The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [113]
As he’d thought, the woorm had gone through the rewn and was now exiting on the Ef side of the hill. That meant it was about a quarter of a league to his left.
He still couldn’t see it, though he could easily hear it moving down the slope and toward the valley floor.
“There she is,” an unfamiliar male voice said. He had a funny northern-sounding accent.
“I told you,” a second man answered.
That voice wasn’t unfamiliar at all. It was Fend, which was what Aspar had more than half expected. After all, it was all well and good to ride a woorm when it was traveling over open ground, but when your mount burrowed into a cave, you didn’t really want to be on it. Nor would it have been safe riding through a sea of hostile slinders. No, Fend was smarter than that.
The woorm was moving away from him now. Fend was just below.
First things first.
Aspar felt about for a ledge, a branch, anything to allow him the perspective for a clear shot. To his delight, he found a jut of stone he hadn’t known was there. Carefully—very carefully—he let himself onto it belly first, then put an arrow to the string.
“Should we follow it down?” the unknown voice said.
Fend laughed shortly. “The Revesturi won’t all flee. Some of them will fight.”
“Against the waurm?”
“Remember who they are. The Revesturi know some very old faneways and some very potent sacaums. It’s true that none of them is likely to be able to slay our little lovely, but imagine what sort of sacaum they might attempt in the effort.”
“Ah. So once again its better for us to stay out of the way.”
“Precisely. If all goes well, the creature will slay the Revesturi, and if the Darige boy is there, it will bring him to us. But if the priests have some surprise in store…”
Aspar froze at the mention of Stephen.
“What if Darige is slain in the process?”
“They no more wish him dead than we do,” Fend replied. “But if it happens, it happens.”
“He won’t like it.”
“No, he won’t—it would certainly be a serious setback. But only a setback.”
Aspar listened carefully, anxious to catch their every word. Why would Fend be after Stephen? How could a monster like the woorm “bring him”? In its mouth? Who in Grim’s name were the Revesturi, and who did Fend work for?
One of the two figures poked at the fire, and it suddenly flared brighter, providing enough light for him to locate Fend’s face. Aspar sighted down the arrow, his breathing slow and controlled. This was a shot he could make—of that he had no doubt. And Fend, finally, would be dead.
There was a chance that Fend’s death might leave some unanswered questions, but he’d just have to take that chance. Whoever the fellow with him was, he seemed to know who their master was. A second shaft would wound him but leave him alive to provide the answers.
Then Aspar would take the antidote and cure himself, Winna, and the horses. When the woorm returned, he’d have the Church’s arrow for that. And maybe Stephen would be with it.
He drew back the string.
Something flashed in his peripheral vision, a purple light.
Fend saw it, too, and straightened.
Everything went white as Aspar released the string. His eyes closed reflexively, and he heard Fend cry out in pain. He tried to open his eyes, to see…
Something struck the mountain like a fist. His belly went queer, and he suddenly realized that the rock he was lying on was sliding out from under him. He was falling.
He flailed, trying to find something to grab, but there was nothing, and he fell for the space of a whole breath before he hit something that bent, broke, and let him keep falling until he fetched hard against a boulder.
He opened his eyes without knowing how long they had been closed. His mouth tasted like dust, and his eyes were full of grit. His ears were ringing as if thunder had just clapped a tree a yard away. He was looking at his hand, which was illuminated by a pale gray light.
Someone nearby was screaming. That was what had wakened him.
He raised his head, but all he saw was a confusion of crumpled vegetation. He hurt everywhere,