The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [210]
“Yes,” Stephen said, “I know. Yet it sounds wrong.”
“Maybe…” Zemlé began, then shook her head.
“What?” he said.
“You’re already—”
“What?”
She let out a long breath.
“It’s what you were saying, days ago. About how you keep getting off your path. You’ve been living for other people, Stephen. Even the way you talk about Aspar—you were his companion, never his equal. Could you—just consider this—could you possibly be afraid of the power you’re being offered? Could it be you don’t trust it because you can’t, because if you’re in command, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself if things go wrong?”
“That’s not fair,” Stephen said.
“Maybe it isn’t,” Zemlé said. “I haven’t known you that long. But I think, ah, I think I know some things about you. I think maybe I see some things about you far more clearly than you see them yourself.”
She reached out and gripped his hands in hers.
“Think, Stephen. Even if Fend is lying, even if Virgenya Dare was never here, still, what secrets might this place hold? What might you learn? I can feel the power here, so I know you must, as well. This is what you came for, and all you have to do is submit to leading.”
He closed his eyes.
Zemlé was certainly right about the terror he felt at the idea of taking command. How could he send anyone to fight and die? And yet what if his other uncertainties were, as she said, merely his way of trying to justify inaction?
After all, Fend and Adhrekh weren’t saying anything terribly different from what Fratrex Pell had said. Maybe it was true. Maybe he was the one who was supposed to do this.
He just hadn’t ever believed it. He had supposed all along that he would find Virgenya Dare’s journal and translate it, and if he found something of use, he would do what he had always done: take it to someone else, someone who would know how to use the information.
And yet, how had that worked out? Desmond Spendlove had used his translations to commit abominable acts. He had given Praifec Hespero the benefits of his research, yet more people had died horribly as a result. Now Hespero was coming to get him.
Maybe it really was time he stopped being the source of someone else’s power. Maybe it was time he took charge.
Zemlé was right. When the threat posed by Hespero had passed, then he would have the leisure to come to a full understanding of his situation. Then he could consider how to deal with Fend.
He took Zemlé by the shoulders and kissed her. She stiffened, and at first he thought she would push him away, but then she loosened up, returning his gesture with enthusiasm.
“Thank you,” he said.
He found the others waiting for him, more or less as he’d left them.
“If you’re serious about this,” Stephen said, “then let it be done. Stop Praifec Hespero—no matter what, don’t let him enter the mountain. Take him captive if you can, but do what you must.”
“Now, that’s the way it’s done,” Fend said. He bowed. “As you command, pathikh, so it shall be accomplished.”
Stephen felt his teeth clench, and he waited, fearing that he had unlocked some secret curse, walked straight into a trap. But nothing happened except that all the other Sefry bowed, too, which was certainly strange enough in its own way.
“Where is the woorm?” Stephen asked.
Fend smiled and made a long, low whistle, and behind him the waters parted. Two great green lamps rose above them all. A faint, appreciative murmur went up among the Sefry, who were clearly collectively insane.
Stephen stumbled back, trying to shield Zemlé with his body.
“Th-the poison!” he stammered.
“Has no effect, here,” Adhrekh assured him. “The sedos power in the mountain creates it harmless. And we have proof against it once we are outside.”
Stephen couldn’t tear his gaze off the thing, but after a long moment he realized they were still waiting for him to say something.
“Fine,” he said. “There’s the woorm. Where are your warriors? How many do you have?”
”There are twelve,” Adhrekh said.
That, finally, was enough to make Stephen look away from the monster to see if the fellow was joking.
“Twelve?