Shadow's Edge - Brent Weeks [128]
The wetboy let down his shadows—they weren’t nearly as good as Durzo’s, never mind Kylar’s. It was Scarred Wrable. “Well, son of a bitch,” the wetboy said. “Durzo Blint? Shit.”
“Howdy, Ben,” Kylar said. Son of a bitch was right. He’d kept the Durzo disguise—and if he’d kept it at Durzo’s height, Ben Wrable would have shot his arrow right over Kylar’s shoulder.
It was taking more and more effort to maintain the Durzo disguise, and Kylar was painfully aware that it was important he do so. If Terah thought she’d killed Durzo, Kylar could still come back. That had its own set of problems, but far fewer than revealing that he was both Durzo Blint and Kylar Stern and immortal.
“Shit, Durzo! I didn’t even know it was you. That up-pity Graesin bitch said ‘special job, easy, pay ya double.’ What the hell you riding on the path for, D?”
“Just…” Kylar coughed. “Made a mistake.”
“It only takes one, I guess. Shit, buddy. I woulda fought ya at least.”
“I would have killed you,” Kylar said. He was stirred by a sudden panic. What if this was his last life? He had no guarantee that he would come back. The Wolf had never explained it. Gods, he’d been totally crazy when he’d let Baron Kirof kill him for money.
“Probably.” Scarred Wrable swore again. He’d gained his nickname from the innumerable scars he had on his face. He’d come to Cenaria as a child from somewhere in Friaku and spent time as a slave. He was one of the few men who’d gained his freedom from the fighting pits. Kylar thought the scars were self-inflicted, but the man spoke without an accent. Whatever rituals he practiced he’d learned from rumors about the Friaki, not from observation. “How am I supposed to brag about this, Durzo? I just shot you with a goddam arrow. That’s no way to kill the world’s greatest wetboy.”
“Seems to be working all right.” Kylar coughed.
“Shit,” Ben said, disgusted.
“Make something up,” Kylar said. He sprayed more blood again as he coughed. He’d forgotten dying was so much fun.
“I can’t do that,” Wrable said. “It dishonors the dead. They haunt you if you do that.”
“I feel really fucking sorry for you,” Kylar said. He was slipping out of the saddle. He hit the ground with a thump and smacked the back of his head on the ground, but whatever he’d done, the disguise held.
Ben scowled. “Wait,” he said, working it out. Scarred Wrable had never been the brightest torch on the wall. “You mean, you mean it would honor you more if people thought you’d been killed in heroic combat?” Scarred Wrable asked. He liked the idea. “You’d let me say that and not haunt me? I’d make you sound good, I swear.”
“Depends,” Kylar said. His vision was already beginning to white out. “Are you going to hack anything off my corpse?” That would be just his luck. He’d wake up without a head or something. How would that work? Would he die for real if someone took his head?
“The bitch did want proof.”
“Take her the ring. Take my horse, my clothes, whatever you need, but leave my body alone, say you’re superstitious or something and you can tell the story however you want. Just put my body…” Kylar lost the thought. His head was getting thick. He thought he could feel his heart laboring as blood spilled inside his chest.
“Fair enough. You ready, friend?” Ben asked.
Kylar nodded.
Ben Wrable stabbed him through the heart.
44
I’ve been working on the web,” Sister Ariel said. “It’s trapped in some really interesting ways. Who put it on you again?”
“How about if I tell you, you let me go?” Vi said. Not very subtle, are you, Bitch Wytch?
They were heading back to the trail after taking a huge detour around the rebel camp at Havermere. Vi could tell that Sister Ariel had wanted to go into the camp but thought that it would give Vi chances to escape.
“Why are we going west?” Vi asked. “I thought the Chantry was northeast.”
“It is. But I still haven’t finished what I was sent to do,” Ariel said.
“What was that?” Uly asked. She was sitting on the cantle behind