The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [160]
“Watcher? I don’t understand. Did my father appoint you? My mother?”
The old woman—or at least Anne had the impression that she was old—shook her head. “The first queen in Eslen appointed the first of us. Since then, we have chosen from among ourselves.”
“I don’t understand. What are you watching for?”
The eye grew wider. “Him, of course.”
“Him?”
“You do not know?”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about now.”
“Well, now. How interesting.” Mother Uun stood back a bit. “Would you mind continuing the discussion inside? The sunlight hurts my eye.”
She stood farther aside as six Craftsmen approached, wearing only their padded gambesons. The old woman repeated the instructions she’d given Cazio, and they went past her into the house.
“You Highness?” the Sefry prompted.
But before Anne could answer, Austra’s stifled shriek drew her attention. Her blue eyes were focused high above, and Anne quickly followed the arrow of her gaze.
She saw a tiny figure—Cazio—somehow working himself up the wall above the high, steepled roof. It didn’t look like he had far to go, only a couple of kingsyards.
But on the wall, two armored soldiers with spears were rushing to meet him.
THE MAN looked Aspar up and down with piercing gray eyes and one eyebrow lifted.
“You’re a dead man,” he said.
The fellow didn’t look far from dead himself. He was as spindly as a skeleton, and his gray hair was thin and mussed. The flesh of his face was sun-browned and hung from his skull like an unshaped mask. His words were simple, unironic, and unthreatening, an old man telling things as he saw them.
“You ever seen her?” Aspar asked.
The old man gazed off at the green line of the forest.
“Some say it’s best not to even speak of these things,” he replied.
“I’m going in after her,” Aspar said. “You can help me or not.” He paused. “I’d rather you helped me.”
The old man raised an eyebrow again.
“That wasn’t a threat,” Aspar said quickly.
“Eyah,” the fellow said. “I’ve lived all my life a stone’s throw from the forest. So eyah, I reckon I’ve seen her. Or what she wanted me to see.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean she’s not always the same, ’swhat I mean,” he replied. “One time a bear came down into the hollow. Big black bear. I might have shot it—would have shot it—till she looked at me, let me know. Sometimes she’s a flock of crows. Sometimes a Sefry woman, they say, but I’ve never seen that. Them that see her in Sefry or human shape don’t usually have many breaths left in the lands of fate.”
“How would you know? I mean if anyone saw her…”
“Some of ’em live a little while,” the man said. “So they can tell us. So the rest of us can know.” He leaned nearer. “She only talks to the dead.”
“Then how do people talk to her?”
“They die. Or they take someone dead.”
“What the sceat does that mean?”
“It’s just what they say. She can’t talk the way we do. Or leastwise, she won’t. I reckon she might, only she prefers murder as often as she can get it.” He looked glum. “I reckon every day she’s gonna come out to claim me.”
“Yah.” Aspar sighed. “Anything else you can tell me?”
“Eyah. There’s a trail’ll take you to her. Stay on it, though.”
“Good enough,” Aspar said, turning back toward Ogre.
“Traveler!” the old man called out.
“Yah?”
“You could stay here tonight. Think it over. Have some soup; that way at least you won’t die on an empty stomach.”
Aspar shook his head. “I’m in a hurry.” He started to turn, then glanced back at the man. “If you’re so scared of her, why do you still live here?”
The man looked at him like he was crazy. “I told you. I was born here.”
The old man wasn’t the only one who worried about the Sarnwood. A long picket of poles topped with cow, horse, and deer skulls suggested that others might have given the place an anxious thought or two. Aspar wasn’t sure what the bones were supposed to accomplish, but some of the poles had little platforms about halfway up, made of plaited willow