mistakes,” they said. “If you release us, I will see no need to report this to my temple.”

  The leader sighed. He was an older man with grizzled blonde hair and beer-colored eyes. “I am afraid that it is your companion that I am after.”

  It took Halla a moment to realize that the man was talking about her and not Brindle. “What? Me? Why?”

  He turned his head and shouted “Mina!”

  Another figure detached from the trees and stalked into the roadway.

  “Oh gods,” said Halla involuntarily. “You again!”

  “That’s her,” said Mina to the leader of the highwaymen. The woman’s eyes were as cold as frost on a windowpane. “That’s the one who makes people invisible.”

  Chapter 38

  “Wait, what?”

  Halla stared at Mina. So did Zale.

  “Invisible,” said Mina. “That’s how you did it. You’re a wonderworker, don’t try to deny it! You made your guard invisible so he could attack Brett without being seen. You’re probably making him invisible again right now!”

  “You think he was invisible?” said Halla.

  “This is fascinating,” murmured Zale.

  The leader was starting to look uncomfortable.

  “How else do you explain him coming outta nowhere like that?” snapped Mina, advancing on Halla. “He just appeared, all fiery!”

  Halla thought briefly about trying to explain. Then she thought better of it. As long as Sarkis was in the sword, he was safe, and there was a chance that he could get out and free both her and Zale.

  “Invisible?” she said, putting as much scorn as she could into the word. “That’s your explanation?”

  “It was magic!” shouted Mina. “Don’t you try to deny it!”

  “It was n—” Halla started, whereupon Mina punched her in the stomach.

  Halla fell over, curled into fetal position.

  Zale dropped to their knees and threw their arms around Halla’s shoulders. “Enough!” they snapped. “This woman is under Temple protection!”

  The leader of the highwaymen rubbed his forehead and said, to no one in particular, “This is all starting to seem like a really terrible idea.”

  Halla sucked in air, trying to get her breath back. The assault had come out of nowhere.

  Why is she so angry at me? What did I ever do except try to be nice to her?

  “I’m telling you!” said Mina. “It was all fiery! She made him appear! She’s got some kinda magic! Brett saw it too!”

  Halla held up a hand, wheezing.

  “Enough, Mina,” said the leader. “She can’t very well answer when you’ve knocked the wind out of her.”

  Mina scowled.

  “Easy,” whispered Zale. “Breathe. You’ll be fine. The muscles spasm, that’s all. It’ll pass. Just breathe.” Halla could feel the priest’s own breath heaving in their lungs, and guessed that they were not nearly so calm as they seemed.

  “I haven’t got any magic,” gasped Halla, once she could breathe again.

  “Then where’s that man now? The one who attacked us?” said Mina.

  Halla couldn’t think of who she was talking about. “What? No one attacked you! You pulled a knife on me!”

  “Your guard!” shrieked Mina. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

  Think. What answer takes the focus off Sarkis?

  “Him?” Halla feigned disgust. It wasn’t hard, with Mina standing in front of her. “I fired him once I got to Archenhold. He was always grabbing my arm. Why do men always grab you by the arm?”

  One of the bandits, a middle-aged woman with iron-gray braids, let out a loud bark of laughter and covered her mouth.

  The bandit leader rubbed his face. “I’m going to tie you up now,” he said. “I apologize, priest, but if my people keep pointing crossbows at you, there might be accidents. I give you my word that you, at least, will be released unharmed.”

  Zale inclined their head. “I shall incl
ude your assurance in my report to my superiors,” they said coolly. The leader winced.

  The bandit woman was the one who tied their hands. She gave Halla a gap-toothed grin. “In front, so you can do your business later. Wiggle your fingers there, love, make sure you’re not gonna lose a hand.” Halla obeyed.

  Zale, Brindle and Halla were led into the woods. One of the bandits led the ox and wagon after them, down a track carefully disguised by trees.

  “Well, this is unpleasant,” said Halla, as the bandits propped her against a tree. “Although I guess I’m glad they haven’t killed us.”

  “A gnole is glad too.”

  “The Temple would be very upset. We have an arrangement with the underworld, you see. We are granted safe passage and criminals may come to us for healing without fear of arrest.”

  Halla blinked at them. “I didn’t know that.”

  “It is not an arrangement that the Temple advertises very loudly.”

  “And they all agree to this?”

  “The underworld is remarkably good at self-policing, particularly in the vicinity of Anuket City. I suppose there’s probably places where it doesn’t work.”

  “Huh.” Halla considered this. “You don’t really think of criminals as following laws…”

  “It’s more that they realize that the other criminals will be displeased at them if they lose regular access to healers. And these are the sorts of people who express their displeasure…pointedly.”

  “Was that a pun?”

  Zale considered. “More of an observation, really.”

  The bandits had a rough camp set up. One kindled a fire.

  Halla watched as Sarkis’s sword was tossed carelessly down on the ground, alongside Zale’s knives. She feared for a moment that the blade might come unsheathed, but it stayed in place.

  Just let him stay there long enough to heal from the arrow…