The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [148]
“Unless she is already dead.”
“In which case we will avenge her. In no case would I see Robert on the throne, nor, I’m sure, would you.”
“You have that right,” Neil said, lifting the bottle. The liquor was now a tide, lifting his anger even as the night darkened and the water deepened. “Can we capture Thornrath?”
“Possibly,” Artwair said. “It will be costly, though.”
“May I lead the charge?”
Artwair swirled the bottle, then sipped at it. “I’d meant to have you do that,” he said, “on acount of that feysword of yours. It’s a narrow approach, and that sword might have made a difference. Now…”
“I’d still prefer to lead it,” Neil said. “I’m a warrior. I can kill. About strategy I know little. Without Anne here, that would be the best use for me.”
“You’ll probably die,” Artwair said. “Anne would think I’d sent you to your doom to avenge myself on her. I can’t have her thinking that.”
“I’m not too attached to this life,” Neil confessed. “And I don’t much care anymore what Her Highness thinks, if she’s still able to think anything. She’s the one put me in this situation. I’m tired of being set up to fail, only to live and lament it. Let me lead that charge, and I’ll write a note in my own hand for you to give to whoever might care. I suspect that’d be no one.”
“You’ve a better reputation than you think,” Artwair said.
“Then let me better it yet and live on in song,” Neil replied. “I don’t need a feysword. Just get me a few spears and a broadsword that won’t break at the first swing. Then find me some men who love death, and I’ll give you Thornrath.”
Artwair handed him the bottle. “As you wish, Sir Neil,” he said. “I’d never deny a good man his destiny.”
HESPERO SMILED and rose from his chair.
“Praifec?” Ehan gasped.
“You seem chagrined,” Hespero said, raising an eyebrow at the little man.
“Surprised, perhaps,” Stephen quickly replied. “Sir Elden led us to expect a humble sacritor.”
“But I am a sacritor,” Hespero said, stroking his goatee. “And a fratir, a patir, a peslih, an agreon.”
“Of course, your grace,” Stephen said. “It’s only that one usually is known by one’s most exalted title.”
“Generally true, depending on one’s purpose.” His brows knitted. “Brother Stephen, are you unhappy to see me?”
Stephen blinked.
OBSERVATIONS QUAINT & CURIOUS:
CONCERNING THE WELL-MANNERED VIPER
Perhaps the most deadly of its sort, the well-mannered viper is capable of great charm, luring its prey near with honeyed words. It is a most unusual predator in that it has the habit of convincing other animals to kill for its sustenance and amusement. It is only by observing the middle of the eye where the icy fluid that passes for its blood coagulates visibly that one can identify its true nature, and when one is that close, it is often too late to save oneself.
It is in the perfection of its knowledge—or lack thereof—that survival often hinges, for if the viper believes itself well served, it may allow the servant to live and perform another task. But if it believes itself betrayed, and its real nature is discovered, woe to the hapless titmouse or toad that finds itself confronting those gleaming, venoméd teeth…
“Brother Stephen?” the praifec said impatiently.
“Praifec, I—”
“Perhaps your anxiety stems from what you have to tell me. I have had no word of you. Where are the holter and your friend Winna? Have you failed in the task with which I entrusted you?”
Stephen felt the first sense of relief he’d experienced since meeting Sir Elden. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
“They were slain, your grace,” he said, putting on the most doleful face he could manage.
“Then the arrow did not work?”
“We never had a chance to use it, your grace. We were beset by slinders. We never even saw the Briar King.”
“Slinders?”
“I beg your pardon, your grace. That is the Oostish term for the wild men and women Ehawk reported to you.”
“Ah, yes,” Hespero said. “Did you at least learn more about them?”
“Nothing of note, your grace,” Stephen lied.
“A pity. But still I don’t understand. How did you know to find me here? I came to