The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [12]
Cazio glared at Stephen. “If you weren’t a priest…”
“But I’m not,” Stephen said. “I was a novice, and I did walk the faneway of Saint Decmanus. But I had a sort of falling-out with the Church.”
“With the Church itself? You think the entire Church is evil?”
Stephen clucked his tongue for a moment. “I don’t know. I’m starting to fear so.”
“But you mentioned this praifec…”
“Hespero. Yes, Aspar, Winna, and I were sent on a mission by Praifec Hespero, but not the mission we ended on. What we discovered is that the corruption runs very deep in the Church, perhaps all the way back to z’Irbina and the Fratrex Prismo.”
“That’s impossible,” Cazio asserted.
“Why impossible?” Stephen said. “The men and women of the Church are just that, men and women, as easily corrupted by power and wealth as anyone else.”
“But the lords and ladies—”
“In the king’s tongue we call them saints,” Stephen said.
“Whatever you call them, they would never allow so deep a stain on their Church.”
Stephen smiled, and Cazio found it a very unsettling smile.
“There are many saints,” he said. “And they are not all pure.” He suddenly looked distracted. “A moment,” he murmured.
“What?”
“I hear something,” he said. “More men up ahead. And something else.”
“Your saint-blessed ears, yes? Before, when they ambushed us, why didn’t you hear that?”
Stephen shrugged. “I really don’t know. Maybe whatever saint-gift or dwemor it was that made the kidnappers invisible dulled my hearing, but you’ll have to excuse me. I need to tell Aspar…and Neil.”
“Yes,” Cazio said. “I’ll keep my sword ready.”
“Yes. Please do.”
Cazio watched Stephen trot his horse, Angel, up toward the rest, and, feeling somewhat glum, drew Caspator and rubbed his thumb along the deep notch that marred the strong part of the blade, a notch made by the same glittering witch-sword now carried by Sir Neil.
That notch was Caspator’s death wound. There was no repairing such damage without reforging the entire blade, and with a new blade it wouldn’t really be Caspator anymore but a different weapon. But even having a new blade forged wasn’t so likely in these northern climes, where everyone favored overgrown butcher’s cleavers to the rapier, the soul of dessrata. Dessrata was impossible without the right weapon, and where was he to find another sword that would serve, short of going back to Vitellio?
He really did miss z’Acatto. Not for the first time, he wished he’d returned to Vitellio with his old swordmaster.
He’d begun the expedition in high hopes for adventure. Harrowing as it had been at times, he’d seen more wonders since leaving Vitellio than in all his life until that time. But it had been just the four of them: Anne, Austra, z’Acatto, and himself.
Now Anne had a knight with a magic sword, a woodsman who could drill an arrow through a pigeon at six miles, and a priest who could hear twelve leagues in every direction. Winna didn’t have any arcane abilities that he could see, but he wouldn’t be entirely surprised if she suddenly began calling the animals, imploring them to fight at their side.
And what was he? A fellow who’d let the queen and her maid be kidnapped from beneath his very nose, who couldn’t even speak the language of the kingdom, and who would be dead useless once his sword inevitably snapped.
The strangest thing was that that didn’t bother him so much. Well, it did, but not the way it would have a year before. He did feel inadequate, but that in itself wasn’t the problem. It wasn’t his pride that hurt; it was the fact that he couldn’t serve Anne the way he should.
It was that Austra was in the hands of someone evil.
He’d been trying to distract himself with selfish thoughts to keep himself from dwelling on the really soul-crushing possibility—that his friends were already dead.
Up ahead he noticed Stephen beckoning him with one hand and holding a finger to his lips with another. He spurred his horse forward, wondering what